by Lynn Donovan
Dear Brilliant in Boston,
Your dilemma is intriguing. On the one hand, you have been blessed with an education most women can only dream of. On the other, you have missed out on the social education a girl would have received in finishing school.
I have two suggestions for you: One, consider relocating to a small western town where community decorum is not as stringent as Boston. Out west, women are few and far between, therefore, a school teacher would not be shunned should you marry and start a family. Not to mention your prospects of finding a husband are greater.
Two, educate yourself in domesticity. I suggest you read the textbook made available at girl’s finishing schools titled, “Household Arts” written by a prominent leader in the Home Economics Movement, Ellen Richards.
While I agree with you that an intelligent wife is more companionable, a wife without domestic skills is a burden all the same. This textbook will be beneficial to fill in the gaps in your education and give you the needed guidance to present yourself as a worthy candidate.
I wish you good luck in your pursuit for happiness.
Yours Truly: The Lovelorn
Dotty tossed the paper aside, gritting her teeth. Relocate! Learn domesticity! This was the answer to her problem? How rude! How inconsiderate! What a waste of her time. Thank goodness she hadn’t used her real name so no one knew she had admitted to being unwanted. She ran from the library, across campus, and into her father’s classroom. He was writing on the blackboard but glanced over his shoulder when she rushed into the theater. He had taught her years ago not to interrupt when he was lecturing.
Suppressing her sobs, she sat in the back and tried to breathe normally. Her father continued with his lecture. What was she to do? Life wasn’t fair. It wasn’t Dot’s fault her mother died when Dot was young. How cruel society was. So what if she would be a spinster, if all the suitable men were like Donald Darcy, she didn’t want to marry. How lucky her mother and father were to have found each other and had the life they had, even though it was cut short. Why, oh why couldn’t she have just an ounce of that same luck? Quietly, she rose and returned to the library to wait for her father to take her home.
A week later, Dotty gathered the mail before entering their home after a day at the university. There was an envelope addressed to her from the St. Louis Gazette. Inside was another envelope from Aidan Orchid, Billings, Montana. This envelope was addressed to The Lovelorn, St. Louis Gazette and marked, “Attention: Brilliant in Boston.” It had to be in response to the reply in the paper. What on earth could this Aidan Orchid have to say?
Dorothy ripped open the second envelope and pulled out the letter. The man’s script was printed, not cursive, and written with a pencil. Interesting. She read on…
Dear Brilliant in Boston,
I saw your letter to the Lovelorn in the St. Louis Gazette and appreciated the advice given to you. I have a solution that could resolve both your and my problem. My late wife was a school teacher for our four children, plus the children of a small mining camp which I supervise. We have a private schoolhouse in the center of the camp so the children do not have to travel all the way to Billings to attend school. This is in the western territory of Montana and as Lovelorn mentioned, social decorum is not as stringent as in your eastern city.
I am offering you an opportunity to take my wife’s place. It is more important to me that you can teach the children. I have a housekeeper and cook who takes care of the domestic needs in our household. There is opportunity here for you to learn from her, if you wish, but it is not required.
Enclosed please find a train ticket to Billings, Montana and a banknote for travel expenses. I will meet you at the depot. I think you will find this arrangement to be a satisfactory and quiet life where all your needs will be met.
If this offer does not meet your expectations, please return the above mentioned items post haste.
Sincerely,
Aidan Orchid
Copper Miner
Dorothy dropped the letter to her lap. “Oh, dear me.”
Chapter Two

A train whistle screamed across the steam-filled platform at Park Square Train Station in Boston, Massachusetts. People were hustling and bustling out of the mist regardless of the mass of bodies, to get to their destinations either on or off the train cars. Dorothy Bladdenwart turned one last time to look upon her beloved father’s face. “Goodbye, Daddy. I love you.”
“Good bye, Polka-Dot. I hope you find your happiness.”
