Her mother sighed as though she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Macie was glad for the dark as it hid her amused grin. She found her aunt’s attempts to marry Lorna off far funnier than when Aunt Jane’s attentions were focused on Macie herself.
The rest of the ride was made in near silence, Aunt Jane’s occasional sighing notwithstanding. Because the hour was late, there was no need for anyone to linger for polite conversation downstairs. They all trudged up to their boudoirs where Trudy, their lone lady’s maid, helped them each to undress and prepare for bed in turn.
In her nightgown and tucked between the covers, Macie abandoned all pretenses and let herself truly consider the idea of being a mail-order bride. There were so many aspects to consider that her brain kept darting from one thought to another.
What sort of man might she find on the other end of these ads? And what sort of woman was he expecting? How would she know a genuine groom from a snake who wanted to trick her into leaving all her friends and family behind, only to force her into something horrible?
It seemed ludicrous that Macie might really go west to marry a stranger. And yet, one thought kept drawing her back into the foolhardy scheme: What if she married a man from Elmswood? Oh, he didn’t have to be exactly from Elmswood.
If she could find a husband in the general vicinity, he would pay for her ticket back to Texas. Surely it wouldn’t be too much to ask for a chance to visit her family’s old homestead? But would a lifetime commitment be worth a free ticket back home?
A quiet tap sounded on Macie’s door just before it cracked open and Lorna came tiptoeing inside. The two women had been sneaking back and forth across the hall for late-night whispered conversations since the first night Macie had moved to Connecticut. Automatically, Macie slid over and pulled the coverlet back so her cousin could be comfortable as they talked.
“I brought something to show you,” Lorna whispered as she wriggled into the warmth. “It’s a magazine with mail-order bride ads.”
Macie turned up the lamp at her bedside and leaned close, her heart pounding excitedly.
“’A hard-working, attractive, church-going bachelor, age 38, desires to correspond with a Christian woman of similar age, object matrimony,’” Lorna read in a nervous whisper. “He’s from Oklahoma.”
Macie bit her lower lip. She’d been so bold when she was imagining herself answering these ads. Simply reading them, though, made her stomach quiver nervously. Surely, she’d never get up the courage to actually write one of these men.
But, as days went by and Lorna brought her more and more ads, all nervousness slipped away. Lorna chose half a dozen likely candidates and sent off letters within the first week. Macie was impressed by her cousin’s daring resolve. She was also glad to learn that Lorna had put her return address as general post. This meant she’d have to walk to the local post office and ask for her mail, but it wouldn’t be delivered to the house where Aunt Jane might see.
The first of Lorna’s return letters came and she read it with much squealing to Macie in bed late that night. The two young women talked it over at length, trying to read between the lines. The second suitor sent a photograph of himself and Lorna debated his best features at length.
As the weeks went by, Macie began to doubt she’d ever find someone from the Elmswood part of Texas. Maybe there were enough women there that men weren’t looking to bring in wives from the east. Her memories didn’t reveal any particular female deficit and she began to tentatively consider broadening her horizons.
And then, one day in February, she came across an ad from a young man in Elmswood itself!
“Lorna!” she cried, glad that her aunt was out of the house for the morning. “Lorna, look at this!”
Macie flew across the parlor to where her cousin sat, carefully penning a letter to one of her potential grooms-to-be.
“What? You made me smear my ink,” Lorna scolded mildly.
“Look here in the Marriage Courier,” Macie held out the magazine dedicated to helping men find their brides. “Here’s someone in Elmswood looking for a wife! ‘A bachelor, aged 22, wishes to correspond with a young lady with a view of matrimony, ages 18-24. Must be adventurous.’”
Lorna clutched the newsprint pages, needing to read the words for herself. “Sure enough, the address is the Elmswood, Texas post office. Why do you think he wants an ‘adventurous’ wife?”
Macie’s stomach clenched, but whether it was with excitement or nerves, she didn’t bother to analyze. Was this the advertisement she’d been hoping for? Could the man on the other end be her husband-to-be?
Chapter 5
March, 1885 - Elmswood, Texas
Over at the counter, Belle Nelson flirted loudly with another local youth, glancing up through her long eyelashes periodically to see if Blake was watching. He wasn’t.
Inwardly, Blake sighed. Ignoring Belle’s attempts to make him jealous was no difficult thing. Unfortunately, though, his advertisement had garnered no responses since he’d sent it off almost three months ago. As each day passed without any letters arriving for him at the post office, the reality that Belle might be his only option for matrimony pressed harder.
