A Mail Order Bride

My name is Kathryn Alston, and this is my story.

While I don't think my situation in life was unusual, especially considering the time and location, the circumstances of my meeting, Jonas McQuade, definitely were. We met for the first time on a cold, wintery morning in 1872 in the little town of Highlands Bluff. Jonas McQuade was a man almost twenty years my senior who had initially made no secret of his disappointment with me, his "mail order bride," but had eventually reconciled himself to marrying me. From the beginning, he was rude, demanding, and controlling; as far as he was concerned, I was little more than a servant to cook and take care of his house.

Katie Alston

Nervous, apprehensive, and maybe even a little afraid, I stepped out of the rickety stagecoach and awkwardly descended the wobbly wooden steps that had hurriedly been placed near the coach's door by the driver.

I must look a fright; I thought to myself as I adjusted my bonnet and then wiped a spit dampened handkerchief across my cheeks and forehead before brushing the loose strands of hair away from my face. As I walked along the roughhewn wooden slats that served as a sidewalk, I scanned the busy street. Despite the early hour, several people were already out and attending to their errands, even the man across the street who had for the longest time been intently examining a saddle never even glanced in my direction. I stood there for almost ten minutes alone and feeling conspicuous as a slow panic began to rise, and I fought the urge to scramble back inside the coach.

No one had come to meet me, Mr. McQuade, my intended wasn't there.

"You ok, Miss?" I turned around expectantly but was disappointed when I saw the old Stationmaster standing in the doorway of the ticket office.

"Yes, yes," I said, I'm just waiting for a Mr. McQuade . . . he should be here soon, but thank you for asking."

"Well, why don't you come inside and sit down while you wait?"

"No, I'd better stay out here where he will be able to see me but thank you," I replied.

With an ever-growing sense that maybe I had made a terrible mistake by coming here, I stood and waited, thinking that God forbid, I had not left one desperate situation for another?

*****

My folks had died when I was very young, leaving me orphaned. Fortunately, I had been placed with and raised by my father's aunt until her death last year. Clutching my shawl about my shoulders, I thought of how my life had been in Wisconsin. That last year there had been lonely and uncertain until one day while browsing through the Maple Edge Gazette I came across an advertisement that caught my eye and interest:

"A woman needs a man's strong arms to support her during life's many struggles, and a man needs a woman's love" blared across the top of the page in large, bold black letters. In smaller lettering, it continued, "strong, determined men in California, Washington, Oregon seek strong, determined women for helpmates, companions, and marriage. Women seeking safety, protection, support, and a cooperative relationship leading to marriage, are encouraged to apply.

What did I have to lose? Nothing. I was a reasonably pretty girl, though still a little on the tomboy side in appearance, but attractive enough never to have been mistaken for a boy. I was nineteen, single, practically penniless, and with no prospects.

After several days of thinking over my situation, I decided to complete one of the applications.

*****

Within less than a month of submitting my application, I received my first correspondence from Mr. Jonas McQuade of Highlands Bluff, Oregon. Though our letter exchanges provided very little information aside from his being in his mid-thirties, a horse rancher, and financially capable. He made it perfectly clear from the beginning that his objective was seeking a mature woman capable of carrying her weight, working hard, cooking, keeping house, and companionship. By the third letter, Mr. McQuade proposed marriage and enclosed a small engagement ring. I accepted. Love was not a requirement or prerequisite for this union, nowhere in any of his letters was the word even mentioned.

I re-read his letters and released a heavy sigh, my decision having been made. On June 16

th

, 1872, I boarded a train bound for Oregon.

*****

Jonas McQuade

I had gotten into town early, anticipating the arrival of my mail order bride, Kathryn Alston. The train she was arriving on only went as far as Bellingslea, where she would have to transfer to a stagecoach. Bellingslea was a good fifty miles away, and not knowing exactly when the stage would get in, I had decided to come into town early so that whenever it arrived, I'd already be here.