“I’ll certainly try.” A man bumped into her, shoving her into her father. She regained her balance and composure. “I’ll write you!” she blurted as the steward yelled in her ear.
“ALL ABOARD!”
She cringed against the assaulting voice. Refusing to cry in front of her father, she bit her lip and turned to rush up the steps to her seat inside the train. Her ticket had been for a sleeping berth that included a general public seating. At least when she arrived, she could be well rested. That is, as well rested as one could be having traveled by train for two days and nights.
She settled into a bench seat and opened a textbook. “Shelter and Clothing” by Ellen H. Richards. It had not been easy to find. She combed through the local book stores to find it. Luckily there had been more than one girls’ finishing school in Boston and the bookstore had a stock inventory of the little books. The Lovelorn had suggested she learn about modern domesticity, what better source than a textbook from a finishing school. She read the preface, “… the questions of home organization, management, care, repair, home sanitation, and decoration are also important and should find a place in the household arts course of study in every finishing school.”
Yes. This book was going to be a big help to her. Soon, the train swayed into motion and she was on her way to a new life in a place called Billings, Montana, full of promise and unknown adventures. A life in the mountains of the western territory of Montana. Winters were cold and wet, summers were hot and humid.
Sounded… delightful. It was the only reasonable offer for employment she had received and she was determined to make the best of it, no matter what. Escaping into the domestic training of her textbook, she lost track of time until she looked up to find the gas lamps were lit and the windows were quite dark. “Oh, dear me.”
She rose to walk to the dining car, hoping they would still be serving supper. Black Tea with a plate of hot roast beef and gravy would just hit the spot that was gnawing on her back bone. The dining car was partially filled with tea and coffee drinkers, but she didn’t see any hot dinner servings. It looked like the options were cold sandwiches or some thin broth.
“Oh, dear me.” Had she taken too long to get the choice dishes? Dotty sat at an empty table with a heavy sigh and waited to be served. As feared all hot dishes were sold out. Her choice was a cold chicken leg, cold meatloaf sandwich, or soup.
“Could I have hot tea, half of a meatloaf sandwich AND a bowl of soup?” She nearly begged. This wasn’t the Ritz, but with a little luck, the wait staff would be as accommodating and let her order off-menu.
The crisply dressed waiter smiled warmly. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Soon he returned from the back. A man in a white apron trailed after him through the swinging bat-wing door. “What am I supposed to do with the other half!” The man yelled, but his eyes lifted to the dining car people and he stepped back into his area. He was obviously very upset with the half-sandwich order. Dorothy lifted her brow in apology as the waiter put down a set of tea china, a plate with half a sandwich and a bowl of soup, so thin it could barely pass for broth.
“Thank you.” She dipped her head in shame. “I’m sorry if I caused any trouble.”
“It was no trouble.” The waiter lied.
The soup was hot and went down companionably with the thick slice of meatloaf and white bread. Dotty washed it all down with the tea which was the finest cup of tea she’d had in… she couldn’t think when she�
��d last had a nice sit-down tea with friends. Her father’s celebration for making tenure, she supposed.
With her tummy warm and full, her eyelids had a mind of their own and she sought her sleeping berth. The compartment was just large enough to move around to disrobe, It looked and felt a bit like the Egyptian catacombs shelf with a curtain. She laid her dress out beside her to keep it from wrinkling anymore than one could help, and stretched out beside it like a lover. Her final thoughts were of her father’s face at the train station, her turning toward Montana, and not looking back. She cried quietly and let the rocking of the rails sway her to sleep like a baby.
Movement outside the sleeping berth woke her. Morning? She leaned up on one elbow to peek out of the curtain and found people walking about. Her tummy growled. “Breakfast?” She looked down at her demanding anatomy and laughed.
A light rap sounded on her berth frame. “Oh, do hurry. You don’t want to miss the ham and eggs. It’s delectable!” A high pitched giggling voice called through the curtain. Was the woman speaking to Dotty? She leaned forward and just allowed one eye to be seen.
