The idea of having a broader selection of women did seem appealing, especially if they were real women, and not just half-grown children. “Maybe I’ll stop in and talk to that bride of yours sometime, then.”
Porter grinned. “You’re always welcome at the butcher shop, whether it’s to talk to me, or Herman, or my wife. You folks have a good day.” He tipped his hat at Noah’s mother, and left the shop.
Noah glanced at his mother, who had remained tight-lipped during most of the conversation. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?” She put her hands on her hips. “You won’t even consider a single girl I choose for you, but you’ll take the choice of a complete stranger?”
“It’s not about you, Mother. It’s about me wanting a different type of girl than what you can choose out here. I don’t want some girl forced on me by a farmer’s wife with high ambitions—a girl who is barely more than a child herself. And I want a girl who wants me because I’m the type of man she’s looking for—not because her mother is pushing her, or because she sees me as a way to get a leg up in life.”
“You think girls from back east won’t trip over themselves for a nice shop owner?”
“Shop owners are probably a dime a dozen out there. No girl is going to travel across country to live in a frontier town for just a shop owner. Surely they’re looking for the right man—otherwise, they’d have just settled for a local fellow.”
“Please don’t do this.”
“You wanted grandchildren, didn’t you?” Noah wasn’t sure at all that he wanted to pursue a mail order bride, but it amused him to tease his mother, after all the grief she’d caused him with her matchmaking.
And it couldn’t hurt to find out what my options are, could it?
Chapter 6
Friday April 5, 1890
North End, Boston, Massachusetts
Glaring light bore down on Mollie, penetrating her eyelids with piercing pain. She groaned, rolling over and covering her head against the bright assault.
“No ya don’t!” Her mother’s voice growled, pulling the pillow from Mollie’s hands. “You’ve spent enough time moping in your room. If you want to stay in my house, you get up and find a job. Today! I’m not spending my hard-earned money on a lazy girl who just wants to cry all day and feel sorry for herself. You’re not the only one who’s faced hardship, Mollie Quinn!”
“I don’t see Chloe jumping out of bed to work every morning,” Mollie snapped.
“Chloe is still in school. That’s her job.”
“That’s funny…when I was in school, my job was to get up, make breakfast, clean the kitchen, and sweep the floors…and go to school. And to clean the house from top to bottom when I got home, as well!”
“Don’t be smart with me young lady. You’ve cost me a pretty penny with your indiscretion, and you haven’t worked since you got fired, three whole months before you gave birth. I’ve been patient long enough.”
Mollie felt the bedcovers torn away from her body, and she shivered as the chill of the morning air settled over her.
“You can be mad at me all you want, young lady, but you’ll be mad while you’re finding a job.”
“No one will have me. You know that.”
“No house will have you, it’s true. Then get yourself a factory job. They don’t care if you lift your skirts to any dandy you meet, as long as it happens outside the factory.”
“How dare you! You know that’s not how it was. I haven’t seen him since I gave him the news that I was expecting. Nor have I seen any other man. You of all people should know that. You had me shackled to this house, cooking and cleaning for you, ever since!”
“Oh yes, God forbid Mollie does anything to earn her keep! I cooked and cleaned while I was pregnant. No reason you couldn’t do the same, to pitch in.”
“I seem to remember being eight years old and doing most of the cooking and cleaning when you were expecting Chloe.” Mollie sat up in bed, but she wouldn’t give in more than that. She snatched up the covers and pulled them up to her chest.
“Stop being insolent and do what you’re told!” Her mother stood over her, glaring. She slapped a folded newspaper down on the bed. “I don’t care what kind of job you get. A sewing job is out—your stitching is awkward at best. But any decent job you can get—chicken plucking, a commercial laundry, anything you can get—you’d better get it. You look through these advertisements, then you get dressed, and you go looking. You come back with a job by the end of the day tomorrow, or you pack your bags and get out. You hear me?”
Ida turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door.
Mollie sunk into her covers, angry and exhausted. She hadn’t even had enough energy to put up much of an argument. She hadn’t left her room in two days, and had barely eaten a thing. All she could do was cry, and try to escape the tears by sleeping the day away. She was miserable. Her arms felt so empty. She ached to hold Nell. The unused milk made her breasts ache, and kept leaking through her nightdress.
While she had searched for Nell, she had tried to express the milk by hand, to keep the flow up, so that she’s still have milk for her baby. But knowing Nell was in Montana—a train ride that would surely take weeks, at best—she knew it was all for naught. Now she just had to suffer while her body adjusted to not being needed to sustain a baby. She wished there was someone who could help—she wondered if a doctor could give her advice to make the milk stop quicker, or make it less painful—but she knew her mother would never pay for a doctor’s visit. And she wouldn’t even ask her mother. She’d rather suffer. It would only be another opportunity for Ida to complain of the great burden Mollie had been to the family.
