by Etta Foster
He had just stepped through the back door when his brother glanced up from where he’d been cutting potatoes.
Jacob nodded to him, swinging his long dark hair out of his face.
“Where have you been?” his brother asked.
Richard shrugged, pulling out a glass for water. “Walking. Our cattle are looking a little lazy. We should probably drive them to the other side of the river before the first snow.”
Nodding slowly, Jacob agreed. “Sounds good to me. We can take care of that tomorrow.”
“Saturday,” Richard shook his head. “I’m going into town tomorrow.”
“Why?” his brother asked him with a shrug. “Is there another barn raising? I told the Toolsons they should have put theirs up months ago.” The man muttered something under his breath.
The cold weather did nothing for his brother’s mood.
Richard drained his glass while rolling his eyes. But he decided not to say anything about that grumpy nature. “I’m looking for some mail and I’m hoping the post office will have it.”
Jacob straightened up, his gray eyes narrowing on him. “Mail, huh? Looking for some more letters from ladies answering your ads?”
Heat started to climb up his neck. It was hard enough to accept his actions and the motivation that had driven him to commit such an uncomfortable act. But he hadn’t yet thought of anything to explain any of this to his brother.
The two of them were close, though they didn’t see eye to eye on everything like they had when they were young boys.
Richard glanced at his brother and bit his lip. “How did you know?”
That question made Jacob scoff. “How could I not?” he said. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just the two of us here in this big old house of yours.” Gesturing with the knife, he shrugged. “There aren’t any secrets here. No house is big enough for that.”
“Oh.” Richard scratched his head and turned to the sink, setting his glass there. “Well, I was waiting to tell you when someone… when there was someone. I didn’t want to rush anything.”
Jacob just shook his head and tossed another potato into the bowl. The man didn’t care for a lot of things anymore. He didn’t care for church, for a lot of talk, or for fine meals.
Though Richard had tried to speak to him on a few things, nothing had worked yet.
Which was why Richard hadn’t said anything about his ad.
“Whatever you want,” Jacob grumbled. “It’s your life. But I’m going to tell you now, the only woman wanting to get married through ads is going to be old and ugly and desperate.”
With a sigh, Richard decided it was time he fed the goats. “Thanks, Jacob.” And he walked back outside.
Life had been hard for them for a long time. Oklahoma was a beautiful wilderness, but she demanded time and attention.
Especially when both their father and their mother passed away nearly ten years ago. The epidemic had killed half the folks in their town.
He had just turned seventeen the day he and his brother buried their parents under the apple tree they had loved so much.
The west made for a hard life and the ranch made for a busy one. Months could pass them by before they ever made it to town. And then they were running busy for years before he remembered how nice it would be to settle down with a pretty woman.
He had looked around town, and even the surrounding counties during his business trips. But there were few women his age who weren’t married by that point, and he couldn’t even remember how to talk to them.
However, he had made a discovery after a conversation with the pastor in town who had told him about the recent evolution of mail order brides. The newspapers and magazines helped people to communicate from far-off towns and regions.
This included women in cities looking for another way to live and men who lived in the middle of nowhere with limited connections.
He would take what he could get. It had taken him a week to gather the courage to write something out, and then he made it into town.
A month had passed since his short ad had been placed.
A month in which he had been traveling five miles to town every couple of days in the hope of receiving a reply.
Richard couldn’t remember ever being so antsy in his entire life.
The following morning, he fixed a broken stake in the goats’ yard and then prepared his horse before heading out.
Jacob had tended to the cows in their barn, or so he assumed. They didn’t pass each other all morning. Sometimes Richard wondered if that was on purpose. But there was no reason for it, he reminded himself.
He shook his head. He was thinking too much into their relationship.
“Come on,” Richard nudged his horse with his knees. “Let’s get to town, shall we?” He fixed the hat on his head before gripping the reins tightly. “Right this way, boy.”
Richard made his rounds to the general store and haberdashery for supplies, biding his time before gathering the courage to visit the postmaster in his office.
Mr. Darnell was a nice man, certainly. But Richard was nervous about any news the man might give him.
He wasn’t sure if he would prefer no letters or one letter. Or several letters.
That made him more nervous.
He didn’t want a lot of letters.
All he needed was one woman. One good woman he could carry a conversation with. That’s it.
