While all the men in the family play at least one instrument, Moses plays the guitar, mandolin, banjo, fiddle, and harmonica. He also sings beautifully. He’s often called on to play at church, socials, and square dances.
“I’m envious of the opportunity to attend socials.” Magnolia lifted her skirt and spun in a circle. “I’ve never been to a dance.”
“Me, neither.” Bethany smoothed her skirt. “Nor have I attended a social where there were any single men under the age of fifty in attendance.”
Magnolia tapped her finger along her cheek. “Mrs. Shelby has a photo of Memphis and her new family taken at her wedding. When we get back, let’s ask her if we can look at it again. I’d like to see if we can determine which brother is Moses.”
“I confess I looked at it again this morning.” Bethany felt heat rise from her neck to the roots of her hair. “All the men in the photo appear to take after their father. They’re tall with dark hair and eyes. Memphis Rose looks so tiny standing next to them in the picture.”
“What else does she say?” Magnolia nodded toward the paper.
Moses is the third son of six siblings. Molly is the oldest, then Mike, Matthew, Moses, John-Mark, and the youngest son is Malachi. Their baby sister, Maggie, was adopted into the family when she was four. She and the youngest brother work with my father-in-law in his blacksmithing business.
Bethany peered up from the paper. “Memphis shared in other correspondence that the youngest sister adds beautiful designs to the wrought-iron pieces. Her father and brother do most of the hammering, but she often takes part in some of the more detailed work.”
“I wish I possessed a special talent. I can’t carry a tune, play an instrument, draw, or anything.” Magnolia added more vegetables to her basket.
“Don’t be silly. You’re a culinary artist.” Bethany waved her hand toward the basket, now filled with assorted vegetables.
Magnolia broke into a slow grin. “A culinary artist? That sounds much more interesting than cook.” She nodded toward the paper. “Did Moses write as well?”
“Just a few paragraphs. I’ll read them to you.” Bethany cleared her throat.
Dear Miss Brady,
It seems strange to introduce myself by letter. But since we are unlikely to meet otherwise, please allow me the opportunity. My name is Moses Jeremiah Montgomery. My friends call me Moe. I am twenty-nine-years-old and own the livery stable with two of my brothers. We recently expanded our business to include carpentry and raising horses.
Although I enjoy reading, I find it difficult to put pen to paper. I hope that will not be a deterrence in getting to know you better. I will do my best to communicate honestly.
Magnolia nodded. “The good news is you won’t have to wonder if he’s a man of good character. Memphis wouldn’t suggest you write to him if she didn’t think he would be a good match.”
“True,” Bethany cleared her throat and continued.
Memphis tells me that we have music in common. After a hard day’s work, I enjoy relaxing and playing a few tunes. My favorite instrument is the banjo, and a close second is the violin.
I was impressed to learn that you taught yourself to play the fiddle. We are fortunate that my father, a man of many talents, shared his gift of music. As children, we learned to play the violin, guitar, and banjo by sitting at his feet.
I’m a God-fearing man, love my family, and attend church regularly. My sister-in-law, Memphis, speaks highly of you, and I would be honored if you would choose to respond to my letter.
Magnolia wound a lock of hair around her finger. “He sounds nice. What do you think? Will you write to him?”
“I’m seriously considering it. There are a couple of things I found interesting in his response to the questionnaire. It makes me think he’s a bit of a prankster.” Bethany turned the page over and read.
Moses enjoys reading and recently expanded his horizons and read works by Jane Austen, Shakespeare, and other poets. He admits they were not books he enjoyed. He did mention a poem by Robert Browning he found interesting called, ‘The Pied Piper.’
Magnolia straightened. “Isn’t that the story Mrs. Shelby asked us not to read to the children?”
“Yes. If I recall correctly, it’s based on an old German legend. The piper rid the town of rats, enticing them away with music. When the town refused to pay, he lured the children away as well. Although the moral of the story is a good one, we should keep our promises.”
“What an awful story.” Magnolia scowled. “Keep your promises, or some crazy man with a flute will play a tune and lead your children away.”
Bethany ran her finger along the bottom of the page. “—which, when you combine it with another answer, I believe he must be joking.”
“Which question?” Magnolia pulled on a lock of hair.
“He said his greatest fear is being stung by a swarm of bees.”
Chapter 6
“The world is plentiful with honey, but only the humble bee can collect it.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson, Philosopher, and Poet
Moses Montgomery made long strides from the livery toward Maggie’s house. With a deep breath, he paused at the gate of the picket fence and stared at the two-storied Victorian with bay windows.
His mouth lifted at the sight of his sister’s handiwork—a hand-forged garden bench with a swirled heart design nestled next to a large oak tree. A soft breeze brought a blended aroma of rosemary, mint, and lavender from her herb garden planted amongst brick pavers.
He passed the entrance to Maggie’s husband’s and father-in-law’s medical practice and tapped on the front door. Placing his hand over his vest pocket, his stomach twisted in knots. Never one to put pen to paper, it would be challenging to sit and write a letter. But he hadn’t figured on it being impossible. Thankfully, Maggie offered to help.
