Emily: Army Mail Order Bride

by Mercy Levy

  Beth walked to Greta and politely took the letter from her. “May I?”

  “Yes,” Greta said.

  Beth read the letter. “What do you want to do, Greta?”

  “What God wants me to do,” Greta answered her close friend. “And maybe God took Albie away because he was preventing me from serving God.”

  “Very well,” Beth smiled and handed Greta back the letter. “I will buy you passage to Nevada, and you will leave first thing before the heavy snows start.”

  “But--”

  “And mother and I will sell this house and land for you and send you the money,” Beth interrupted Greta.

  “I...” Greta began to object and then felt a powerful rush of hope comfort her heart. “Yes, I will go to Nevada and become a school teacher. I will begin a new life.”

  “And when summer arrives, I will join you,” Beth promised Greta. “The change in weather will be good for mother. The doctor has been urging my mother to travel west for many months.”

  “Oh Beth,” Greta exclaimed happily. Standing up, she hugged her friend and thanked God for His sudden mercy on her life. “I will do as you command me, no matter how hard or difficult,” she promised.

  *

  “Greta Gutermuth?” a man wearing a light gray suit asked.

  Greta spun around and saw a man who was up in age walking toward her carrying a Bible in his hands. Cold winds coming off the valley struck the man in the face, causing him to dip his chin down onto his chest. “Yes, I am Greta Gutermuth,” Greta replied hugging her frail shoulders with her arms. Her coat was doing very little against the dropping temperatures. The white bonnet sitting on Greta's head struggled to remain in place as her long hair flapped in the winds.

  “My dear, you look as cold as I feel,” Matthew Greenwood said, holding down a gray hat covering his thin gray hair. “My name is Matthew Greenwood. I was very happy to receive your telegram.”

  Greta looked into the face of a warm, caring, sincere man. The man spoke with a faint German accent. “You are from the old country?” she asked.

  Matthew smiled. “I left the old country when I was a mere little boy,” he explained. “I have been in this land ever since. Greenwood is not my original last name. It is a name my parents choose to be accepted in this country.”

  “Here you go, preacher,” a rough looking man with a tough face told Matthew. “Getting colder. Better get the lady inside.”

  “Thank you, Andrew,” Matthew told the stage coach driver. Taking two brown suitcases from Andrew. “Are you going to try and push through to Carson City?”

  “Nah,” Andrew said tossing a thumb as the stage coach, “Little lady here was my last passenger. I'm going to hunker down in town for the night and start up tomorrow morning.”

  Matthew studied the fading sunlight. The sky was glowing in a bright reddish amber color in the west. On the main street, a few children were running and playing past a small General Store where a couple of women were standing holding bags of flour and sugar in their cold hands. The rest of the town seemed quiet and settled down for the approaching night. “This town is not like Boston,” Greta pointed out.”

  “No, I suppose Brown Ridge is nothing like Boston at all,” Matthew agreed. “Is... that a problem?” he asked in a worried voice.

  Greta smiled. “No,” she promised. “God has sent me to this place. I will stay here and do His Will.”

  Matthew beamed. “Please, come. I have the back room at the church all prepared for you. It's not much, but you'll stay warm and dry and have plenty of time to prepare your schedule for the school. I've arranged for classes to resume after the New Year. This way.”

  Greta followed Matthew past a lovely hotel, past the General Store where the two women curiously studied her, and from there, up to the north end of town. That's when she saw, sitting alone on a little hill, a beautiful white church standing next to a large Oak Tree. The church glowed as a beacon of hope in her heart. Even though the cold winds were ripping into her face and her tender hands felt like blocks of ice, Greta felt a warmth enter her scared heart—a peace and a comfort that settled her worries. “Beautiful,” she said in a loving voice.

  “Mr. Whitfield donated the money to have our church built,” Matthew explained struggling against the winds. “Owen Whitfield was a wealthy rancher. When he passed away, he left most of his money to the church with the wishes that the old church be torn down and a new church be rebuilt. I have to admit, our old church was ready to fall down, anyway.”

