“I do,” he agreed, sighing again. “I suppose that’s what I’m fearful of. What if all these girls are just trying to run away from somewhere instead of trying to build a home here?”
Genevieve reached for Matthew’s hand across the table and beamed. “Son, that will be your purpose. It will be up to you to make this a home for her. Whomever you choose to answer, she’s done her part already just by taking a chance on you.”
Matthew was thoughtful for a moment, then he nodded. He stood up and gathered the letters carefully, and said, “You’re right, of course. And I know for sure that I haven’t given this the proper attention. But you have opened my eyes, Mother. I have some very serious reading to do, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course. Take your time,” she answered gently, looking up at him and beaming proudly. “This is a serious undertaking, but I know you’re up to it.”
Matthew left the room and headed to his private study where he spread the letters out on the desk, taking care to keep them in some semblance of the order his mother had first created. He stared at them for a long time, feeling almost reverent about them now.
Lord, you know the woman this family needs… that I need. If it’s your will, put it on my heart and guide my answer to her.
Chapter Ten
Lucy awoke each morning with a feeling of dread, wondering if this would be the day she learned the awful fate of the children, of them all. Each day felt like an immense pendulum swinging from a terrible clock, a heavy weight that made the hours race faster and her time with her little family come to an end.
Still, she pressed on as best she could. There were suppers to cook, skinned knees to tend to, memories to form in their little minds of better days. Lucy fell into bed each night weary from the effort of smiling and being brave for them, even after telling them the sad news.
Through it all, there in the back of her mind, were thoughts of the letter she’d received. She hadn’t opened it, but there was only one possibility if the name Tuckerrise, Utah meant anything.
He’d written to her. It had to be him, the man she’d responded to in a weak moment of desperation. She felt like a cad now for having thrown herself at him without thinking it through, and in all honesty, she could scarcely remember what she’d put on the page.
When it had first arrived three days ago, Lucy had only felt confusion for the first few moments. She never received any correspondence since, after all, every single living being she knew lived within shouting distance of her room.
Then suddenly, panic set in as she remembered. She had half a mind to fling the offending letter in the rubbish bin and be done with it, but something stopped her. Was it the knowledge that at any moment she could be alone in the world? The feeling that her world was slowly turning upside down, and this letter represented the hope of righting herself someday?
Whatever it was that made her do it, Lucy had brought the letter home in her apron pocket and placed it on the pie safe in the kitchen. She didn’t have to see it, but she could still feel its presence burning into her every time she passed that room.
The agony of not knowing finally got the best of her. Lucy took the letter down from its place and sat at the kitchen table, looking over the script on the outside by the glow of the lamp. Its loops and scrawls spoke volumes, telling the tale of a person who was both well-educated but hurried. It looked as if the person who’d addressed the letter knew the proper way to form his letters but had little patience to practice the style at the moment.
In an odd way, that thought made Lucy smile. Perhaps he’d received her letter and been in such haste to reply that he couldn’t be bothered with the years of penmanship he’d obviously learned. But then her brief elation turned to concern. What if he was truly like the other men who’d posted an ad, overworked and looking only for someone to help shoulder the burden of tiresome work?
Stop it, Lucy Jones. You’ve judged the man without so much as reading his reply!
Lucy peeled back the paper carefully and opened the letter like one who was trying to contain a jar full of evil spirits. One wrong move would send the man’s thoughts flying through the house, never to be restored. She laid the paper out flat on the oilcloth that covered the table and smoothed its creases with her hand.
Then she began to read.
To Miss Jones,
I hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits. I am pleased that you answered my advertisement and felt your letter portrayed you in a most favorable light.
It was a very good beginning, Lucy decided with a relieved sigh.
As stated, I am a landowner in Tuckerrise, Utah. The work of being a cattle rancher is difficult at times, but I have been blessed with the aid of my family and several ranch hands. I am a temperate man who does not take to drink, nor do I have any vices that would be displeasing. To my dismay, I find myself in good stead to be married but alas, there are so few marriageable women of good character and gentle nature in the region.
I wish to continue corresponding with you, if it pleases you, that we might become better acquainted. I would never be so callous as to demand an answer immediately—certainly not on a matter as important as marriage—but rest assured that my aim is to find a wife in due course. If marriage is also your intention, then I hope to receive another letter from you straight away.
Sincerely,
M. Miller
So there it was, right there on the page and swimming before her tear-filled eyes. This man sought a wife, and Lucy sought… she knew not what, but it wouldn’t be here for her in Shortcrag. Soon enough, there wouldn’t be so much as a roof over her bed or food in her belly, yet here was the first thing that seemed like a hopeful opportunity to come along in forever.
Lucy retrieved a piece of paper and a pencil from the classroom across the wide hallway, then sat back down to reply.