I saw her when she got off the stage. I knew who she was as soon as I saw her, and I could see she hadn't been completely honest in her description. I didn't approach her but eyed her as I pretended to examine the saddle on display in front of the livery stable. She had described herself as older than she was, a woman full-grown and experienced with life, not the person on the other side of the street who was barely out of girlhood. It was clear to me the girl had never done any truly hard work or that she probably knew very little besides a smattering of cooking and housekeeping. I watched her nervously pacing in front of the station, her eyes searching the street with each sound of an approaching horse or wagon. Even from across the street, I could read the uncertainty on her face.

When she turned to talk to the station master, I slowly started across the street toward her. As the station master headed back inside the office, she turned, and there I stood towering over her.

"Miss Alston? Kathryn Alston?"

"Yes, I'm Kathryn Alston . . . and you're Mr. McQuade? Nice to meet you," she stuttered softly in acknowledgment.

For some reason, I felt angry, angry at my sudden uncertainty, and the realization that she wasn't who or what I had expected; instead of a mature, hardworking helpmate, I was saddled with an inexperienced, very pretty, but scared young girl. What was she doing out here anyway, offering herself up to some man she didn't know? What kind of woman would put herself in a position like this? This wild, uncivilized country was full of unruly men wanting women. Hell, in my experience, many of the men who sought out mail order brides, newspaper brides, or whatever you wanted to call them were old enough to be their fathers or worse their grandfathers. It didn't take these brides long to figure out that these men were not interested in marriage as much as a clean and available receptacle for their lust and cum.

"You lied on your application, didn't you? You're younger than I expected, and you don't look like you've done a day's hard work in your life," I said in an accusatory tone of voice.

"I'm nineteen . . . old enough, and trust me, I know how to work. It looks to me like you lied in your letters, too," the girl said defensively.

"No, I ain't lied about nothing; everything I wrote was God's truth. I looked at her hard and long before blurting out, "I'm resisting the urge to send you back where you came from girl. I need someone who can work as hard as I do on my ranch, clean, cook, take care of me, and my house like a woman is supposed to do without nagging and backtalk."

I walked a few steps down the wooden sidewalk before turning back to her. She no doubt was a pretty little thing, and lord knows I'd enjoy having her in my bed and pleasuring myself with her, but was she worth the trouble and time it would take to train and teach her about ranch life and taking care of a man.

"I'm going to give you a chance, girl, I said roughly to her. But if you can't carry your weight or live my kind of life, I'll send you home."

After a long silence, she looked up at me, and as quiet defiance flickered in her large green eyes, she softly said, "I have no one and nowhere else to go, Mr. McQuade." Then, with a sense of resignation in her voice, she added, "I can be a good wife to you, Mr. McQuade."

Neither one of us said anything further; after a brief pause, I got the station master's attention and told him to get her bags and tie them to my packhorse. Taking her by her arm, I led her across the street to the justice of the peace where we were married.

*****

It was already afternoon by the time I had gotten my supplies from the mercantile and picked out a horse for the girl. "Well, we'd better get going so we can make the ranch before it gets dark. That's your horse over there," I said, pointing to the smaller brown and white Pinto.

The girl glanced over at the horse and then back at me.

"What are you waiting for, Katie? Mount your horse so we can get out of here," I said.

"Mr. McQuade . . . I don't know how to ride very well," she finally said.

The words "God damn it," slipped from my mouth before I could catch myself. I looked at her with growing impatience and told her she shouldn't have any problems because I had put a ladies sidesaddle on her horse. Getting down from my horse, I helped her into the saddle before taking the reins and letting her horse trail behind mine, admonishing her to "hold on."

We were almost halfway to the ranch when we stopped to rest. I dismounted and gave my horse water before I glanced up to see Kate still sitting on her horse. I walked over to her, and she said she was a little stiff and would I please help her down. Once dismounted, she grimaced as she walked stiffly into the bushes on the side of the road, and making sure I couldn't see her, quickly relieved herself. After a long, deep drink of water, I helped her mount her horse again, and we started on the remaining half of our ride to the ranch.

The sky had begun to darken by the time the horses trod through the white gate and down the path that led to my small white house with the deep blue colored shutters and trim.