As the sun started its descent, he knew he couldn’t keep wasting daylight. There were still his duties to finish on the farm. And he didn’t want to be out working in the twilight when he could be settled down by the fire sharpening his knife or reading a good book.
“Let’s get this over with,” Richard patted his horse’s rump and made his way down the street.
He nodded to a few familiar faces.
There was Mrs. Price and her two daughters, married off to the blacksmith and the mayor’s son. She was a widower much too old for him.
But the three of them used to bring him and his brother meals on occasion after they lost their parents, for Mr. Price had passed away as well.
Coming out of the post office was Mrs. O’Leary, the mayor’s wife. She winked at him as he went in. The woman was only a few years older than himself, having married the mayor after her family passed away and the mayor had lost his wife.
The epidemic had hurt too many families.
He nodded and stepped through to find Mr. Darnell shuffling several papers along the back wall.
Mr. Darnell glanced over his shoulder and waved him inside. “I was wondering if I would be seeing you again. Today or tomorrow, I told myself. And I was right.”
Shaking his head, Richard rubbed his hands together. “It’s good to see you too, Mr. Darnell. I’m glad I didn’t disappoint you.” He inhaled sharply. “You wouldn’t happen to have any letters for me, would you?”
The older gentleman was already making his way across the room to a row of boxed holes against the wall.
He had a filing system that he and his wife had created when they first set up the office.
From what Richard knew, that had been nearly fifty years ago.
“I knew you would be asking me that,” the old man chuckled good-heartedly as though he knew a secret.
Richard couldn’t help but grin as he trailed after him.
Mr. Darnell pulled two letters out of a hole in the wall and rapped his knuckles twice on the wall before walking forward and handing them over.
They both had his name written neatly across the top. Richard swallowed as he accepted them.
Offering the older gentleman a smile, he nodded. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” He was about to leave when he couldn’t help but ask, “How are you these days, Mr. Darnell? And your wife?”
Mr. Darnell beamed. “Oh, she’s still a dear. Her heart is slowing her down, so she’s only up and going in the mornings. But my Rose is just fine. We both are. And yourself, Richard? How are you and Jacob holding up alone on that r
anch of yours?”
“It’s the family ranch,” Richard corrected him kindly as he fiddled with the documents in his hands.
They weren’t thick at all, but he could feel them beginning to weigh him down. “Jacob and I are good. I should probably get back now,” Richard added reluctantly.
The man nodded and then said, “Don’t be a stranger, Richard. Even if you’re not waiting on a letter, you’re welcome to stop by.”
Richard tipped his hat to the man and made his way out.
He glanced at the two letters and pondered where they might have come from. The idea that one of them - or even both of them - could be from a lady made his stomach tighten.
He made himself wait, not wanting to be rude and read out in the middle of the street.
Richard mounted his horse and headed on home, whistling as they went.
Jacob was bringing a broom back to the house from the barn and raised his eyebrow.
“You got yourself a letter, then?” He shook his head with a laugh. “I’m telling you, Rich. If she never sends you a likeness, I’m telling you, she’s an old ugly woman. You had best get her to send you a lock of her hair to make sure it’s not gray.”
His hands were too busy opening the letters to make any retort to his brother.
Richard found one letter from the Nerlands, who thanked them for the herd that they’d just purchased from them. And then the other letter was addressed to him.
It made him nervous, but only when he saw his name.
The nerves didn’t last long. Before he finished the first line, he was smiling.
There was something about the writing that attracted him. And there was a woman’s name at the bottom of the letter, confirming his earlier hope.
Jacob called to him, but Richard wandered off in search of a pen and paper.
His heart warmed at the idea of this sweet woman writing to him and he could hardly wait to send her a response.
Chapter 3
Her forehead pressed gently against the door as she carefully closed it, not wanting to make a sound.
It was early afternoon and she had just started to prepare supper. It was her duty and there was a lot to get accomplished.
But she couldn’t wait a minute longer.
Louise had bided her time all morning with the newest letter burning a hole in her skirts.
She’d had only a moment to jump in the thrill of another letter before having to tuck it away. She set the rest of the family mail on the table in the hall.
Then there had been the house to sweep, a rug to mend, and now supper. In the Moreau family home, there was always more work to be done.
Though Louise didn’t mind the work, she craved the opportunities where there was no work to be done so she could spend a minute or two reading in the sun.