A porcelain skinned, strawberry-red haired young woman, about Dotty’s age, smiled. Her front teeth protruded excessively over her bottom and her cheeks were splattered with copper speckles. Her smile, however, lit up the corridor and invited Dotty to hurry and join her for the morning meal. “Uh. Are you talking to me?”
“Yes, silly. I saw that you missed supper last night. Oh, do hurry. Come eat with me. I hate eating alone with my parents.” She whined.
“I’ll be right there.” Dorothy closed the curtain and rushed to get her petticoats and dress in order, over her head, and in place. She buckled her shoes and hurried down the length of the train to the dining car, finger-combing her hair into some sense of style. Her new friend waved a long, thin arm in the air, an unnecessary gesture for Dotty to find her. With that bright red hair, the girl stood out in any crowd. Her friend stood and welcomed her to the table.
“Mummy, Daddy, this is my friend…” She paused to force Dorothy to introduce herself.
“Oh, I’m Dorothy Marie Bladdenwart.”
Her friend repeated her name as if she already knew it but Dotty beat her to the punch of saying it. “Dorothy Marie! Bladden… wart?” The girl knitted her brow curiously, then continued as if nothing unusual had happened. “Yes, she’s my friend and I asked her to join us for breakfast.”
“Well,” the girl’s mother responded. “Welcome, dear. Please do sit down. We are the Houndsmans. This is my husband, Roderick. I’m Leticia, and of course you know our daughter, Ginger.”
Dotty turned to her new friend. “Ginger! Yes, of course. Um, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. Thank you for letting me join you for breakfast.”
“Our pleasure.” Mr. Houndsman turned his attention to the newspaper in his hand. Dotty noticed it was a New York Times.
Ginger pulled Dotty into the seat with her. “Sit beside me. Do you want coffee?” She waved at the waiter who promptly came over with another cup and saucer, and a silver pitcher. Ginger announced, “Yes. We would like to order now, too, if you please.”
“Of course.” The waiter stood straight, attentive.
“I’ll have…” Ginger looked over the menu as if something new would pop out at her.
Dotty interrupted, “Just bring me the ham and eggs, scrambled, and toast, please.” She smiled graciously at the waiter. He was the same man who had managed her sandwich and broth the evening before. Ginger glanced at her, then back to her menu. “Yes. I’ll have the same— Mother?”
“Same for me, dear— Father?”
Ginger’s father grunted. His attention deep into a financial article he was reading in the paper. “He’ll have the same,” she interpreted the grunt. Ginger giggled and turned from her parents to speak privately. “So. What is this book you have been reading with so much intent that you missed supper.
“It’s a textbook that was recommended to me, about household arts.” Dotty laughed. “It’s fascinating, really.”
“Sounds awful!” Ginger lamented. “What did you do to deserve such punishment?”
“Oh, it’s no punishment, I assure you. I quite sought out the book, myself. I am afraid I am sorely lacking the knowledge it contains.”
“Hmm.” Ginger considered her answer. “I suppose you find it interesting. It has held your attention for a whole day. I tried all afternoon to get you to notice me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. No, I just mean, it must be a really good book.”
“Yes. It was recommended to me.”
“I see…” Ginger looked around the dining car. “So, where are you headed?”
Dotty nodded. “Billings, Montana. I have accepted a teaching position—”
“You’re going to Billings! So are we!” Ginger nearly leapt out of her seat. “Oh how wonderful! We will be such good friends! What are you doing in Billings?”
Dotty grabbed Ginger’s flailing hands to calm her. “I am accepting a teaching position. Calm down!” She reduced her voice to a whisper. “I have a gentleman benefactor and I will teach in a little one-room schoolhouse with several students already established.”
Ginger sat stone still. “What one-room schoolhouse? Billings doesn’t have a one-room schoolhouse.”
Dotty swallowed hard. “This one, apparently is privately owned, it’s in the mountains near a small community of people who don’t bring their children to town for schooling.”