  “Mr. Whitfield seemed like a faithful man.”

  Matthew laughed. “Well, in his later years,” he replied. “But did not Jesus come for the late workers, too, and pay them the same wage was the early workers? Mr. Whitfield was a later worker, but before he passed away, he surrendered his heart to Jesus. That's what matters the most, Ms. Gutermuth. The money he left the church was his way of telling the world what was most important to him.”

  Greta listened and learned. When they reached the church, she followed Matthew up a set of strong, well-built, wooden steps leading to a beautiful, thick, wooden door with an oval stained glass window in the middle of it. Matthew, with much skill, managed to open the front door while holding the suitcase. As soon as the front door opened, Greta heard the sound of a crying baby. “That would be my grandson,” Matthew told Greta and hurried inside.

  Greta followed Matthew into a medium sized front room that held a wooden coat rack, two tables holding Bibles and Hymnals, and a wooden crate for donations. Closing the front door, Greta glanced down at a lovely red carpet. The smell of cinnamon seemed to float from the carpet, even though the smell itself was coming from the sanctuary. The sound of the crying baby caused Greta to hurry after Matthew, giving her very little time to thoroughly examine the front room.

  Walking in a beautiful sanctuary, Greta saw soft red carpet and hard wood pews lined with cushions. The pews were divided by the main aisle, sitting across from each other in rows of five. Four stained glass windows lined the east and west walls. At the front of the sanctuary were three steps leading up to a wooden pulpit standing in front of a large, wooden cross resting on a wall that had been designed to look like a field with a bright morning sun rising over it. Sitting at the front of the sanctuary in a pew, Greta saw a Mexican woman holding a baby. “Is Mark being fussy?” Matthew asked rushing up to the woman.

  “No,” the Mexican woman said in a calm voice, “he is teething.”

  Greta slowly approached the Mexican woman. She was very old and dressed in a heavy, brown, coat. Her hair was gray and tired. She watched the Mexican woman stand up and place a beautiful baby boy into Matthew's arms. “I must go now. I will see you for church.”

  “Thank you, Rosie,” Matthew said in a grateful voice. “Uh...Greta, will you please hold Mark for me?”

  Greta cautiously approached the crying baby. Matthew gently placed the baby into her arms. Reaching into his front pocket, he drew out some money. “Here, Rosie, hurry to the General Store and get some food.”

  Rosie gratefully accepted the money and hurried away. Greta didn't notice Rosie leave. Her eyes were fixed on the baby who suddenly stopped crying and began staring up into her cold face with curious, warm, sweet blue eyes. “He likes you,” Matthew said gratefully.

  Before Greta could speak, a man stormed into the sanctuary with an angry expression on his face. Ignoring Greta, he walked up to Matthew and began yelling. “Judge Green and you, you two are real pals, aren't you!”

  Greta looked at the man. He was tall, strong, and held the face of man who was capable of showing love even though he preferred to wallow in anger. Wearing a dark gray coat over a pair of work pants, the man was obviously someone who was well acquainted with hard work. Yanking a brown hat off his head, he revealed thick brown hair that needed washing. “I just came from his office and do you know what he told me? I can't have my son back until I fix up the ranch. He went on to tell me that even if I fix up the ranch, I still need you to si
gn those darn custody papers.”

  Matthew remained calm. “John, you gave me full custody of Mark when Gennifer ran away with,” Matthew paused, “when she divorced you in a way that would allow you to remarry.”

  “She ran off with a banker, everyone knows that,” John snapped at his Pa. “But first she set my ranch on fire. That woman...she ruined me!”

  Greta watched John ball his hands into two tight fists. “I want my son back. Do you hear me?” he yelled.

  Mark began crying. “Please,” Greta told John in a scolding voice, “You're scaring your son.”

  John turned his attention to Greta. “You must be the new school teacher, huh? Well, good luck teaching the future bank robbers in this town. Nothing here but drunks and snakes.”

