“We know this one,” Samuel said darkly. “You’re the big girl, and we’re the little ones. What kind of story is this?”
“The kind where I tell you… that we’re not gonna live here anymore.”
“YAY!” the children shouted in chorus, shocking Lucy. She looked at their faces and felt another piece of her heart splinter off and break.
They think we’re all moving, she realized miserably.
“Children, no. That’s not what I mean.” Lucy paused and let them settle again, then spilled the story of their impending doom. Their large eyes watched her intently, and one by one their expressions melted as they understood her meaning.
“But you’ll all have an adventure,” she tried to say, but the tears had already begun. There was nothing to do next but let them wallow in their grief, and soon, she’d succumbed as well.
Later that night, after a feast that was barely touched and a crumb cake that felt like sand in their mouths, Lucy put them to bed. She promised them it would be better in the morning, though she knew that to be a lie.
“I’ll do it!” she cried after racing across the square to Mrs. Mayhew’s house. “I need to find one of those advertisements. I can’t stay here, I just can’t!”
“My child, what’s gotten into you? Here, come in, come in,” the woman said, holding the door open and letting Lucy in. She latched the door back then pointed to a chair at her kitchen table.
“I told the children what awaits them,” Lucy said, her face crumpling in agony. “They’re just beside themselves, they’re hurting so much! I can’t stay here without them!”
“Oh, you poor girl! Come here,” Mrs. Mayhew said softly, standing and leaning down to put her arms around Lucy’s thin shoulders. “This is not what I wanted for you, you know that. I’ve been praying every day that it would work out somehow, that the Aid Society would go back on its hateful decision… but I suppose that’s just not to be.”
Lucy cried softly into the handkerchief Mrs. Mayhew held out to her, and the older woman let her have a moment to grieve. Quietly, though, she reached for the day’s newspaper.
“This one arrived only today when Mr. Popwell managed to get something delivered. But you go on and take it, I don’t really need to know what’s happening outside of our little town.” Mrs. Mayhew held it out and Lucy took it, hesitating only a moment.
“Thank you. I’ll return it, I just need to see if there’s any use in writing to someone. I don’t even know when the post will run again, but if I don’t at least write the letters now, I’ll never get the resolve to do it again!” Lucy put the papers in her lap and dabbed at her tears again.
“I heard Mr. Popwell moaning earlier about how the delivery today didn’t take the post along with the payment. Something about a new law on how many stamps a letter must have, I think he said,” Mrs. Mayhew offered kindly. “So if you can get your strength up and write those letters tonight, he can send them off for you as soon as they come ‘round again.”
Lucy thanked her and left to go write. As she’d predicted, the notices she read in the paper nearly turned her stomach. This one only wanted a caretaker for his passel of children, another one implied he was tired of cooking and washing for himself. So many of them made claims of astonishing fortunes and land holdings that she wondered if any of them were true.
But then one caught her, one that was both genuine and humble, and seemed so perfect that she wondered if it hadn’t been placed before her by the Lord himself.
Cattle Rancher seeking a wife…
Utah rancher from a good family looking for a bride. Have no need of a washerwoman or a cook, but rather a wife to be my companion and helpmeet in life. Sizeable home with hired hands, so dignity and virtue will be safe. Please correspond.
There was no talk of helping in the fields, no promises of paying off one’s claim at the next harvest, no talk of one wife already dead and buried and leaving orphaned children… only a sincere request for someone to be by his side.
Lucy was intrigued, but wary. She was painfully keen that she knew little of the world, and worried that this might be nothing more than some fancy talk to entrap a naïve young lady, which she certainly was.
She circled it in pencil, intent on getting Mrs. Mayhew’s opinion on the matter the next day. Still, there was no harm in writing to the person who’d bothered to post the advertisement.
Dear Mr. Miller,
I’ve come upon your advertisement for a wife and I wish to introduce myself. I am Miss Lucy Jones, currently of Shortcrag, Nevada, and have resided at a boarding school since I was a child. I now tend to the students but will be leaving my position in the very near future.
Your advertisement was both uplifting and hopeful, and I wish to correspond further.
Yours sincerely,
Miss L. Jones
Lucy read and reread the words, becoming less sure about this decision at every turn. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to take Mrs. Mayhew up on her offer to stay with her? Or she could use the train fare the Aid Society had given her?
Her heart seemed to still in her chest as she realized those options were closed to her. She certainly couldn’t stay here, not with the empty school falling into ruin before her eyes each day. And how was traveling to a strange new city any less secure than marrying a man who actively sought a wife and could provide for her?
Quickly, she folded the paper and sealed it, then scrawled the address from the advertisement on the outside. She gathered some coins from the pouch Mrs. Alexander had given her, then slipped out the door to the mercantile. She left the coins and her letter along with a hastily scrawled note for Mr. Popwell, asking him to post it for her at his convenience.
