A Family Arrangement Read online

  Makeshift Family

  Abram Cooper has ten months to turn rough Minnesota country into a vibrant town, or his sister-in-law will take his three sons back to Iowa with his blessing. Until then, Charlotte Lee has agreed to keep house and help raise his children as part of their bargain. But can the single father fulfill Charlotte’s requirements in time to make sure that she and his boys don’t leave—and take his heart with them?

  Charlotte is convinced that the wilderness is no place to raise her nephews. But as she watches the community slowly develop, she sees that Abram just might be able to make it blossom. With three little matchmakers bringing her and Abram together, Little Falls could become not just a flourishing town, but the perfect home for their patchwork family.

  “I know if I succeed, it means you’ll have to go back to Iowa alone,” Abram said.

  “I just want someone to talk to. Women tend to look at things differently than men. I’ll have some important decisions to make soon, and I want to make sure I’m doing the right thing.”

  “I wish I could help you make your decision—but you’re right. If you succeed, I’ll fail—”

  “You won’t fail.”

  “I’ll fail at my reason for coming.” And she would have to go back alone—which was the last thing she wanted. The boys deserved to be raised in a proper place, with good schools, and hospitals, and comfort—the frontier was far too dangerous a place to grow up.

  “You’ve already accomplished a great deal since you’ve been here, and all of us are grateful,” he said. “I’m hopeful about Little Falls, but I’m also realistic. I’ve been involved in several town prospects that have failed, even when they looked this hopeful.”

  He was trying to make her feel better, and for that she was thankful. But she must not allow her heart to soften toward him. There would be nothing but heartache and devastation if she did.

  Gabrielle Meyer lives in central Minnesota on the banks of the Mississippi River with her husband and four young children. As an employee of the Minnesota Historical Society, she fell in love with the rich history of her state and enjoys writing fictional stories inspired by real people and events. Gabrielle can be found at www.gabriellemeyer.com, where she writes about her passion for history, Minnesota and her faith.

  Books by Gabrielle Meyer

  Love Inspired Historical

  A Mother in the Making

  A Family Arrangement

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  GABRIELLE MEYER

  A Family Arrangement

  Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.

  —Psalms 37:3

  To my sister, Andrea.

  You were the first person who had to put up with my vivid imagination and my unusual love for history. Thank you for always playing along.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from Wed on the Wagon Train by Tracy Blalock

  Chapter One

  Little Falls, Minnesota Territory

  November 1, 1854

  What had her sister been thinking when she followed Abram Cooper to the wilds of Minnesota Territory? Charlotte Lee shaded her eyes as she surveyed the sawmill, the two-story home and the barn on the banks of the Mississippi. The rough-lumber buildings were the only structures to mark the crude settlement.

  This was the town Abram and Susanne had built out of the wilderness? Seeing it now, Charlotte realized Susanne had been exaggerating in her letters. This was not a town. It could hardly be called a farm.

  The dust from the departing stagecoach settled around Charlotte as she let out a painful sigh. “Oh, Susanne.” She whispered her sister’s name, her breath puffing out into the cold evening air. If only Susanne had listened and stayed in Iowa City, where everything was safe and civilized, maybe she’d still be alive.

  The pale November sky boasted a pink sunset, which did little to warm her shivering body. Charlotte strode down the single-wagon road toward the sawmill. The brown grass and bare branches of the oaks, elms and maples attested to the coming winter. Thankfully the snow had held off long enough for her to travel. Hopefully the clear sky would continue to hold for just a few days more until the stagecoach returned to take her back to Iowa.

  Water rushed past the wing dam in the river, down a narrow sluice, and pushed the waterwheel into motion on the side of the sawmill. Charlotte balanced across a narrow plank and opened the door into a dimly lit room. Large cogs whirled to her right and a bulky rod pumped up and down, creating a loud grinding noise. Piles of rough-cut lumber littered the floor and cobwebs crisscrossed the rafters. Seeing no one on the main level, she lifted the hem of her gown and started up a set of stairs just ahead.

  A tall man stood with his back toward her, a clipboard in his hand, while two shorter men stacked lumber in the corner of the large room. A thick log advanced through a sash saw, and with each up-and-down thrust of the blade, the log moved a fraction of an inch forward. One of the men stacking lumber noticed her and stopped his work, causing the tall man with the clipboard to turn.

  His startled blue eyes looked crystal clear amid his shaggy brown hair and beard.

  Was this Abram Cooper? The handsome young man Susanne had eloped with six years ago? It couldn’t be. This man looked much older and much tougher around the edges.

  Recognition slowly dawned in his eyes. “Charlotte?”