I removed the things from the packhorse and walked my horse into the stable to unsaddle. When I came out, I saw Katie visibly struggling to get off her horse. Reaching up and taking her around the waist, I helped her down. Unsteady on her feet, needing support, she leaned against me. I looked down and could see tears, streaking her dust-covered cheeks.

"What's wrong with you now?" I demanded to know.

"Nothing, she mumbled, nothing."

When she turned toward the house, I realized that she was having difficulty walking, and before her legs began to buckle, I lifted her and carried her into the house.

"What's wrong, girl?"

"Not used to riding a horse for that length of time; just a little sore, I think, she said through trembling lips. I'll be alright." I laid her down on the bed and noticed flecks of blood where her skirt had been pressed and caught between her thighs.

I started to lift her dress, and she immediately protested . . . "no, don't I'll be fine, please leave me alone," her small fists striking at my extended arms.

"You need to let me take a look, I told her, now stop and let me look," I said gruffly at her, my patience all but at its end.

I grabbed her hands and pinned them to her side. Sensing my threatening tone of voice, I could see her fighting back renewed tears and felt her small body reluctantly surrender. I lifted her skirts and untying the ribbons on her bloomers pulled them off her, tossing them to the foot of the bed, I sat staring at her bruised and raw inner thighs, and the swollen, pink lips of her womanhood. The pommel of the saddle had rubbed and irritated her delicate skin for hours, making them raw and sore to the point of bleeding, and in her fear of me, she hadn't said a word.

I got up, and after re-lighting the fire in the hearth, I placed a kettle of water to boil.

"Get the rest of your underthings off, I ordered . . . I'll be right back."

By the time I came back into the room, she was naked from her waist down and was trying to cover herself with the bed's blanket. Pouring water into a pan and with a small towel, I spread her legs and began cleaning the bruised places and applying the thick salve I had gotten from the barn.

"You silly little fool, why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't want to make you even more upset with me," she said hesitantly in a barely audible voice.

Taking the towel and wringing it out, I placed it over her swollen pussy lips and heard her exhale a low sigh, as the pleasant warmth of the towel spread over the sore, tender area. No longer resisting, she allowed her body to relax. When I began massaging the salve into her bruised thighs, and around her abused core, she closed her eyes, and within a few minutes, a moan escaped, and I could feel her hips ever so slightly lift, seeking the pressure of my hand. The room had grown quiet, and her breathing soft and shallow when I realized she had dozed off.

I felt the throbbing sensation between my legs and saw the jerking erection that pressed against my pants, wanting freedom and thought, "oh fuck," at the suddenness of my body's reaction to this too young girl.

I tentatively slipped my middle finger inside her pussy and was surprised at how wet and tight she was. She had never been with a man, something I had known instinctively. And when I pressed my fingers deeper inside her, I was pleased with the knowledge and had to resist the overwhelming urge to take her, to push my now aching cock inside her; after all, she was my wife. But I didn't.

With some effort, I managed to get myself under control. I covered Katie with the blanket, dimmed the lantern and stretched out on a smaller, narrow bed in an alcove on the other side of the room. In the quiet, stillness of the darkened room, I lay listening to the soft, breathing coming from her bed and self-pleasured myself until I came in a hard, but unsatisfying ejaculation into the soft, white, linen bloomers I had taken off her earlier.

*****

I was awoken that morning a little after four o'clock by the sound of muffled, unintelligible words and groans, obviously talking in my sleep. I had been dreaming about her, dreaming about fucking my new wife and had awakened with a throbbing morning erection. I pulled on my pants and jacket and made my way outside to relieve myself and gather additional wood to build up the fire. Returning to the house, after stoking the fire, I set more water on to boil, and by the time the water was hot, Katie had started to stir awake.

"How are you feeling this morning?" I asked as I set a basin of hot water on the stand next to the bed, and with the remaining water, made a pot of strong, black coffee.

"Better, thank you," she replied sleepily.

"I have a lot to do today, and while I am gone, I expect you to take care of the animals and get this place cleaned up, you understand? I should be back by dark, and I want you to have my supper ready."

"Yes, I understand," she replied, now sitting up in bed, clutching the blanket to her, covering her front.