Then there was nothing to do but wait.
It took all of her strength not to run back across the square several times that night to fetch her letter back. Lucy wanted to take it back, to grind the paper into dust and throw it in the fire, but she could not. There was no future here in Shortcrag, and if she didn’t get out now she would die here.
Chapter Nine
The letter arrived with no fanfare, no warning that it was about to disrupt Matthew’s life in any way. He’d retrieved the stack of correspondence while picking up a few items in town, something he usually did on a day when his mother and anyone else in the household wanted to make a day of it. After all, the trip to the town proper was not a short one, and it wasn’t worth anyone’s time if they couldn’t complete all of their errands.
That day, though, Matthew had needed specific supplies, nothing too large, so only saddled a horse for the journey. Genevieve reminded him to speak to their attorney just to see how things were going and to give him her best, and Gertie handed him a parcel to take with him for his midday supper.
The packet of letters was more than twice what it usually was, and in such a short time. Matthew had been to town only two weeks before, so the sight of so many pieces of mail both confused and alarmed him.
Then his heart sank. The advertisement, of course. He’d been laid up in the bed when he’d given his mother permission to post it, and now that he was up and about and busy with chores once again, he’d all but put it out of his mind.
“That’s quite a packet you got there,” the postman said as he slid the stack across the counter. “Shall I tie it up with twine for you?”
“Yes, thanks,” Matthew answered, still staring at it.
The postman deftly wound the bundle several times around with brown string and knotted it twice, then handed it back. “Take care not to lose any on your way home. Some of those look rather important.”
Matthew carried the large stack out and secured it in a saddlebag, then began making his way home. Along the way, realization struck: these must be responses from the ad his mother had placed for him.
Dread filled his stomach as he imagined his mother—and perhaps Gertie and the housemaids—poring over each letter, reading its contents aloud, pestering him to read this note or that one, h
ounding him until he made a choice.
He had half a mind to drop the whole bundle in the creek as he rode past, but he knew it would vex his mother to no end. She’d been saintly about not bringing up the advertisement or his hunt for a wife all this time, and the least he owed her was the knowledge that her efforts—and undoubtedly, her prayers—had not been for nothing.
“Oh, you’ve made it home in time for supper!” Genevieve called out as he approached the house. “Let me run let Gertie know!”
While Matthew tended to his horse and assembled his few packages to bring into the house, the offending stack of letters appeared in his bag. Once again he thought to hide it in the barn and deal with it at another time, but he knew that would never do.
He owed it to his mother to let her know.
“Here you go, Ma,” Matthew said, coming into the house and nodding at the cook. “I suppose you’ll want to read through these.”
Genevieve turned to look, then thumbed through the oversize pile. “Why Matthew, these are all addressed to you! I wouldn’t dream of intruding upon your correspondence!”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you took this on for now. I can’t even think about sorting through all of those, let alone reading them and giving some hopeful young lady the courtesy of a reply. I’ll be upstairs later if you see anything you like.”
“Son, these are for you,” his mother insisted firmly, and Gertie looked awkwardly between the two of them. Matthew smiled in Gertie’s direction to let her know everything was all right, but his mother pressed, “It would be terribly insulting to any of the authors of these letters if they were to learn that you passed their greeting off to me to sift through, discarding ones that I didn’t deem fit.”
“Yes, Ma. You’re right,” Matthew said with a sigh. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’ll take these upstairs.”
“Now hold on,” she replied, clutching the stack to her chest and looking innocent. “I didn’t say I cannot help you, only that I’m not going to make a determination. I would like to read them… but only if you need my help.”
He grinned, aware of his mother’s game. She so wished to not interfere, to not push herself into the household affairs, but at the same time, she was the mother of an eligible bachelor landowner. She was devoted to him and to this property, but also an incurable romantic.
“Of course, Mother. I desperately need your help. Do you think we could read some of them after dinner?” Matthew looked to the windows where the setting sun was still bright. “I do have a lot of work to finish.”
“That would be my pleasure! I’ll even whip us up a few cookies. We’ll make a small party of it!” Genevieve said brightly.
“A cattle call party?” Matthew said, but he noted the look of disappointment on the woman’s face and softened his tone. “I’m only funning you, it will be a pleasant evening, I’m sure of it.”
He turned to head back out to the barn, then remembered he had to put down some of the items he still carried in his pockets. He was both frightened and amused when he heard his mother’s cry.
“Oh Gertie! Just imagine! What if my daughter-in-law is waiting in this stack of letters!”
“Lawwd, Miz Miller, that’d just be a blessin’ on all of us, wouldn’t it? A wedding and a wife… and afore ya know it, a herd of young uns runnin’ us all wild! It’ll do my heart good!”