  “Good men live in Brown Ridge,” Matthew scolded his son. “You are a good man... when you choose to be.”

  “I want my son, do you hear me,” John returned his anger back to Matthew. “I know I signed the custody papers...I was upset at the time. I've had time to think.”

  “You went looking for a harlot that deserted her family after she gave birth to your son,” Matthew reminded John. “Your actions were no better than hers.”

  John stared at Matthew with gritted teeth. His Pa was right. “I'm leaving Brown Ridge. I'm moving to Carson City where I can find work.”

  “And drink in the saloons and mingle with trashy women,” Matthew told John. “You will go alone, without Mark. Mark will remain with me, John. I wish... I have prayed... that you would become the daddy this child needs. Until I see that change in you, I will not release my grandson back into your custody.”

  “I'll get a lawyer and fight you,” John threatened Matthew.

  “So be it,” Matthew said in a sad voice. “My son, why are you so angry with me? What have I done except take care of my own flesh and blood? You always had food in your stomach and bed to sleep on at night. I offered you fine education and--”

  “You tried to form me into you,” John growled at Matthew. “You suffocated me.”

  “You had no mother,” Matthew pleased with John. “You needed love.”

  “I needed to live,” John yelled.

  “Get out of here at once,” Greta ordered John. “I will not have you scaring this baby. You may return when you can learn to act like a civilized human being and a caring parent.”

  John looked at Greta. Something in the woman's deep, beautiful, blue eyes told him she meant business. Staring into Greta's beautiful face, he saw a pure beauty that stunned him. Sure, there were beautiful women around, and most women were decent enough—but the beauty in Greta's face was somehow different. “Yeah, sure, fine,” John told Greta and looked down at his son. “That's my boy you're holding.”

  “Then act like the parent he deserves,” Greta scolded John. “You charge into a church yelling and screaming. Do you not think this baby can hear or feel?”

  A feeling of guilt and shame washed over John. He had been so intent on yelling at Matthew that he didn't think about how his son might react. “I'll be getting me a lawyer, do you hear me,” he warned Matthew. “I'm not leaving for Carson City until I have my son.”

  “When you allow Jesus to change your heart,” Matthew promised John.

  John drew in a deep breath and stormed out of the church.

  “Oh dear,” Greta said worried, “that man is very angry.”

  “He'll be heading toward the saloon now,” Matthew said in a worried voice. “My son is filled with anger and pain. His wife ran away with a dirty soul. She...was no good herself. I tried to warn my son, but all he could see was the outside of the shiny cup and not the decay on the inside. And this poor child...he suffered the most. I fear my grandson will grow up without a mother, the same way my son was forced to grow up with a mother to love and nurture him.”

  Greta stared down into the sweetest face she had ever seen in her life. Two gentle, blue, eyes filled with scared tears suddenly smiled up at her. “It's okay,” Greta told the baby in a warm, caring, soothing voice, “Greta will not let anyone scare you every again.”

  Matthew watched Greta hold his grandson. Then he looked at the wooden cross hanging on the wall. He smiled. The Lord, he felt, was answering a very desperate prayer.

  Chapter 2

  Family Pain

  Greta was surprised to see John walk into the small general store. Matthew had asked her to make a trip to the general store to get some sugar and flour to store in the little kitchen attached to the back of the church. The store was cozy, even though it was very cramped for space. Greta enjoyed browsing through all the interesting items placed on the wooden shelves either sitting on the floor or nailed to the walls. She especially liked the shelf holding books. “I want a word of with you,” John said, storming up to Greta.

  Greta put the book she was holding in her hands back on the bookshelf. “Yes?” she asked in a calm tone.

  John snatched the hat off his head. A heavy rain was falling outside. The man was soaked, cold, and red-eyed from a night of heavy drinking. His breath smelled of whiskey. “That Saint sitting in his fancy church has got everybody fooled... if people only knew the truth about Matthew Greenwood. But I know the truth about that man.”