The door opened to Maggie’s five-foot-one-inch frame. Her face framed in blond curls broke into a smile. “You have perfect timing. I just made coffee. Come on back to the kitchen and enjoy a cup.”
Moses followed his sister past the fancy dining room through the swinging door to the kitchen. The morning sun poured through the window above the sink, giving the room a cheerful appearance. Moses filled two cups while Maggie retrieved a basket of muffins. “No remarks about the shapes. They taste fine.”
“You won’t hear me complain.” Moses reached for a lopsided muffin and chuckled.
Maggie sighed and attempted unsuccessfully to cross her arms over her rounded belly. “I suppose it’s silly since it doesn’t affect the taste. But I really would like it if just one time my baked goods looked as good as they tasted. Did you bring Miss Brady’s letter?”
“I did.” Moses removed an envelope from his vest pocket. “I enjoyed reading it. But every time I try to write a reply, it’s as though the words get stuck in my head. I can’t put my thoughts on paper. How about reading it and tell me what you think?’
“I’d love to.” Maggie removed the letter from the envelope.
Dear Mr. Montgomery,
Thank you for your letter. I look forward to getting to know you better through correspondence. I am twenty-seven years old and have lived on my family’s farm in Collier, Tennessee, since birth. My mother and brothers passed away during a measles epidemic when I was an infant. Several years later, my father wishing for a new start headed west to take advantage of the Homestead Act.
Maggie rested her hand over her throat. “I feel as though we have a lot in common already. It’s terrible to think of how many people lost their lives to the disease.”
“I’m sorry, sis. In my worry about responding, I didn’t consider this might be painful for you since you lost your family to measles as well.”
“Losing a loved one is a difficult thing, but I’m thankful for the family God provided.” Maggie smoothed the paper and cleared her throat.
My father eventually settled in Nebraska. In 1873, he obtained additional land through the Timber Culture Act, which require
d him to plant trees on 40 of the allotted 160 acres. Although his original intention was to send for me, after more than ten years of separation, he wrote to say he felt I’d be better off remaining in Tennessee with my grandparents.
“It would be difficult for a single man to raise a child even in the best of circumstances. Adding the responsibility of living on the frontier trying to meet the demands of making a claim would make it seem impossible.” Moses shook his head. “Even so, I can’t imagine leaving my family behind.”
Maggie’s brow furrowed. “Logically, it makes sense, but I agree. I feel so fortunate that we’re all within an easy distance. I couldn’t bear moving away from all of you. I certainly can’t imagine leaving a child behind.”
“From her letter and from what Memphis says, Bethany seems to have been blessed with excellent grandparents.” Moses pointed at the paragraph and read:
My grandparents are wonderful people. They have a farm that borders the children’s home. Although we raise livestock and have an enormous garden, my grandfather’s cash crop is honey. I enjoy working with him in that effort.
“At some point, are you going to tell her about your aversion to bees? I feel certain Miss Brady knows many who have been a victim to a bee’s vengeance. She’s probably received her share of stings as well.” Maggie raised one eyebrow.
“I read that honeybees don’t attack unless they feel threatened. The colony that invaded Mr. Alston’s barn sure misinterpreted our initial introduction. I don’t feel the need to bring it up in our correspondence. Besides, it’s not as though she can bring the bees with her if she decides to come.” Moses rubbed his arm at the memory. “Why don’t you read the next paragraph?”
For the last few months, I’ve attempted to fill in for your sister-in-law as a teacher at the orphanage. Although I enjoy my time with the students, I find that I lack the necessary disciplinary skills. My grandmother says because my grandfather indulged me as a child, I don’t know the meaning of the word. My grandfather counters with, “You were an exemplary child who was ready and willing to please; therefore, you did not require a heavy hand.” Perhaps the truth is somewhere in the middle?
“Sounds like she’s the apple of her grandfather’s eye, doesn’t it?” Moses chuckled.
“It certainly does. She probably had a lot easier time living with her grandparents than she would have in Nebraska Territory. Think about how much more lenient Mama and Papa are with the grandchildren than they were with us.” Maggie turned the page over and continued.
While I struggle with the morning sessions teaching reading and writing, I find I can keep some semblance of order by rewarding the children and taking them outside for the occasional lesson. On a recent excursion, the children watched my grandfather harvest honey.
He is a favorite during our afternoon music lessons as well. Most of the girls enjoy taking piano and singing lessons from another teacher, which left me with a roomful of boys from ages five to thirteen.
Maggie’s blue-green eyes crinkled with a smile. “I can certainly relate to struggling to keep the attention of young students. I have the hardest time with my small Sunday School class. For the most part, they’re well behaved little girls. I can’t imagine trying to keep the attention of a roomful of boys.”
Moses leaned forward. “Then you won’t be surprised by the next couple of paragraphs. Read on, sis.”
I confess I was at my wit’s end to teach them anything until we made use of some hollowed-out gourds to make banjos, albeit primitive ones. Since that time, our afternoon attendance has increased to include many young girls as well.
They were content, and most were progressing nicely until my grandfather joined our small band and played his mouth harp. Many of my younger students, already enamored with my grandfather’s beekeeping skills, thought the vibration and buzzing sound was worth replicating. Having no harp, they used their hands, then, unfortunately, moved on to making noises with their armpits. The afternoon class ended abruptly.
