Katherine Moves to Kansas Read online

  Katherine Moves to Kansas

  Olivia Gaines

  Davonshire House Publishing

  PO Box 6761

  Augusta, GA 30916

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence.

  © 2022 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin

  Copy Editor: Teri Thompson Blackwell

  Cover: Corbin Media

  Olivia Gaines Make Up and Photograph by Latasla Gardner Photography

  ASIN:

  ISBN: 9798419352087

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 9 8

  First Davonshire House Publishing February 2022

  Katie & Adriano

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Katherine Moves to Kansas (Modern Mail Order Brides, #14)

  DEDICATION

  A Note on the Modern Mail Order Brides ™

  Chapter 1- In Motion

  Chapter 2- Working

  Chapter 3 – On the Move

  Chapter 4- Kinetic

  Chapter 5- Moveable

  Chapter 6 - Going

  Chapter 7- Motile

  Chapter 8 - Progress

  Chapter 9 - Strike

  Chapter 10– Taking the Initiative

  Chapter 11- Disquiet

  Chapter 12- Advocate

  Chapter 13- Budge

  Chapter 14 - Shift

  Chapter 15 - Relocate

  Book Club Questions

  Meet Olivia Gaines

  Chapter One- Agreement

  Chapter Two- Concession

  Chapter Three- Terms

  Also by Olivia Gaines

  The Blakemore Files

  The Delgado Series

  Killers

  Yunior

  Becoming the Czar

  The Technicians Series

  Blind Date

  Blind Hope

  Blind Luck

  Blind Fate

  Blind Copy

  Blind Turn (Coming Spring 2021)

  Love Thy Neighbor Series

  Walking the Dawg: A Novella

  Through the Woods: A Novella

  Life of the Party: A Novella

  A Blue Christmas: A Novella

  Modern Mail-Order Brides

  North to Alaska

  Montana

  Oregon Trails

  Wyoming Nights

  On a Rainy Night in Georgia

  Bleu, Grass, Bourbon

  Buckeye and the Babe

  The Tennessee Mountain Man

  Stranded in Arizona

  Maple Sundaes and Cider Donuts

  Moonlight in Vermont

  Sunflowers and Honey

  Katherine Moves to Kansas

  The Zelda Diaries

  It Happened Last Wednesday

  A Frickin' Fantastic Friday

  A Tantalizing Tuesday

  A Marvelous Monday

  A Saucy Sunday

  A Sensual Saturday

  My Thursday Throwback

  Slivers of Love Series

  The Deal Breaker

  Naima's Melody

  Santa's Big Helper

  The Christmas Quilts

  Friends with Benefits

  The Cost to Play

  A Menu for Loving

  Thursdays in Savannah

  DEDICATION

  For Michelle on her birthday.

  “Easy reading is damn hard writing.”

  - Nathaniel Hawthorne

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To all the fans, friends, and supporters of the dream, as well as the Facebook community of writers who keep me focused, inspired, and moving forward.

  Write On!

  A Note on the Modern Mail Order Brides ™

  The Modern Mail Order Bride Series ™ is a fun series about sophisticated city women, tiring the rigamarole of a fast life, opting to slow it down and get back to nature. Most of the time, it is with hilarious results.

  The men are doers, handy with their hands. They live off the land and most times off the grid, but can bring home dinner even if they have to catch it themselves.

  One thing I love most about the series is naming each book.

  Initially when I started out, I played around with a few things like North to Alaska, Wyoming Nights, Oregon Trails, using the play on words with historical references or local colloquialisms. As I get further into the series, I’m visiting more states or in some cases, revisiting a state to find the bread and butter of what goes on the dinner table.

  Katy Mae is a bit different from the other stories as I wanted to take a moment to dive deep into the male character’s development as a husband. Mateo’s story is next. And of course, the rest of the family shall follow, but read it first before you start emailing me with questions.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1.....................................................................3

  Chapter 2....................................................................12

  Chapter 3....................................................................19

  Chapter 4....................................................................25

  Chapter 5....................................................................32

  Chapter 6....................................................................39

  Chapter 7....................................................................46

  Chapter 8....................................................................54

  Chapter 9....................................................................61

  Chapter 10...................................................................67

  Chapter 11...................................................................74

  Chapter 12...................................................................81

  Chapter 13...................................................................86

  Chapter 14...................................................................92

  Chapter 15...................................................................99

  Chapter 1- In Motion

  Aunt Sue was the name she was known by in her later years as the grand lady wandered about the old farmhouse. In her earlier years, when her bones and joints didn’t creak when she walked, the gentleman callers buzzed about like hungry drones after the Queen Bee. In those days, she was monikered as Sweet Sue. Then bitterness of life arrived, drawing down fat pockets to slim pickings and the once rich harvest of crops slowly were given away to local families or sold to the cooks over at the Fort to keep the lights on in the old farmhouse.