To Mr. Miller,
Thank you for the courtesy of your quick reply. I had not thought to receive word from you so soon.
I, too, am of marriageable age but there are no men in our little outpost save a septuagenarian shopkeeper and a handful of others who are already married. I’ll admit that I had not thought to answer such an advertisement as yours, but I am assured by those whose counsel I trust that excellent matches have been made in this way.
It pleases me to learn that you avoid vices, but do not be alarmed at admitting the life of a rancher is arduous. I am accustomed to hard work and have no intention of shirking my responsibilities in life. I have no experience with cattle myself, but can imagine that it requires a great deal of effort.
I would be most pleased to receive a response from you, if that is not too bold of me to admit at this early stage in our acquaintance.
Sincerely,
Miss L. Jones
Once again, Lucy hurried across the open square and deposited the letter at Mr. Popwell’s before she could change her mind. All the way back to the school, she dragged the leather toes of her shoes in the dust, wondering what she might have said differently in her reply.
She carried on with her tasks for several more days, giving little thought to any hope of a letter. With the far bigger dread of seeing Mrs. Alexander arrive on her doorstep, any thoughts of a message for her were fleeting.
Until the day it finally happened.
Nearly two weeks had gone by, and one morning shortly after Lucy had sent the children out to get some fish from the creek for their dinner, a sharp rapping at the front door of the schoolhouse startled her. She froze in place, already knowing who must be waiting on the other side.
She took a moment to look around the kitchen, wiping her hands on a flour sack before smoothing her apron and brushing back a few stray tendrils of hair. She was grateful the children were out and would not be a witness to what was sure to be her wretched display of unchecked emotion.
“Mrs. Alexander,” Lucy said quietly when she opened the door. The stern-faced woman met her gaze. “Do come in.”
“T
hat won’t be necessary,” the woman replied, gesturing to an older man in a brown suit who waited behind her. “I’ve come to collect the children, please send them out at once.”
“They’re… they’re not here. They’re fishing at the moment,” she answered, trying to keep her voice steady.
“I see. Well, that will give you a chance to gather their belongings.” Mrs. Alexander turned and held out her hand to the man, who hurried forward and handed her some burlap sacks. “These will suffice for their personal effects.”
Lucy took the bundle of sacks and nodded, then turned to go up the stairs. She wept inconsolably as she put each child’s spare clothes or poppet or toy in their bags, then tied them shut with a cord. She wrote each child’s name in ink on a scrap of cloth and fastened them to the bags, then paused.
Sitting down on the top of the stairs in full view of a disapproving Mrs. Alexander, Lucy carefully wrote on each cloth, “I will love you forever, Lucy.”
When she’d composed herself somewhat, Lucy gathered up the sacks and carried them in her arms down the stairs. Intent on handing them to the woman carefully, Lucy cringed when the man darted forward and took them from her roughly.
“I’ll… I’ll just go fetch the children,” she began, but Mrs. Alexander shook her head.
“Mr. Lowery will retrieve them. The last thing we need is any hysterical crying over them. They should be grateful for their room and board all these years and even more grateful that we’ve thought to provide for their futures. Instead, I have a suspicion that your presence will only cause them to blubber like mewling kittens. I don’t intend to listen to their whining all the way to Carson.”
“I can’t… I can’t tell them goodbye?” Lucy asked, her heart crumbling inside her chest.
“I should think not. You were merely their caretaker, after all, and any display of clingy longing would be unseemly.” Mrs. Alexander frowned at Lucy then cocked her head at Mr. Lowery. “Do find the children and bring them back here at once.”
The short-statured man nodded and scurried away, leaving Lucy to face Mrs. Alexander alone. She fought back her tears as best she could, but there was nothing to be done about the hitch in her breath as she tried to speak.
Finally, she could bear it no more. Lucy turned and went through the house, racing to the back door behind the empty storeroom. She broke through, ignoring the harsh sound of the vile woman who was barking her name, then fell into a run towards the children. She quickly overtook Mr. Lowery and sprinted the rest of the way.
“Lucy! Lucy, look what I caught!” Jeremiah said, proudly holding up a decent-sized catfish.
“Children! Listen to me!” she began, panting for breath. “She’s here. The lady is here to take you to… to your new homes. I had to come say goodbye!”
“But I don’t want to go!” Annie said, her usual hard exterior crumbling with this information. Betty reached for Annie’s hand as though already afraid they would be separated.
“I know, my precious girl. And I don’t want you to go,” Lucy said, smiling through her tears. “But you must. Be brave and be strong, and be the good children I know you to be. Promise me that much!”
The children nodded, and the two older boys instinctively put their arms around the others. Lucy enveloped them all in her grasp, brushing the tears from their faces while ignoring her own.