Moses’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Although we wouldn’t dare act up in class, for fear Pa would hear of it. I could see Matthew and me doing something like that in the same situation. Read on, sis.”
When I’m not teaching, I enjoy working in the garden alongside my grandfather. I also love baking with my grandmother. As far as literature goes, we are fortunate to have access to the children’s home library. I enjoy reading, and my favorite book is whichever one I have in hand. Though I find it challenging to choose one, a few of my favorites are “Pilgrim’s Progress,” “Treasure Island,” and “Little Women.”
It’s also challenging to choose one color. My favorite colors can be found on a bright summer day. Blue sky, green grass, golden wheat, and honey come to mind.
“She has a way of painting a picture with her words.” Maggie met Moses's gaze.
“That’s why I’m going to need your help writing the response.” Moses tapped his forehead. “I feel like if I can answer out loud without stopping to write it down, I can go into more detail. I don’t want her to be disappointed when I write back.”
“Of course, I’ll be glad to help.” Maggie nodded, then turned the last page.
I am neat, like to plan, and enjoy knowing what to expect. I’ve given considerable thought to the question about my biggest fear. Perhaps this is not unusual, but I don’t like mice, snakes, or dark places. But since the word fear seems to indicate anxiety, frankly, I worry that one day I will be an eccentric old woman living alone with only her cats and honeybees to keep her company.
“Sometimes, I feel the same way, except I’ll be an ornery old cuss sitting around the livery and spinning tall tales to pass the time. And of course, there will be no room for cats or bees.” Moses reached for the letter. “The last paragraph is why I know Miss Brady is going to keep me on my toes.”
I found your remark about Robert Browning’s poem thought-provoking. Can you tell me what in particular you enjoy about the piece?
I hope I haven’t bored you with the details of my rather ordinary life. I look forward to continuing our correspondence.
Sincerely,
Miss Bethany Phoebe Brady
Maggie’s eyes widened. “Perhaps Malachi was right to caution you about referring to The Pied Piper as a work you enjoy. Secretly, I was hoping you’d pick another work by Jane Austen.”
“Not a chance.” Moses grinned. “I told you I learned my lesson. But I have an idea in response to this letter and would like your opinion. I already talked to Memphis, and she said she thought Bethany would be thrilled. Mike and Matthew agreed to help me make some jaw harps for her class.”
“That’s so considerate. What’s the question?”
“Since I’ll be spending quite a few hours making the instruments, it will give me an excuse just to drop her a few lines this time. I was hoping you could help me by writing out my responses to the rest of this letter. That’ll give me some time to copy things out in my own handwriting.”
Chapter 7
“Honeybees don’t sleep. Instead they spend their nights motionless, conserving energy for the next day’s activities.” – Miss Bethany Brady, Beekeeper and Substitute Teacher, Counting Stars Children’s Home.
Mr. Brady clucked at his horses and pulled the wagon to a stop. The two-story, white framed general store showed clean and bright in the morning sun. “Unless you ladies want to go with me to the livery stable, I’ll meet you back here in about an hour.”
“I believe we’ll deprive ourselves of the stables this time.” Bethany’s skirt swooshed, and she exited the wagon. She met her grandfather’s grin and waved as he drove away. “I don’t know why, but I’m nervous about this.” Bethany smoothed the fitted bodice of her new two-piece dress in a cobalt blue and joined her friend, Magnolia, on the boardwalk.
“Maybe we should have gone with your grandfather to the livery. If you and Moses decide to get married, it will behoove you to accustom yourself to the aroma of the stable.”
“I’ll never understand why you have such a low opinion of yourself. You’re a lovely young woman.” Magnolia scowled
Bethany pulled the strings of her reticule. “One reason is that I’m head and shoulders taller than my friends and most of the other women of my acquaintance. It makes me feel different and awkward.”
Magnolia scrunched her freckled face and pulled on a strand of curly hair. Once released, it sprang back into a coil. “I suppose we always want something we can’t have. But honestly, if there were a way to choose, I would certainly rather be tall than have curly hair.”
“I love your curls. But you’re right. Today let’s choose to embrace our unique qualities. After all, when was the last time either of us bought a new dress? I certainly have never had my photograph taken.” Bethany squared her shoulder and stared at the advertisement for photography services in the store window.
“Agreed.” Magnolia looped her arm in the crook of Bethany’s and pulled her along the boardwalk. “Let’s get this over with, and then I promised your grandmother we would see if the mercantile has received the new shipment of fabric. It’s past time you started working on adding some things to your hope chest.”
“You mean my hopeless chest?”
“As many letters and packages going back and forth between here and Texas, I would say it’s not hopeless at all.”
“I hope you’re right.” Bethany studied the large picture window display of tin signs advertising tobacco, cigars, and the hours of the photographer. She followed Magnolia through the double doors and blinked until her eyes became adjusted to the dark room. Quick taps of boots sounded on the wooden floor, and the mercantile owner’s rotund figure appeared. “Good morning, ladies.”
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