  Soldiers traveled to Fort Leavenworth, signing in to either complete a tour of duty or to serve time for breaking the Uniform Code of Military Justice during their military service for crimes committed. Susannah McCelvey felt as if the life sentence of her husband, a former Colonel in the US Army, had also become a harsh life sentence for her, he behind bars in a prison, and Sue in a prison held together by invisible constraints. She, like many other women who loved the wrong man for all the right reasons, also traveled West to Kansas to show support and provide whatever consolation she could to her man serving time behind concrete and steel. Sweet Sue’s sadness deepened into a mind-numbing depression, which became exacerbate
d when she discovered her inability to have children. The one thing her husband wanted above all else, Susannah couldn’t provide.

  It was then that a disgraced Colonel McCelvey decided Sweet Sue was of no use to him, not only in the life they once shared, but the life he needed to get through by watching her belly swell with his sons that she could not provide, so he labeled her to be as productive as tits on a castrated bull. The sweetness in Sue began to curdle and ferment into a 114 proofed version of hatred for J.C. McCelvey and the farm he had her purchase for his “family.” Saddled with a twelve-acre farm and a four-bedroom farmhouse with an upstairs bonus room, every penny she had was tied up in the home and land. No one would buy it, and she was too pocket-poor to simply give it away.

  One Sunday upon walking back from church, she spotted a young boy, dirty faced with holes in his clothing and looking as if he could use a meal. Sue never considered herself to be the mothering type, but had been willing, for the sake of her marriage to provide J.C. with a non-namesake and a pretty daughter. Now, she suddenly found herself interested in staying in the world a bit longer. The kid looked as if he needed someone to care, and she needed someone to care about, which in her estimation made it worth the time.

  “Hey kid, I have some lemons in my kitchen, a few biscuits, and a couple of pieces of fried chicken,” Aunt Sue said softly. “I can make the lemonade if you can get out there and pick some squash for me and cut down a few of those sunflowers growing out back of my place, so I can get the seeds.”

  “Okay, sure,” the boy told her, “If I can get something to eat first.”

  “We have a deal,” she told him.

  He wasn’t much of a boy, gangly with scrawny arms and missing one too many meals, but the eyes were sharp. On that day, Aunt Sue often reflected, she didn’t know if the boy saved her life or she saved his, but he walked into her kitchen, ate as much as his belly could hold, and then did the work. He picked the squash. The boy weeded the garden. The kid even washed his dishes before he passed out in the corner on the floor. He smelled worse than he looked, and Sue brought a blanket and a pillow.

  The next morning, the corner was empty, the blanket folded and stacked neatly with the pillow. Thinking the child had run off, she looked out the kitchen window to see him with a stick, beating the sunflowers to loosen the seeds. He collected the seeds in a bowl and set the bowl by the back door. An hour later, the entire garden was weeded, ripe tomatoes sat on the counter, and other vegetables were washed and prepped for canning.

  Sue placed a plate in front of the kid with bacon and eggs, and a bowl of hominy. He didn’t ask questions but ate. She did the same, in silence.

  “I didn’t have any clothes your size around here or any shoes, but if we sell some of these veggies, we might be able to get a few things over at the Goodwill,” she told him. “There are a couple of bikes in the back, leaning against the house.”

  The boy nodded, ate his breakfast, and took off out the back door. Affixed to the front of the bike was an old basket which the boy loaded with vegetables. He gave a mock salute and rode away.

  Two hours later, the kid returned. He had two bags; one held two pairs of jeans, socks, and a pair of sturdy shoes, along with a couple pairs of like new underpants; the other contained a summer hat for a lady.

  “I made forty off the vegetables,” he said. “The stuff for me came to fifteen, the hat was three dollars, and here’s the change.”

  “Fair enough. I am Susannah McCelvey, but most people call me Aunt Sue,” she told him.

  “Adriano Gael Barbens,” he said, giving her a plaque covered smile.

  “You planning to tell me your story?”

  “No,” the boy said.

  “With a name like that, there has to be a story. Isn’t your Ma worried about you? What about your Pap?”

  He looked up at her. “Dad’s in Leavenworth. Ma came out to see him,” he said pausing and looking out into the distance of the farm. “She went on a date with a man. That was four days ago.”

  “You think she’s in trouble and might need help?” Sue asked, concerned that something horrible may have befallen the woman.

  “The kind of help she needs, only Jesus can give her. I ain’t looking for her and she ain’t worried about me none. If you want, I can stay and help around the place, go to school, and won’t be no trouble,” Adriano said.

  “You won’t be no trouble...to who, me or yourself,” Sue said more as a matter of fact than a question.