That pleasurable hobby of hers was difficult to manage in a busy and distracted home like hers, especially having to hide the books, magazines, and the letters from her father.
Louise had grown used to having to wait until nightfall when her sisters were asleep in bed to pull out the newest letter and read it by moonlight. Candlelight, if she was lucky, but it was rare.
Except she couldn’t wait any longer now.
Biting her lip, Louise could hardly pin back the grin as she fumbled through her clothes eagerly to find the letter hidden away in her pocket.
It felt like a thin one, which made her nervous. But he did that sometimes, her Mister Richard Hanson.
Neither of them was experienced in the way of writing letters.
But over the last couple of weeks, they had become much more accustomed to the practice. Enough that Louise couldn’t wait any longer to see what he had written to her.
Louise found the letter and hurried towards her bed to sit down and read it.
“Ow!” She paused, not having realized she was so close to her bedpost and had stubbed her toe.
Then as she realized she had yelped out loud, she clapped a hand over her mouth and turned back towards the door.
She paused to listen and see if anyone had heard her. But after a moment, she couldn’t hear any voices or footsteps.
With a loud sigh of relief, Louise giggled despite herself and collapsed onto her bed.
It was her favorite place to read. A comfortable little spot that was just below a window, so it was always warm and cozy.
And then she carefully opened the envelope, not wanting to ruin it with a rip.
She stared hard in concentration, inch by inch, until it was open. Louise beamed at her success as she eagerly pulled the letter out.
The envelope was set aside on her pillow for safekeeping for the moment.
Though she knew she was talking to him about a potential marriage type of relationship, Louise didn’t yet see these letters as a courtship. The very idea had made her quite anxious when she started writing to the man.
Instead, she felt at the very least that they had become very good friends. And not in the way that she was friends with her sisters, but in the way that he saw her as a person and enjoyed learning about her.
Just like she loved hearing what he had to say about himself and his ranch.
A ranch. An Oklahoma ranch.
Louise could picture it perfectly from his descriptions. He talked about the sun rising and falling, about the wheat waving in the fields, the large trees waving lightly in the wind, and the cattle as they made their morning trek to the creek for water.
She could almost taste it.
She bit her lip as she saw her name scribbled across the top left corner of the page.
Then she followed his words, taking each of them in with a hunger and fascination that left her hoping for more.
Then she found it.
Something that was beyond satisfactory, that caught her so off guard that her mouth opened slightly in surprise.
Her heart pounded in disbelief. Louise wondered if it was a joke.
She bit her lip again and reread the letter from the beginning, wondering if she was imagining things. Wondering if his question would disappear if she came back to it.
“’As I have said several times before, it’s been a pleasure talking to you through these letters. I would like to have a conversation with you in real life more than anything.
“’Would you feel the same?
“’Christmas is coming and I was wondering if you might like to spend it here. We can have some time together.
“’You can see the ranch, and we can decide if we want to move forward with this courtship.’”
A flush crept up her cheeks. Perhaps it was a courtship. Or a friendship.
Louise hadn’t had many of either of those relationships. But whatever she had with Richard Hanson, she was dearly enjoying it.
“But to visit him?” Louise asked the question out loud as she finished reading his letter.
She sat up and stared out the window. Her eyes were focused on the view ahead, but her mind was running in another direction.
The idea of traveling to meet a stranger out west, even for a week, sounded both terrible and exciting.
But it would be Richard Hanson. The man who had been writing her all those lovely letters.
Louise finally blinked as she glanced down at the paper.
She would like to meet him very much. Except how would she tell her family? No one knew she was talking to him.
It was hard to imagine her father granting approval for her to do such a thing.
Shaking her head, Louise set the letter down and stretched over her bed, laying on her stomach, to reach under the bed. Her head hung upside down as she stretched to reach the box.
It was a soft blue hat box, used for a hat that no longer fit her head.
But it was the perfect size to put other items into it. Like her favorite notes and scraps of writing. Especially her letters.
“I’ll just put this away,” she reasoned to herself in the silence, needing to hear a sensible voice, “and think on it. He does
n’t need a reply immediately. It’s a very serious question he’s asking me.”
A voice piped up from the door. “Who’s asking you a serious question?”
Louise was so startled that she dropped the box. Her hair fell in her face and paper spilled everywhere on her lap as she scrambled to pull herself upright.
Pushing her hair away, Louise turned to the door where her younger sister was standing.