She didn’t know what to do. She hated being under the same roof as her mother—she could barely look at the woman without feeling ill. She hadn’t talked to her mother all week, until that morning. Now it was clear that her mother’s patience was thin. Mollie knew when she had overstepped, and her mother’s threats were not empty—she’d boot Mollie out if she didn’t find a job.
But Mollie didn’t want to find a job. She wanted to find her child. She’d spent the last two days trying to rack her brain and come up with a way to afford a train ticket to Montana. She hadn’t given up—she would never give up—but despair had taken hold. It seemed it was hopeless. She didn’t want to face the fact that she might have to wait and hope the Demings would bring Nell back to Boston.
If that ends up being the case, I’ll need to know when they return. That means I’ll need more bribe money.
And for money, she’d need a job.
Grumbling, Mollie opened the newspaper and spread it out over the bed. She perused the kitchen jobs—she couldn’t help herself, though she knew she needed to give up that hope. A job in service was hard, but it was far above a factory job, in her eyes. Eventually she had to admit she was wasting her time, and shifted toward the factory job advertisements.
Then a larger advertisement caught her eye…with the word MONTANA in big block letters. A thrill coursed through her veins.
Charming young women desired out west. Upstanding MONTANA bachelors in search of wives. Must be unmarried or widowed, of good moral character. All expenses paid. All potential brides and bachelors are interviewed prior to matching, for the safety and reassurance of both parties. Most bachelors are from beautiful HELENA, MONTANA, or the surrounding area, with a select few from BUTTE, GREAT FALLS, MISSOULA, and BOZEMAN. Inquire with Northwest Matrimony Connection, post office box 342, Boston, Massachusetts.
“Helena!” Mollie gasped—it seemed too good to be true! An all-expense paid trip to the city where her child was being held? It was like a gift from God! But just as quickly as her hopes had been raised, they were dashed again. They wanted women “of good moral character.” Though Mollie didn’t consider a single slip in judgment to mean she wasn’t of good moral character, she knew everyone else in the world would believe it. Men could have a slip in judgment, but women were foreve
r ruined.
Forever.
It didn’t seem fair. All the talk of redemption and forgiveness made her laugh—there was no redemption or forgiveness. At least, not outside the confessional. The rest of the world didn’t care if God had forgiven her—they never would.
Then her mother’s words came back to her…you could become one of those mail order brides. You’re a good cook and you clean well enough—a man out west would consider you a good catch. You don’t need to mention your indiscretion.
Dare she? There was an interview process. She’d have to lie to whoever asked the questions. Mollie didn’t like lying. Not that she’d never done it—she’d told a white lie or two in her time. And of course, she’d feigned a hurt ankle in front of the nun—but she hadn’t felt like she had a choice. It was a little different to sit right across from someone and look him or her in the eye while you lied about your most shameful secret.
Then again, why would they ask about that directly? Surely no one would be so bold. It might be sufficient to say she lived a moral life—and that was true. She had lived a moral life every day of her entire life…every day, but one, that is. Why mention that one single day?
Her heart beat wildly. This was her chance! She’d found a way to get to Nell, and she would do everything in her power to make sure that her plan came to fruition.
Chapter 7
Thursday, September 5, 1890
Helena, Montana
Noah was in the back of the shop, overseeing the delivery driver as he brought in crates containing carefully-packed clocks. The man was slower than a turtle.
He heard the bell of the shop door, and walked out to greet the customer.
But it was his mother who had just walked in. “Sorry I was gone so long. I met Mrs. Berger along the sidewalk and stopped to chat for a minute.”
“That’s alright. It’s a slow day today.”
“I passed our house on my walk, and ran into the mail carrier.” She dropped a letter on the counter. “Another letter from that girl.”
“I really wish you would stop calling her ‘that girl’.”
“What else should I call her? She’s a complete stranger—both to me and to you.”
“How about calling her Miss Quinn? Or Mollie? She might be my wife someday. You might as well stop harboring so many feelings of resentment.”
“Oh Noah, please tell me you’re not thinking of really going through with this charade!”
“It’s not a charade. It’s a courtship. And yes, I’ve decided. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
“Oh dear. Please reconsider. I still don’t see what’s wrong with Mary Beth Downing.”
“Mother, it’s been a year. Let it go. I don’t care how pretty Mary Beth is. She’s a spoiled brat who just wants me to buy her a fancy carriage.” He rolled his eyes thinking of the disastrous dinner he’d been tricked into, when his mother invited Mary Beth and Mrs. Downing over, and then took Mrs. Downing out to see her garden for nearly an hour. It had been the longest hour of his life.
“Are you sure, Noah? What if she turns out to be hiding things from you? What if she’s ugly?”
“Mother, I showed you her picture. She’s lovely.”
“Oh bosh, that could be anyone. She could have stolen that picture.”
“Mother.”
“Oh, alright, alright. If I can’t persuade you, and you go through with it, and she doesn’t just sell the train ticket and spend the money you send her—“
“Mother.”
“—then yes, yes, I’ll accept her. I’m not a rude woman, you know. I have manners. As long as she treats my baby well, she’ll be a friend to me.”