  “Matthew Greenwood is a man of God,” Greta told John staring into the man's exhausted and angry eyes. “You went to the saloon, just as he said you would. You smell of whiskey and filth. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “Don't lecture me, lady,” John growled, causing attention to himself from two old women who were standing at the front counter talking. John lowered his voice. “So I had a few drinks, does that make me a sinner?”

  “A sinner and a hypocrite,” Greta told John. “If you cared anything about your son, you would be preparing a life for him instead of consuming your time in the den a sin.” Greta thought back to her fiancée. Anger flared in her chest. “You are self-centered, hateful, and consumed with a very ugly self-righteousness that will end up being your end.”

  John stared at Greta. Who was this woman running him across a hot fire, anyway?” Now wait just a minute,” he barked, “I may have had a drink or two, but that doesn't make me fit to--”

  “Turn from wickedness and learn to do good. That's what our God orders us to do. No matter the past of a man, he can turn from wickedness and learn to do good,” Greta interrupted John. “I'm not interested in hearing the past of Matthew Greenwood. I see the man he is now. But you, sir, have allowed your own past to destroy any chance of learning to do good today. You stink of whiskey and filth. Now please, leave me alone and only speak to me when you can learn to be a good, Godly man who understands what a bar of soap is.”

  John scratched the back of his head. “Lady, you've got some tongue on you. I ought to bend you over my lap and run a branding iron across your back side.”

  “And I should pray for your lost soul,” Greta replied and walked away toward the front counter. The two old women smiled and winked at each other. They were enjoying the fight.

  “Now wait just a minute,” John yelled, “Who are you to judge me, huh?” he asked following Greta.

  Greta passed a wooden barrel holding wooden ax handles. She grabbed out a wooden handle and walloped John in his right arm. John screamed out and pain and backed away from Greta. Greta held her ground. “I will not be unequally yoked with you,” she warned John. “However, if you wish, you can go take a bath, change your clothes, and come for dinner at the church tonight as a gentleman. Perhaps then Matthew will be able to talk some sense into you.”

  John rubbed his arm. “Matthew Greenwood talk sense into me?” he huffed. “Matthew Greenwood killed my mother.” Shaking his head, John walked away and left the General Store.

  Greta watched John walk outside and slam the front door shut. Calmly, she put away the wooden ax handle. “I suppose I've got my work cut out for me,” she whispered. “Dear Lord, help me.”

  One of the old ladies walked up to Greta and patted her shoulder.
“He's poison, that one,” she told Greta. “It's best to let the fire have him, dear.”

  Greta looked down into the old woman's face. “Ma’am,” she said politely, “Jesus came for the sick, not the healthy. Please, excuse me.”

  Greta hurried outside. She saw John jump up onto a wet horse and gallop away into the pouring rain. Shaking her head, she walked back into the store to get the flour and sugar. Later, when she returned back to the church, she found Matthew sitting in the Sanctuary with Mark in his arms. Mark was peacefully sleeping. “I saw John,” she told Matthew in a low voice. “He came into the general store.”

  “Smelling of whiskey instead of working on his ranch, no doubt?” Matthew asked sadly.

  Greta saw down in the pew, next to John. She looked into Mark's sweet, sleeping, face. “I put the supplies in the kitchen.”

  Matthew noticed Greta's damp hair and clothes. “You should change your dress. You'll catch the end of yourself.”

  “I'll be fine,” Greta promised. “Matthew?”

  “Yes?”

  “John claimed you killed his mother,” Greta said in a worried voice.

  Matthew sighed. “My son believes I did kill his mother. And the truth is, he's right.” Greta listened carefully as Matthew continued. “John was a young boy. We were traveling west. We were part of a group traveling by wagon train. One day, a group of outlaws attacked us. Many people were killed.”

  “Including your wife?” Greta asked reading the sorrow in Matthew's eyes.

  Matthew nodded his head. “I prayed over the wounded and dying instead of raising a rifle,” Mathew confessed. “My son blames me for not fighting. He claims that if I had fought instead of tended to the wounded and dying his mother would not have been killed. Perhaps he's right?”