Ginger’s mind was racing. Dotty could see it behind her eyes. “So, this benefactor? Who… who is he?”
Dotty recalled the name. “Mister Aidan Orchid.”
“Hmm. Orchid. I don’t know him. Perhaps he is a recluse.” Ginger giggled, then suddenly she jerked a gasp. “Are you a mail order bride?”
“Shh.” Dotty grabbed Ginger’s hands again. “No! He’s sponsoring my travels to Billings so I can teach in the school house.”
“OH! Right, right.” Ginger winked at her mother. Dotty seriously did not appreciate the joke between them at her expense, but before another word could be spoken the waiter brought their food. He refilled their coffees and Mr. Houndsman put down his newspaper. The ham was salty and delectable, as Ginger had said it would be. Dotty had thought she would journal and write out some preliminary lesson plans throughout the day, but Ginger had other ideas. Lots and lots of other ideas.
Chapter Three

By the end of the next day, Dotty knew more about Ginger Houndsman than she knew about anybody. After their at-length discussions about the town, she felt like she could traverse the downtown streets of Billings blindfolded and was fairly familiar with all the store owners’ recent history. Ginger talked fast and nonstop. But Dotty had to admit, it did pass the time. Before she knew it, the gas lights were lit and it was once again supper time. Dot ate with the Houndsmans and retired to her berth for some much needed quiet. Her head felt like the train’s engine was running through her skull.
She pulled her journal next to her on the bed and wrote about her new friend, speculated who this Aidan Orchid might be and how diverse the children in her class might be. Were they mostly boys or girls?
Her father had been gracious enough to let Dot bring several books from their own library for the children. He had even ordered her some grammar-school level readers and would be shipping them to her when they came in. Not knowing how well equipped the school had stocked their shelves, Dot appreciated her father’s forethought and assumption that a western schoolhouse might be lacking academic supplies. She’d be sure to let him know more when she had a chance to assess the school’s library.
The children? How many families did they comprise? How large was the community where the schoolhouse sat? All these questions rolled around in her thoughts as she closed her journal and her eyes. Tomorrow she would begin to answer all of them. Once again, the swaying of the rails lulled Dot to sleep like a lullaby to a baby.
; Meeting Ginger had been a blessing. At least she knew one person in Billings, three if she were to count the entire Houndsman family. That was three more friends than she could claim at Harvard University. See! Things were already looking up.
If this family represented the general population of Billings, Dot knew she would settle into a new and enjoyable life where friends sought her, not the other way around. How far from town did Mr. Orchid’s community lay? Would she be able to see Ginger often? How often was appropriate for friends to get together? Dorothy wondered if there was a chapter in her textbook about how often one could visit a friend and not impose on them.
Morning came with an excitement in the air. Dot woke and gathered her things. She would not be returning to this berth again. She stood, pressing her skirts with her hands and finger-combing her hair into a loose bun, secured it with a few hairpins and prayed it looked alright. Was there time for breakfast? She scurried to the dining car where the Houndsmans were already seated. Ginger brightened when Dot entered the car and waved her over to their table. “Come, come.”
Dot joined them for creamed chipped beef on toast and coffee. Mr. Houndsman folded his paper. “Miss Bladdenwart, the steward told us we are just a few hours away from Billings.”
Ginger begged, “Oh, do promise me we will not lose touch!”
“I promise.” Dot assured her. “Our meeting each other on this train was a blessing and I shall never forget you, Ginger Houndsman.”
“Nor I, you, Dorothy Bladdenwart.” Ginger giggled.
“You know, since we are already best friends, you should know my fa-friends call me Dot or Dotty.”
“Oh, and so shall I, Dotty… Bladdenwart.” Ginger emphasized her last name as if it were distasteful on her tongue. “With a surname like that, you have got to find you a husband!”
Dot laughed. “True. I never really thought about it before, but you’re right, it’s a mouthful.”
