Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set: Her Christmas Family / Christmas Stars for Dry Creek / Home for Christmas / Snowflakes for Dry Creek / Christmas Hearts / Mistletoe Kiss in Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

heard these frontier churches often used the same building for a schoolhouse and a church.

      Maeve relaxed her grip on the blanket wrapped around her head and felt it fall to her shoulders. As the wool slid off her head, it took her hat with it.

      She felt a moment’s unease. Her thick, riotous copper hair had given her trouble in the church she’d attended back East. People seemed to think a woman kept her morals in her hair knot and strands of hers were always coming loose. And that was before her husband had been loudly denounced from the pulpits in Boston. Maeve hadn’t trusted the clergy since then. It was the ministers who had turned her employer against her.

      “Welcome.” A man’s voice came from the front of the room and she saw a figure rise from a chair next to the stove. Tall and dressed in black, the white-haired man swayed a little as he walked. “I’m Reverend Olson. I’ve been expecting the two of you.”

      She blinked the last of the snowflakes off her eyelids and saw him lean on his cane with one hand as he walked down the side of the benches with the other hand outstretched.

      “Excuse me, I should have said the three of you,” he added as he smiled at Violet even though the child had her face pressed against Noah’s chest and couldn’t even see the reverend.

      “My wife is going to be here any minute,” the preacher continued, beaming at them all now. “She’ll bring our neighbor Mrs. Barker with her so you have the witnesses you need for a legal marriage certificate.”

      “I need to discuss something with Noah first,” Maeve said. She couldn’t marry him without telling him about the baby.

      Then she heard a choking sound behind her and turned.

      Noah was staring at her. “Your hair.”

      Maeve squared her shoulder. If the man had something against red hair, he should have mentioned it earlier.

      “I told you I was from Northern Ireland,” she told him defiantly. “Everyone knows a lot of women in that part of the country have hair like this. I can’t change the color. I’ve been working to tame my voice so it sounds American, but there’s no changing my hair.”

      Maeve knew she should back down. This man held her future. If he was going to reject her because of her hair, he certainly wouldn’t accept her with a baby.

      She’d forgotten Reverend Olson had been talking until she saw that he was waiting patiently at the end of the row of benches. He’d given up on shaking anyone’s hand, but he was watching Noah and her with some interest.

      “You haven’t changed your voice as much as you think,” Noah finally said as he sat Violet down on a bench.

      Maeve glared at him. “I’ve done my best.”

      “There’s music when you speak,” Noah said, his voice clipped as if he was angry, even though she didn’t know why he would be. He had removed his hat and set it down by her daughter. He ran his hand through his damp strands of hair.

      “I like to sing,” Maeve said defiantly. She looked into the man’s eyes. The color had darkened and they were almost dark brown instead of green. She didn’t know why she fought when she was afraid, but everything in her seemed to lead her that way.

      Noah nodded as he studied her some more, obviously trying to decide something.

      “I suppose I could put blackening in my hair if the red color bothers you that much,” Maeve forced herself to say. She couldn’t stand against the man’s wishes. Not when she remembered how destitute she was. How would she care for a baby and her daughter? She glanced over at Violet and saw the girl was watching both of them intently. She’d sacrifice anything to give her children a decent life, even her pride.

      Noah shook his head. “Your hair is magnificent. Like the sun in a red sky at night.”

      He didn’t say it as if it was a good thing, but Maeve was still relieved. She wasn’t sure she could walk around with blackening on her head.

      “It’s just I thought you were a widow,” Noah said, his voice tinged with reproach.

      Maeve felt her heart beat faster. “Who would lie about being a widow? My husband died seven weeks ago. You can read any of the Boston papers if you don’t believe me. They certainly covered his death long enough.”

      Everyone was silent for a moment. Maeve could hear the crackle of the fire and noticed the preacher had left the door to the stove open, no doubt to warm the room faster. It reminded her that the coal bin for the small fireplace in her rented room would have been empty by now, regardless of whether she had been able to leave or not. She’d burned only enough coal to keep them from freezing. She couldn’t take her children back to that life; they might not survive next time.

      “You’re too young for the kind of marriage I have in mind,” Noah finally said. “That’s why I asked for a mature widow.” He looked at her, and this time he didn’t bother to hide his reproach. “Why, you’re scarcely old enough to be a wife, let alone a widow.”

      “I’m twenty-five-years old,” Maeve said as she straightened her back so she was her full height. She was tall enough to intimidate most men, but she didn’t seem to move Noah. “Old enough to have a daughter and lose a husband in a very public and humiliating fashion.”

      Noah was quiet. “I’m sorry.”

      She wasn’t ready to mention the baby. Not in anger like this.

      They were both quiet for a moment.

      “I’m sure you’ve had some hard times,” he finally added, “but life can change. You’re young enough to find a happy marriage. You’re not who I expected.”

      Maeve had traveled over two thousand miles, breathing the smoke of the train and pretending to be grateful for the stale butter sandwiches, the only food she’d had to pack with them when they’d left. Her daughter was suffering from bad memories; it was almost Christmas; and before long, Maeve would likely have bouts of morning sickness.

      “Violet and I might not be the kind of people you expected,” Maeve said, her voice growing strong. “But we are who you got.”

      Noah looked a little stunned at the force in her voice and she had to admit she was surprised herself. But she was at the end of her road. She didn’t have money to wait for another mail-order husband. Not that she was likely to find one now that she’d have a baby to consider as well as Violet. Besides, she thought indignantly, Noah shouldn’t have put an ad in the newspaper unless he expected someone to answer it.

      Maeve looked over at the reverend.

      “I just need to discuss something with Noah,” she said. “If you’ll excuse us.”

      She willed her nerves to stop racing around in her stomach.

      The preacher nodded as a couple of middle-aged women came through the door, brushing snow and hail off their garments.

      “My wife,” the reverend gestured to a plump, kindly looking woman.

      Then he introduced the other woman, who had dark hair and a stern face. “Mrs. Barker.”

      “Pleased to meet you both,” Maeve said with a smile for the women. They nodded in return.

      Maeve reached up to her hair. Curls sprang from her head the way they did in damp weather. The whole bunch of it had escaped its pins and was, no doubt, spreading out around her head like a wild dandelion on fire. She looked down and saw her hat had rolled under one of the benches. She walked over and bent down to retrieve it. The cook at the house where she had worked had given her that old wool hat so she could take Violet to church without having anyone gossip or complain that she wasn’t dressed in the right church clothes.

      When she stood up, she saw that Noah had walked close to her.

      “I don’t mean for our marriage to be real,” he said to her. He spoke low, clearly not wanting the others to hear. “If that’s