  Yes, this was Abram Cooper. Charlotte recognized the determination and focus in the set of his shoulders.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  She swallowed her nerves. “I’ve come to collect my nephews and take them back to Iowa.”

  Abram stared at her for a moment.

  She stared back, trying not to falter under his intense gaze.

  He glanced at the loud saw and then reached over and pushed a lever forward. The sash immediately stopped and silence filled the dusty room. Pale sunshine streamed through the large cracks in the plank walls and bathed him in bars of pink light. The two other men stopped working and watched in quiet fascination.

  “What did you say?” Abram asked.

  Charlotte stood taller than most women, but Abram was taller still. She was forced to look up into his face as she cleared her throat. “I’m here for the boys. The stage will return for us in three days.”

  Incredulity widened his eyes. “You’re not taking my children.”

  “Susanne asked me to take them if—”

  “She never said anything to me—”

  “After Robert was born,” Charlotte said quickly, “she told me if anything ever happened to her, she wanted me to take care of him.”

  Abram glanced ove
r his shoulder at the two young men and then looked back at Charlotte, indicating the stairs. “Let’s continue this conversation downstairs.”

  She almost sighed in relief. It was difficult enough to confront her brother-in-law, but to do so with an audience was far worse.

  Charlotte descended the stairs and waited at the bottom.

  Abram strode down, irritation—or was that fear—emanating from his countenance.

  “Do you honestly think I would send my children four hundred miles away—with you?” he asked through clenched teeth. “After the way you treated me, I’m surprised you’d show your face here at all, Charlotte.”

  She blinked several times, her mouth parting. “The way I treated you?” The pain and loneliness she’d felt for the past six years seeped out in one breath. “You stole my sister. I told Susanne it was a mistake to marry you—”

  “Susanne was a grown woman.”

  “She was hardly grown! Seventeen is practically a child. And now look. She died, just like our mother, and her three sons are left in this wilderness—”

  “It’s not a wilderness.”

  She waved her hand in the air, desperation and fear squeezing her chest. “What do you call this place? There is no town, no neighbors. Nothing for miles but this sawmill.”

  He leaned forward, his voice tight and defensive. “You’re right—there is no town, but, God willing, there will be. There is a mission four miles north of here, with a military fort just beyond that. There are trading posts—”

  “Where are the boys, Mr. Cooper?” Nothing else mattered to her at the moment but the welfare of her nephews.

  “They are safe and well cared for.”

  “How could they be safe here...?” She paused, realizing how fruitless her argument was. “I’m here to rescue them—”

  “They don’t need rescuing.”

  “I disagree.”

  “I can see that.”

  The river rushed past the building as Charlotte took several deep breaths.

  Sawdust floated in the air and stuck to Abram’s wild hair. He looked so different than the man she had met seven years ago at the Fireman’s Ball. Why had Susanne fallen in love with him? Why hadn’t she learned her lesson from Mama’s ordeal? Mama had followed Father from the safety of New York State to pioneer in Iowa when Charlotte and Susanne were young girls. The hard life had taken a toll on Mama’s health. Instead of listening to the doctor and going back to New York, Father had chased one scheme after another, and their mother had succumbed to an early death—just like Susanne.

  Tears gathered in Charlotte’s eyes and her chin quivered. She swallowed several times, trying to compose herself. “My sister left civilization, despite my objection, and she met an inevitable fate. I refuse to let you destroy her children in your plan to get rich quick—or to make a name for yourself—or...or whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

  The tension fell from his shoulders and he looked at her as if she had struck him. “Is that what you think this is? I’m trying to get rich quick?” He raised his large hands, cracked and bleeding, and indicated his work-worn clothing and his scraggly beard. “Do I look like a man out to make an easy dollar?” His voice shook with an emotion as strong as hers. “I’ve poured my life into this mill, not to mention every last penny I’ve earned. Susanne and I mortgaged everything—”

  “Including her life!” The words came out before she could stop them and she slapped her hand over her mouth. Pain filled his eyes—but at the moment her grief was so raw and fresh, she couldn’t stop herself from continuing. “You’re just like my father. You’re filled with an insatiable desire for adventure and challenge. You don’t finish anything you start, because you’re always moving on to bigger and better things—to the detriment of your family—”

  “This time is different.” Abram ran his hand through his long hair, causing the sawdust to drift down to his shoulders. “Little Falls will rival any town on the Mississippi. Susanne believed in my vision—”

  “Of course she believed in you. She saw the best in everyone—” A sob choked off her words and she turned from him lest he see the tears she could no longer contain. How could her sweet sister be gone? Her short life was snuffed out far too soon and her babies had lost their mama. Robert, the oldest, had just turned five, Martin would be three, and the baby, George, was not quite a year old. The boys had been without a mother for three months. Though Charlotte could never replace Susanne, she would honor her sister’s wishes and do her best.