“When are you going to stop calling me your baby?”
“When I’m six feet under, my love.” She patted his cheek, then went to hang up her shawl.
“I’m going to see to the rest of the delivery.” He swept the letter off the counter while his mother’s back was turned, deciding to stay in the back room after the delivery driver was gone, so he could enjoy Miss Quinn’s letter in private.
The delivery driver took ages to finish bringing it the crates—in spite of how few there were. Noah shifted a few things around to make room for them, thinking about the picture Mollie had sent of herself.
She was very pretty, and he was astonished at how perfectly Mrs. Porter had chosen his match. Miss Quinn was everything he was looking for. She had experience as a kitchen maid, kept house for her mother, and had even helped raise her sister, who was much younger than she was. Miss Quinn must be a very hard worker, he thought. He imagined that kitchen maids worked long hours, and to care for an infant after a long day at work must have been difficult. She seemed to have a quick wit, and they shared many of the same interests. He thought she’d make a fine wife and mother. He couldn’t believe his luck.
After his mother turned in for the night, he decided, he’d write a letter back, asking Mollie Quinn to marry him.
***
January 3, 1891
Boston, Massachusetts
It’s here! It’s finally here! Mollie clutched the letter to her chest as she entered the house and ran up the steps to her apartment.
“I have a list of chores for you,” her mother muttered as she walked in.
“In a minute,” Mollie replied.
“No, now.”
Mollie ignored her and set the family’s mail on the dining table, keeping her eyes down on her own letter as she walked back to her bedroom and shut the door. As she started to open the envelope, a voice startled her.
“You’re going to get it for that. You know how Ma gets when you disobey her.”
Mollie looked up, noticing for the first time that her nine-year-old sister was sprawled on her own bed, reading one of her dime novels.
“You should talk. Does Ma know you’re reading that? I thought she threw that out.”
Chloe shook her head. “That was the old one. I bought this one with my candy money.”
Mollie fought to keep a bitter expression from her face. Candy had been a very rare treat when she was growing up, and when she did receive some, it usually came from generous neighbors, not her mother. Chloe, on the other hand, actually received a candy allowance every week. And if Chloe wanted a toy or something else on top of that, it wasn’t very hard to wheedle it out of their mother, as long as the price wasn’t too dear.
It’s not Chloe’s fault, she reminded herself, that Ma was so stingy with me, and so generous with her. It’s Ma who taught Chloe to be so spoiled. But sometimes it was extremely difficult not to resent her young sister. If it wasn’t for the fact that Chloe was so sweet—as long as she was getting her own way—Mollie doubted she could have tolerated sharing a room with her sister. And Chloe had loved having Nell around, even when the baby had cried at night. Nell was just a real life doll to Chloe. As long as you didn’t ask Chloe to change or wash a diaper, she had been eager to help with Nell, too. She was the only person in the family, besides Mollie, who was devastated at Nell’s absence.
Mollie said nothing as she sat on her bed and tore open the envelope, then yanked the letter out. She’d rather have read Noah’s letter in private, but with Chloe home, it wasn’t likely that she’d get that chance. Though Chloe appeared to be reading, Mollie could feel her sister’s eyes on her as she read the letter. She glanced up quickly to catch Chloe sneaking a peek at her, so Mollie tucked her legs under her on the bed, and turned away toward the wall.
“What does it say?” Chloe begged.
“None of your business.”
“You don’t need to be rude.”
“I’m not—you are. It’s not your letter. If I wanted to share the contents, I’d read it out loud.”
“I know what you’re up to, you know.”
Mollie didn’t take her eyes off the letter, but she couldn’t focus on the words due to her sister’s pestering. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do. You’re hoping that fel
la in Montana will marry you, so you can go find Nellie.”
Mollie whipped her head around, peering at her sister over her shoulder. “Why would you say that? Nell was adopted here in Boston. That idea is just silly.” She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice as she spoke her daughter’s name aloud.
Chloe shook her head emphatically. “No, she’s in Montana. I know it. You would never let a man from so far away court you, because it would mean living far from Nell. You want her back, and you’d never leave Boston your whole life long, if she was still here.”
Mollie turned away, silently blinking back tears.
“Which means Nell is in Montana,” Chloe announced smugly. “Or at least, you think she is.”
She thought about denying it, but Mollie knew Chloe was smart as a whip—she’d see right through any pretense, just as she’d figured everything else out. “Don’t you dare say a thing to Ma, or anyone else.”
“I won’t!” Chloe sounded hurt. “I love Nell too, you know. I’m still mad that Ma took her away. She didn’t even ask me if it was alright.”
Leave it to a spoiled nine-year-old to think that her opinion on my daughter’s kidnapping should matter more than mine. Mollie sighed.
Chloe put her book aside and slid off her bed, crawling onto Mollie’s. “I miss her.”
“Me, too.” Mollie swallowed over the lump in her throat.
Mail Order Devastation (Montana Mail Order Brides, Book 4) Page 4