Just after Christmas, Blake had worked up his nerve to send off the ad that he and Iver Kennedy had carefully written. Once the letter was posted and there was no taking it back, the tall youth had calculated just how long he should wait before reasonably expecting a response. If it took his ad a week to reach the newspaper office, another week to be published, two weeks to be considered and chosen, then one more week for a reply…. He’d told himself he wouldn’t even think about it until mid-February. But February had come and gone and still no letters from willing candidates had arrived. Now March was, well, marching by.
“All right, I think we’ve got everything on your pa’s list,” said Mr. Nelson. Red-faced and always sweating, the middle-aged man used one hand to wipe his face with a handkerchief and the other to pat at his round belly.
“Thanks. He’ll settle up with you when he’s in town next.” Blake gave the mercantile owner a nod and moved towards the back door.
Out of the blue, one of Mr. Nelson’s beefy hands snagged Blake’s arm.
“Any chance you’re able to stay for supper? My wife is a good cook, you know. And Belle would be real happy to have you for a guest,” Mr. Nelson beamed in a fatherly manner.
Swallowing awkwardly, Blake felt his ears grow hot. It was bad enough that Belle kept after him; now she had her father getting involved!
“Er, I’m expected at home. Thank you kindly for the offer.” Blake tipped his hat and all but ran out to the loading area.
He loaded the wagon with more haste than usual, eager to avoid a certain aggressive brunette. How embarrassing would it be to have Belle come out and ask why he’d refused her father’s invitation? His ears were hot just thinking about it. Things grew even more complicated with each passing week of no responses to his ad. He was dying to get his hands on his granddad’s letter. Would he even be willing to marry Belle Nelson to get it?
It was a short drive to the small post office tucked away inside the local stage coach depot. Blake sat in the wagon seat a moment longer than normal, daring to lift up the tiniest prayer that he’d finally have an answer waiting for him.
“Please, God, let some decent girl be willing to marry me,” he whispered before climbing down.
Inside the stage office was cool and dim. Packages were piled up behind the counter, ready to be sent off on the next coach to San Antonio. The benches were empty, Blake noted, which suggested that it would be some time before another stage coach was expected.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bradfield,” called tiny Mrs. Oak. She bustled to the counter from her desk and then blinked up at him from behind her round spectacles. “Are you here for the ranch’s mail?”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Blake automatically.
“Just give me one minute.” She turned to the dozens of slots behind
her and ran her hand over the brass numbers before stopping and plucking a small stack of envelopes out. “Here we are.”
Forcing himself not to flip through them then and there, Blake took them as casually as possible and nodded his thanks. He kept his stride even as he left the building and hauled himself up into the wagon seat. Then and only then did he read each recipient carefully.
“Pa… Pa… Mama…” He read each name with growing disappointment until only one envelope was left. Not daring to hope, Blake pulled it out and his heart nearly stopped. “’Mr. B. Bradfield,’” he whispered, heart pounding. His eyes flew to the return address and saw that it was from a Miss Sheldon.
Grinning broadly, Blake released the brake and clucked to the horses. There was no doubt about it: this was a response to his ad! It had to be. He didn’t know anyone with the last name of Sheldon who’d be writing to him. Of course, now that he thought about it, it was a familiar name. It occurred to him vaguely that there had been some Sheldons around Elmswood at some point or another.
Once out of town, he found a shady spot and drew the horses to a halt before tearing the envelope open with much enthusiasm. He tugged out the letter and his eyes flew over the neat handwriting.
Dear Mr. Bradfield,
My name is Macie Sheldon. I am twenty-three years old and live in Hartford, Connecticut, with my widowed aunt and her daughter. I attend church faithfully and am an upstanding citizen. I have never been married, though I would like to do so in the future.
I must confess that I was drawn to your letter because you are from Elmswood, Texas. I spent much of my life in Elmswood and have recently desired to return there. Though my family has been very kind here in Connecticut, I find myself longing to return to life in Texas.
Please tell me, are you related to Mr. Ewell Bradfield? Since reading your advertisement, I’ve tried to remember the Bradfield family. The only name I can recall is Mr. Ewell Bradfield. Though I didn’t know him personally, my father spoke of him. I believe he was another rancher in the area.
I would be happy to answer any questions you might have about my character or aspirations. I am very eager to have a favorable reply from you soon.
Yours, etc., Macie Sheldon
Blake sat back, mind racing. He put one booted foot up on the edge of the wagon bed in front of him and considered. Macie Sheldon? No wonder the last name had sounded familiar. The Sheldons had owned a small spread on the other side of town, if he was remembering correctly. Why had they left?
Maybe his mother remembered, Blake decided when his memory failed to give him the answer he sought. He snapped the reins and called to the horses. As the wagon trundled along, Blake began penning a response in his brain. And, without noticing, he whistled cheerfully as he drove along.