  “Aunt Sue, I ain’t got nothing but my word and a bag of used underwear I got out of the fifty-cent bin at the Goodwill,” Adriano confessed. “It was nice sleeping in a warm house and having good, clean food. I can’t afford to be any trouble to you or to myself. I just want a chance in this life that is dead set on making me a loser.”

  “I’m not sure that it would be proper for me to take in a random kid from the street, Adr...what did you say your name was again?”

  “Adriano Gael Barbens,” he said. “My Pap got into a bar fight down in Arizona and the man he hit in the head didn’t do so well. He got sent here. I tried to see him and ask how to get some help, but he is mad at the world. He’s mad at my Ma and doesn’t want to see her. I look like him, so she doesn’t want to see me either. It’s a bad feeling when all you want is to be loved and people want to throw you away like you don’t matter. Aunt Sue, I’m going to be somebody, but I have to matter to someone.”

  It was then that Susannah McCelvey decided on a means to pay the bills on the farm. Adriano went into the foster care system and was assigned to the newly arranged Foster Home of Aunt Sue. He was the first, and over the years, even after he left for college, there were other children, some good and a few terrible, but all who entered her door could feel that Aunt Sue cared.

  In the old rocker that Adriano had repaired several times over the years before he headed off to Topeka for his new job, Sue took a seat. Spry feet which once chased children about the old farmhouse had slowed, and her steps were paced much slower, uneven, and sometimes unsteady. She often thought of Adriano who returned every Thanksgiving and two days before Christmas. Together, the two of them trimmed the tree as he caught Aunt Sue up on his life, and she often asked about the others.

  “Aunt Sue, you know how it is,” he would start, making excuses for his foster siblings. “They are working hard, wrapped up in their own lives. You know, regular selfish stuff.”

  “This Thanksgiving, I want them all home,” she told him. “My eyes are getting heavy and I’m ready to rest. I want to see my babies before I slumber.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” he told her and made the call.

  Adriano called Mateo, who lived in Arkansas and worked as a private Chef. He called Jeremy Husking, who was a small-town Mayor in a little hamlet in Nebraska, just outside of Omaha. A call went out to McAlister Fontaine, who had moved to a farm in Iowa. Kimbrae, the only girl to have hung around Aunt Sue’s place, now lived in Missouri and was an attorney of some form, and there was Rodney, who became obsessed with trains as a child and now manned a train depot in upstate Illinois. The last brother, and Adriano used the term loosely, got swindled on a land deal and ended up with 30,000 acres of swamp in Louisiana where he provided tours of his land and now talked funny, mixing Creole with Kansas Farm Boy. They all agreed to come back to see Aunt Sue and would arrive within the week.

  Adriano watched the smile come to Aunt Sue’s face as she exhaled loudly, getting to her feet to head to bed. Halfway through the kitchen, she stopped and looked back at him. She offered a smile as her eyes seem to darken by the second. “This farm is yours, Adriano,” she told him. “I want you to keep it and raise your family here. You need to marry, have a few kids, and enjoy your hard work and the money you’ve made. It’s time. I want grandchildren, and honestly, you’re the closest thing I have to a child, and I’m the closest thing you have to a mom, so make an old lady happy, will you? Fill this house with life again.”

  He didn’t answer but watched her
walk away, almost seeing the pain in her movements.

  “Aunt Sue, you’ve had over 100 children come through this home over the past thirty years. Why leave the farm to me?” he wanted to know.

  “Because your story started here,” she said softly. “I want you to complete the story, Gael. This is your home. You belong here.”

  She bid him goodnight and went to bed. She lay there thinking about the boy named Adriano that she called by his middle name Gael. She mentioned that he returned for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but he also showed up the first Sunday of each month and escorted her to church for communion. He returned to the farm on Valentine’s Day to take his best girl out to dinner, with fancy chocolates and rich red wine. Gael came to the farm each Easter for supper, and often brought the ham. Adriano Gael Barbens returned to the farm on Mother’s Day, and every other holiday, including the 4th of July, when he manned the grill as Aunt Sue held a single sparkler in her hand. He weeded the garden, which was much smaller now and still canned the vegetables with her, and on Easter, they made deviled eggs that gave him the worst case of gas, but he never let on. He loved Aunt Sue and she loved him.

  He looked in on her before retiring for the night himself, adding an extra quilt to her bed, and checking her feet to see if they were ice cold. If they had been, he would have added a thick pair of woolen socks. In bed is where she stayed until her children arrived, tired, worn, and falling into a sadness she couldn’t express. Within the week, the original seven of her foster children arrived. All seven of her babies stood around her bed, just as they had years prior when she’d fallen and sprained her ankle.

  “I wish you kids would give me some grandkids before my eyes close,” she said. “I’m going to be the only old woman in Heaven unable to brag about her grandchildren.”

  Kimbrae spoke up, “Aunt Sue, let those other folks talk about their grandkids; you’ve got so much more to share, telling them about us. We love you.”