  She finally looked back at Abram. Susanne had been sick for months before she died. She should have gone to a city doctor, yet he had failed to leave his scheme behind to take her. That thought strengthened Charlotte’s resolve. “You can do what you will with your life, but Susanne’s boys deserve better than this, and I intend to give it to them. It’s what she wanted.”

  Abram was still a young man, not much older than Charlotte at the age of twenty-five, yet the weight on his shoulders and the anguish in his eyes made him look much older. The fight was gone from his stance as he studied Charlotte. “Do you have the letter she sent you?”

  Charlotte nodded and opened the door. Susanne’s wishes were as plain as could be. As soon as he saw the letter, he would agree, and Charlotte could get the boys ready to move.

  She left the sawmill and walked across the board plank to the riverbank. Her trunk sat next to the house and she quickly opened it and found the stack of Susanne’s letters bound in red ribbon. She had put the letter on top, knowing Abram would want to see it, and rightfully so.

  “Here.” She stood and handed it to her brother-in-law. “This is the letter she wrote right after Robert was born.”

  He took the letter and scanned the paper, his brow furrowed.

  Charlotte had the words memorized by heart. “‘Now that I’m a mother, I understand how much you sacrificed to provide for me after Mama and Father passed away. If anything ever happens to me, I can’t think of anyone I’d trust more to take care of my children.’” It was quite common for a family member to take over the responsibilities of child care when a father was widowed—especially when there was no one else to help. Surely that was what Susanne had had in mind.

  Abram handed the letter back to Charlotte. “She didn’t ask you to take them to Iowa—”

  “Of course she did.” Charlotte glanced at the letter to make sure she had given him the right one.

  “I’m afraid this trip has been a waste of your time.” He closed the lid of her trunk and effortlessly hefted it to his shoulder before she could stop him. “You’ll have to wait here until the stagecoach returns. Until then, you’ll sleep in my room and I’ll bunk with my employees in the room across the hall.”

  He turned to grab the doorknob but she reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Please, Abram. Let me take them back to Iowa.”

  He stopped and glanced down at her gloved hand. It looked pristine next to his dingy work shirt. “The children are staying at the mission. I will take you to see them before you leave.” His eyes were filled with a warning. “But I will not let them go to Iowa.”

  Charlotte’s chest rose and fell with her disappointment, but she wasn’t surprised by his declaration. Somehow she would convince him that sending the boys to Iowa was the best thing for all of them.

  Somehow.

  * * *

  Abram pushed open the door to his home, cringing at what his sister-in-law would think of the dirty interior. It had been three and a half months since Susanne had died and she’d been sick for several months before that. The house was in need of a good cleaning—especially since five men now occupied the premise.

  “I’ll haul this up and put it in the room you’ll use.” He stepped over the threshold and couldn’t help but look to see her reaction.

  Charlotte’s brown eyes trailed o
ver the main room and she lifted the hem of her fancy green traveling gown, as if she didn’t want it to get soiled.

  He didn’t blame her. It was filthy—but when Susanne was alive, his home had made him proud. A large fireplace dominated one wall and modest furniture was spread around it. Four glass windows, a rare treat in Minnesota Territory, looked out at the river. Susanne had kept them shining, just for him—yet now they were dull with grime, just as his soul felt dull with grief. A shelf with Susanne’s books was near the desk in the corner and several muddy rugs were tossed about the room in no particular order.

  A chicken ambled in from the kitchen and he winced. Caleb must have left the back door open again. It cackled at them and Charlotte squealed.

  Abram balanced the trunk on his shoulder as he pushed the chicken toward the door with his boot.

  “I was under the impression that this was the house.” She glanced around the room once again, a wrinkle wedging between her eyes. “Have we mistakenly entered the barn?”

  He couldn’t help but goad her. “Hopefully only the chicken wandered in. We’ve been known to attract a few skunks and weasels, too.”

  Her eyes grew wide and he tried not to smile. Instead he cleared his throat. “As soon as I get your trunk to your room, I’ll rustle up some supper.”

  “Aren’t we going to see the boys?”

  “It’s getting too late tonight.” Abram started up the stairs.

  “Why did you wait?”

  He paused and turned. The agony on her face twisted his heart. “Wait for what?”

  “To tell me Susanne had died.”

  He frowned. “I wrote to you immediately.”

  She pulled a letter out of the pile she still held in her hands. “This didn’t arrive until three weeks ago—almost three months after she died.”

  He readjusted her trunk on his shoulder. “Look at the date at the top of the letter. You’ll see it says July sixteenth, the day after her death.”

  She glanced at the piece of paper and shook her head. “There is no date.”