Mr. Lowery coughed politely behind her. Lucy turned and saw that he’d caught up to them and was waiting to bring the children away. She stood up, hugged each child in turn, and bade them goodbye.
When they were no longer in her sight, Lucy fell to the ground beside the creek bank, letting her grief consume her. The tears ran freely, and for once she was grateful for the solitude of this empty little town. There would be no one to stumble upon her misery, no need to save face and put on a brave front.
Hours passed it seemed, and finally Lucy pushed herself up from where she’d lain in the grass. She stood tall, the light-headedness of crying causing her nearly to stumble. She crept back to the school amidst the hope that Mrs. Alexander had had a change of heart, or that perhaps kindly-looking Mr. Lowery had intervened.
It was not to be. The schoolhouse was empty, and Lucy was all alone.
* * *
In the darkness outside the saloon, a man sat hunched on a barrel, biding his time. Loud shouts from inside almost drowned out the bright piano music and laughter from some of the women. It didn’t take long before a lone figure stumbled out of the open door and made his way down the steps to the road.
“You there,” the man called out, and the drunken cowboy stopped in his tracks. His hand automatically went to his hip, feeling for his revolver. “Nah, keep yer hands down, it’s just me.”
Blinking at the bright lights of the saloon as he turned to look back, the drunk smiled. “Hey there! What’re you doin’ up this way?”
“I’ve come to see you home, make sure you got on okay. How much do ya figure you lost tonight?” the first man inquired.
“Well, too much, I know that! Blackjack just ain’t my game, I reckon.” He wobbled a little as he tried to plant his feet and stand straighter, and the first man made ready to catch him before he could land face down in the dirt.
“Let’s go. You got a boxcar full of problems now,” the first man said, looking over the drunk’s shoulder and seeing a pair of gamblers in the doorway. “From the looks of it, you got some more debts to pay.”
“That’s just too bad for them! I’m all dried up.”
“Here. You take a seat over that way, I’ll smooth things over here.” He dropped the drunk on the barrel he’d just vacated and sauntered over to the other card players. “Can I help you fellers?”
“Yer friend there owes us some money. He can’t just up and leave without paying out the house,” one of them replied. The other simply nodding while cracking his knuckles and looking menacing.
“I’ll spot him the money. How much is it?” The man reached into his vest pocket and pulled out some bills, then counted them off when he learned the amount. He handed them over and smiled sheepishly, “Now I hope this settles things, right? We don’t want no trouble.”
“No trouble at all… least now that the money’s there. Tell him to come back around next week and we’ll see if he’s any better at poker!” one of the men said, laughing.
“Will do. Thank you kindly for being so understanding.” The man headed over to his friend and hoisted him to his feet. He made sure the others were out of earshot when he said, “You just cost me a pretty penny, you know that? Yer lucky I think your teeth belong in yer head… at least, the ones you got left. Come on. I got a plan for how you’re gonna pay me back, but it won’t do no good to talk about it til you’re sober.”
Chapter Eleven
Genevieve delicately slathered fresh butter on a wedge of cornbread and watched her son out of the corner of her eye. Matthew ignored her glances at first, but finally he couldn’t help himself.
“You’re awfully quiet this morning, Ma. Is something the matter?” he asked politely.
Genevieve shook her head, but then shrugged. “No. I mean, not unless there was a matter you wanted to discuss, that is.”
Matthew pondered his answer and came to the conclusion that this could very well be the last moment of peace he ever had in his life. What he was about to reveal was of such magnitude that there would be no reining it back in once his words unleashed it.
He set down his knife and fork, took a deep breath, and began, “I’ve received another letter from—”
“—that girl in Nevada!” his mother finished excitedly, flinging down her cornbread so hard it bounced from her plate. “Your uncle told me he saw it in the mail when he brought it back from town! Tell me now, how many letters is this so far? What’s she like? Does she have family out here?”
Matthew blinked in surprise, still taken aback by his mother’s eager assault. He stammered softly for a moment, then attempted to answer her questions. He strug
gled with how to respond, only to find that each answer he gave her only brought a new query.
“Well, Ma, she has written several times now—” he began, but Genevieve wasn’t swayed by such a vague answer.
“Several times? As in, three or four? Or more than that? Let’s see, how long’s it been since you placed that ad… no, there wouldn’t have been time for her to write more than four times…”
“And she seems like a very pleasant young lady—”
“What do you mean by pleasant? Is she not very forthcoming with her answers?” his mother asked, growing concerned. “Or do you mean that she’s nice but reserved? Remember, do not be put off if she isn’t very responsive, you can hardly expect a girl to say much in a letter…”
A Love Defying The Odds (Historical Western Romance) Page 8