With that, I slipped on my coat and leaving the house, headed to the barn to saddle my horse. When that was done, I walked back to the house and stood outside quietly, looking through the window watching the girl. She stood and removed her blouse and chemise, which she had fallen asleep wearing the night before. She retrieved a small precious bar of soap from her bag, and dipping the washcloth into the warm water began to wash all over. She wiped her face and gently washed between her legs, applying more of the soothing salve to her bruises. She washed her arms and breasts, her nipples hardening at the coolness in the room.

I again found myself looking forward to bedding her. In spite of her youth, innocence, and inexperience, she was nonetheless physically desirable, and she was mine. The image of her long, lustrous auburn hair, large green eyes, and full pink lips filled my thoughts. Her small stature and weight were more girl than woman, but I had little doubt that within the next year or so, she would possess the fuller breasts, rounded hips, and firm ass as her body blossomed into her womanhood. Though I hadn't had a woman in a while, I grinned to himself, thinking of how she would grow accustomed to regular sex with me. To my surprise, I even fleetingly wondered what she would look and feel like once I had bred her.

I watched, quietly absorbed with the thought of fucking her. When she finished dressing, I backed away from the window and mounting my horse and headed towards the Morganson's ranch on the other side of the valley.

"Damn it! My dick is hard again," I said aloud as I adjusted myself in my saddle.

*****

Katie Alston

I had dressed and now sat on the side of the bed, brushing my hair back into a thick, long ponytail. Looking around the small, messy house (more a large cabin than a house), without warning, I suddenly began to cry. I felt lonely, depressed, and a bit afraid of him, this place, everything.

I sat looking at the large, filthy room with disgust. I couldn't imagine the last time this place had been cleaned. Cook his food, clean his house, and feed his animals, what had I gotten myself into? As the thoughts formed and were said aloud, it came to me that for better or worse, he was now my husband, and what he expected were the things outlined in his letters, nothing more and nothing less.

Who knows, maybe, everything would work out. Though gruff and blustery last night, he had not hesitated when it came to tending my bruises. Despite his threatening, intimidating manner, I wanted to believe that he was a good and honorable man who would treat me fairly.

*****

Some days, Jonas would have business in town or at one of the other ranches in the county and would leave early, before light and not return until dusk, tired and hungry. In the beginning, on those days, when he was gone, I would spend the majority of my time washing and cleaning, making the house my own. Slowly the house began to take on the appearance and feel of a home. Later my days would be filled with learning about the daily running of a horse ranch and my responsibilities.

In spite of these infrequent absences, Jonas, typically was at the ranch each day, tending his horses, doing maintenance on the ranch, repairing fences, breaking horses, etc. He was very proud of his ranch and his horses. In the ten years that Jonas had been breeding horses, he had already built a reputation for quality horseflesh and was beginning to enjoy increasing demand for his stock and studs. His business had grown so quickly that a few years earlier, he had hired a foreman named Matt Reynolds to help manage the ranch and supervise the other two hands who worked for him.

Perhaps a week after I arrived, Matt had seen my reluctance to ride the horse Jonas had given me and taken upon himself the task of teaching me to ride a horse properly. With Matt's help, I soon became a reasonably competent rider and in fact, realized a genuine love of horses and riding. Matt was younger than Jonas, smart, and easy to get along with, and I found myself drawn to him and eagerly sought him out for advice and help. On those days when Jonas was away, I would sometimes go out to the paddock to watch Matt work and handle the horses and often enjoyed his company during long rides about the ranch. I saw Matt as a good friend.

Even when Jonas worked from home, I might not see him from the time he left the house in the morning until the noon meal, when he would eat and then leave out again, not to return until suppertime. Despite his often stern, business like manner toward me, I missed him when he was away, and I think I grew to enjoy and look forward to his being near. I remember him bursting into the house one afternoon, clearly excited over the birth of a new colt. "Katie, hurry, come out to the stable; Shadow just dropped her colt." We ran down to the stable, and I stood outside the birthing stall, sharing his excitement and seeing a side of him I hadn't seen before.