“Mine too, Gertie. I just hope somewhere in this whole pile there’s someone Matthew takes a liking to.”
He heard his mother coming near, so Matthew slipped out the door quickly, but not before smiling to himself. A wife and a family of his own… he didn’t suppose that would be too bad, at least not now that he’d heard the joy in both of those women’s voices.
After resolving himself to the notion that one of those letters may very well be from the future Mrs. Matthew Miller, it was hard to concentrate on his chores. More than once, Matthew walked into the barn to finish something or retrieve some tool, only to discover he couldn’t remember why he’d come. Several times, he dropped nails he’d been hammering or papers he’d been holding, and he would have to stop mid-task to fetch them back up.
This is hopeless. I can’t hold a thought in my head to save my life, and all because of this marriage nonsense! Matthew kicked at a stone bitterly before realizing just how childish he must look.
With a mixture of excitement and dread—excitement at getting the job over with, but dread at the thought of how this could completely up-end life on his ranch—Matthew eventually came into the house after washing up for supper. His mother wore a pained expression, one that belied her attempts at remaining calm and unruffled, while still wanting to tear into the pile of letters.
“Why Mother, is something the matter?” Matthew teased, casually striding over to the table and sitting down. “And where’s everyone else? Aren’t they joining us?”
“Oh, Gertie fed everyone outside as usual. I just thought perhaps you wouldn’t want everyone taking part while you thought over your options.” Genevieve sat down opposite her son at the oak table and smiled, waiting for him to enjoy his dinner.
Matthew looked down at his plate, then at his mother. “Aren’t you having supper?”
“I’ve already eaten. But you just take your time now. I know you’ve had a long day out there!”
Matthew sat back in his chair and sighed. He looked at his mother’s eager face and couldn’t help but grin. “Go get the letters, Mother. We can start on them while I eat.”
“Oh no, you need to rest for a moment,” she began, but at Matthew’s look, she hurried from the table. “All right, I’ll be right back with them!”
She returned an impossibly short time later with an odd-sorted stack and her glasses now perched on the end of her nose. She noticed Matthew’s confused frown, so explained, “I didn’t open any of them, I promise. I did sort them by postmark though, so you’d have a chance to read the letters from ladies who are already closer to this area first. Then, if none of those interest you, we’ll look further away.”
“Well, I suppose that does make a good deal of sense,” he agreed, reaching for the first letter she held out to him. “I’d hate to drag a creature all the way out here only for her to figure out she can’t stand the sight of me!”
“Now, son, I don’t like to hear that kind of talk,” Genevieve replied sternly, looking at Matthew over the tops of her glasses. “You are a wonderful man with outstanding prospects, and any woman would be blessed to have you. We won’t be deriding you any during the reading.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered sheepishly. “So who’s this first letter from?”
“You’ll have to open it to see!”
Matthew took another bite of his dinner then set down his fork to open the correspondence. He unfolded the paper and squinted at the writing before bringing the oil lamp closer and holding the paper at an angle.
“Well?” Genevieve prodded sweetly. “What does she say?”
“I can’t quite be sure, something about coming from a large family and having no eligible men in her town since she’s related to just about everybody. Next?”
Genevieve fought back a retort and handed over another letter. She waited through the same process again and again: read, summarize the contents in the briefest terms, and ask for another letter.
“None of these responses say anything hopeful? Anything genuine?” she asked as she handed over a fifth letter, then a sixth one.
“I can’t be sure what you mean, Mother. Are you talking about expressions of undying affection? Promises of love eternal?” Matthew scoffed. “How can anyone write something of that sort when they’re merely introducing themselves to a stranger?”
“Well, you may be right,” she said, “but then how will you choose someone to reply to?”
Matthew shrugged. “I don’t know. Just… just maybe see if their story intrigues me? If they have a good reason for leaving behind everything they’ve ever known and coming out her
e to meet a stranger?”
Genevieve smiled fondly. “Son, you keep forgetting that it’s exactly what your father and I had to do to buy this ranch. We left everything behind, and it was terrifying, to say the least. We came here not even knowing where we would sleep that first night! But now look around you at everything we built, and everything you’ve done to improve upon it.”
“You’re right, I know it,” he admitted in a quiet voice.
“Perhaps it’s only that you’ve never had to face that kind of uncertainty. You’ve never known what it’s like to wake up in a bed that might not be there tomorrow, or to scrounge for a meal while making sure to leave enough for the other bellies to fill. Now don’t look at me like that,” she chided, putting her hands up defensively. “I’m not being critical or saying you’ve never had a care in the world. But son, think of the kind of person who would reply to an ad from a man they’d never met, one who would never lay eyes on their family before they were wed. The situation must not be ideal, you have to know that.”
A Love Defying The Odds (Historical Western Romance) Page 7