***
Lorna came home from her walk looking particularly pink-cheeked and sparkly-eyed. Aunt Jane sat in the parlor, though, working tirelessly at her needlepoint and describing the trouble she was having with the local butcher. Across the way, Macie nodded automatically, trying to attend to the droning soliloquy.
“Good afternoon, Mama,” Lorna crooned as she dipped and placed a kiss on her mother’s cheek.
Aunt Jane looked up in surprise at the affectionate gesture. “Good afternoon, Lorna dear. You seem in good spirits despite the weather. It’s been drizzling all afternoon. If your stockings are wet, go directly upstairs and put on a dry pair. It won’t do to catch a cold so soon before the spring ball.”
“That’s a good idea. Macie, why don’t you come with me?” Lorna’s bright eyes speared her cousin.
“Of course,” Macie answered quickly, curious to learn what was causing Lorna’s excitement. “Please excuse me, Aunt Jane.”
The younger women hurried up to their rooms with unladylike haste.
“What’s happened?” asked Macie.
Lorna shut the door behind her and turned the key before whirling around and whipping out a folded envelope. “This was waiting for you!”
Macie thought her heart would fail as she took it in shaking hands and read, “’Mr. Blake Bradfield,’” as the return addressee.
“Oh, Lorna! He wrote back!” Macie clutched the letter to her heart and danced a silly jig on the spot.
Her cousin squealed and gripped her hand. “Hurry and open it! I’m dying to know what it says!”
In her anxiety, Macie was suddenly all thumbs. She fumbled with the flap until Lorna let out a frustrated groan and went to her desk for a letter opener, which she thrust into Macie’s hands.
Once the letter was free of the envelope, the tall blonde took a steadying breath and examined the script. It was small and cramped, but still legible. Looking at it, Macie imagined a young man unfamiliar with such things as writing letters to young ladies. and her heart gave a tender squeeze.
Dear Miss Sheldon,
Thank you for answering my advertisement. Let me take this opportunity to explain to you the particulars of my situation. It’s a bit unusual and I want to be as above-board as possible.
You are right, my grandfather was Ewell Bradfield. You might be aware of his reputation as an adventurer. He passed away this past December. In his will, he left me a treasure map to follow. This was something he did when I was a boy. Granddad hinted that the map leads to an invaluable treasure. As you might imagine, I’m very eager to get my hands on the map and complete this last assignment.
However, Granddad put a stipulation in his will that I can’t get the map until I’m married. As I don’t have any local girls who would suit, my lawyer, Iver Kennedy, suggested finding a mail-order bride. He knows of a legal way for me to take a wife so that the marriage can be annulled if it doesn’t suit.
I wasn’t sure if that was something I’d be willing to do. Marriage is sacred, after all. But since I need a wife under these conditions, it seems like it’s a possibility I should consider. That’s why I was particularly intrigued by your letter. It sounds as though you need a ticket to Texas just as much as I need a wife to claim my inheritance. We’re equal in our needs for marriage, aren’t we?
Well, that’s all I can think to say. You see, I don’t think I need to know much about you. All I need is a willing woman to be married to me for long enough to claim my inheritance. Once that’s done, if we want to annul the marriage, it can be done so easily.
I give you my word that I won’t make any untoward advances. Should we call things off, I’ll help you find work and a place to live.
Please let me know if you’ll come to Elmswood and marry me as soon as it can be arranged. I’ll send you a train ticket once I receive an affirmative answer.
Blake Bradfield
Macie frowned at the letter. She’d read it twice already and still couldn’t quite determine how she felt about it. This was hardly the response she’d expected. It might be an unconventional sort of way to find a husband, but Macie had still treasured dreams of some romance to come. Blake’s letter made it sound as though she would arrive in Elmswood, marry him, get the treasure map, and start the annulment proceedings all in the same day.
“That’s the oddest letter I’ve ever read,” Lorna said, breaking through Macie’s troubled thoughts. “What sort of man makes his grandson get married before he can inherit? And this Ewell left him a treasure map? For goodness’ sake! That’s the silliest thing I ever heard!”
Sinking into a chair, Macie sighed and dropped her head into her hand. She’d been so hopeful about this Blake Bradfield and now that hope seemed terribly foolish. What was she to do?
Chapter 6
Dear Mr. Bradfield,
I must confess that I found your letter extraordinary. I’ve never heard of such an inheritance! However, I do understand and sympathize with your plight. It’s only natural that you are eager to receive the promised treasure map and begin your search.
The Scars of a Pure Heart Page 4
