by Kit Morgan
“That’s not exactly how it works, Father,” Jasmine said. “Genevieve said that Mrs. Redburn, the matchmaker in Bent – which, by the way, is not that far away – encourages a couple to court for a time before they marry. She has a beautiful house where the prospective brides live until their wedding day.”
“She does?” he said in surprise.
“It certainly beats the accommodations my fellow mail-order brides and I had when we first came to town,” her mother quipped. “Remember?”
“How can I forget?” he muttered. “You’re sure, darling?”
“Yes,” Jasmine insisted. “I feel like I’ll die of boredom. I can’t decide on a cause to get behind like Mother has, even though I’ve volunteered at the women’s mission for most of my life. I think what I need is a change, a big one. And … and I trust God will provide me a good man and a good calling.” Bringing up God to a preacher might be dirty pool, but she didn’t care.
Father winced and looked at Mother. “She doesn’t fight fair. Gets that from you.”
“Fighting fair is for people who don’t mind losing,” she replied.
He frowned at Jasmine. “Marriage is as big a change as you can get, short of death. But if this is what you want, then we’ll all speak to Genevieve and make the arrangements.” He headed for his study.
“What about dessert?” Mother called after him.
“I’ll be right back. I just want to go see where Bent is – I’ve never heard of it.”
She sighed in relief and looked at Jasmine. “I have to admit, I’d never heard of it either.”
“Genevieve says it’s a small place, a boomtown, like Noelle when you first came here.”
“Oh dear me, no wonder they’re short on women. Is it a mining town?”
“I’m not sure – I didn’t ask about the town when I spoke to Genevieve, only the matchmaker.”
“They do have a train station, don’t they?”
“I believe so.”
Her mother headed for the kitchen. “You’d better find out. If they don’t, your father might change his mind. So long as he can get there or knows that you can come home easily enough, he’ll be fine.”
“Oh, Mother, do you think that will be necessary?” Jasmine asked worriedly.
“Let’s hope not.” Mother stopped at the kitchen door. “But after what your poor father went through all those years ago when I came to town, he’s bound to be a little nervous.”
Jasmine thought about it and nodded. “This isn’t that, Mother. I’m not going to be a mail-order bride.”
“That’s what he’s afraid of. He’s at least familiar with what happens with those – not so much a straight matchmaker. She has to be very good at what she does: a professional, an expert at matching the right women with the right men. I hear it’s an art.”
“I’ve heard that too, but Genevieve says this one is wonderful.”
“She’d better be, or I’m siding with your father.”
Within a couple of weeks Genevieve had made arrangements with Viola Redburn to take Jasmine on as a client. Viola was a marvel, Genevieve said as she accompanied Jasmine and her parents to the train station, and she had complete confidence in the woman.
“I’m so excited I could burst!” Jasmine exclaimed as they waited on the platform.
“That makes one of us,” her father grumbled.
“Chase, please.” Her mother hugged Jasmine as the train pulled into the station. “Now your connection should be easy to make. You’ll write as soon as you get there?”
“Yes, of course,” Jasmine said as she picked up her satchel. She glanced at her trunk being stacked with others.
“Good.” Her mother kissed her on the cheek. “Mind your manners with the matchmaker and whatever you do – don’t talk her to death!”
Jasmine rolled her eyes as the train screeched to a halt. She said her goodbyes amidst more warnings of not talking to the other passengers, the conductor, the porters or anyone else with ears. Really, she wasn’t that bad … all right, she was, but she listened as much as she talked. One would think she was still ten years old.
Soon the train pulled out of the station. She was on her way to a new life! And though she’d only be a couple of days away by train, she refused to think about going home if things didn’t work out. This was her cause, the one thing she could get behind, and by golly, she’d see it through.
When she changed trains she was excited to find the other women traveling to Bent on the platform. The matchmaker said in her letter that some had come from great distances – as far as Connecticut and Massachusetts. Mrs. Redburn liked to bring in a group of brides to work with, and there were supposed to be ten in this group.
Remembering her parents’ warnings about not talking too much, she listened to the conversations of the other brides. All sorts of questions popped into her head, but she didn’t speak for fear that once she got started she wouldn’t stop. She didn’t want to make a bad impression before her journey had barely started.
She was so busy wondering when she should jump into the conversation that she didn’t see the tall pockmarked man dart out from behind a large stack of trunks and other luggage. He ran right into her and almost knocked her over. “Oh!”
Unfortunately for him, he tripped over her satchel and did fall over. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” he snapped, climbing to his feet.
“I’m terribly sorry, sir, but I believe you ran into me,” she pointed out.
He looked nervously over one shoulder. “Quite right, it was my fault. I beg your pardon. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He shoved past her and hurried on.
“Well, I never!” By now she had the attention of several of the women she was traveling with. One approached, a redhead with a small dog in her arms and a concerned look on her face. “Are you all right?”
Jasmine brushed off her skirt, though there was no need – she was just nervous since now she had to talk. “Oh, I’m fine. That clumsy man almost knocked me off my feet, though.” When she looked up, the woman was still staring at her intently. “Is something wrong?”
“Could you say that again? You were looking away – I couldn’t understand you.”
Jasmine tilted her head. “You mean you didn’t hear me?” Had she lowered her voice? She didn’t think she had.
“You see, I’m deaf. I had scarlet fever when I was little, and …” The woman shrugged
“But you can understand me.”
“Because I can read your lips. I’m quite good at it.”
Jasmine’s face lit up. “You mean you can’t hear me? You can only read my lips?”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
Jasmine grinned. “Why, that’s wonderful!”
The young woman’s eyebrows rose. “Um … really?”
“Oh, I don’t mean it’s wonderful that you can’t hear. It’s wonderful that you can read lips so well.” Not to mention that she could talk to this young woman and not wear on her nerves … she hoped. “Are you traveling to Bent to see Mrs. Redburn too?”
“Yes, we all are.” She nodded at the group of young women behind them. “Come meet everyone.”
Jasmine smiled shyly. “Do you have anyone to sit with on the train?”
“No – would you like to sit together?”
“Yes, please. I’d like that very much.”
The young woman smiled. “My name is Myrakle Estes. And this is Dumpling.” She snuggled the dog. “What’s your name?”
“Jasmine Hammond.” She patted the cocker spaniel on the head then offered the girl her hand. “What an adventure this is.”
Myrakle took her hand and laughed. “It certainly is. Though I must say I’m nervous.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” Jasmine smiled. “Of course, I can understand your reasons.”
Myrakle nodded. “I’m glad. I’m also glad to sit with you on the train.” She looped her arm through Jasmine’s and steered them toward the other women. “Have you met a
ny of the others?”
“No, I …” Jasmine remembered to face Myrakle when she talked. “No, not yet.”
“I’ve met a few – I’ll introduce you.”
“Are they as nervous as we are?”
“Of course. We’re all going to Bent for the same reason. None of us knows what our future husband will be like, but we’ve all been assured that Viola Redburn is the best of the best at matchmaking. I’ve also been told there’s a matchmaker in Denver who’s quite good, but she deals mostly in mail-order brides and is, well, a bit eccentric. This is the best solution.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Jasmine said as they reached the rest of the group. Introductions were made and soon all the young ladies had someone to sit with on the train. A Miss Violet Montgomery had become the natural leader of the group. She seemed to know a lot about Mrs. Redburn the matchmaker.
Soon the train pulled in and they boarded. Once settled in, the girls chatted among themselves as other passengers waved to family or friends who’d come to see them off. Jasmine wished her parents and Genevieve were there to wave at her again, but no one was at this train station to tell her goodbye or to assure her good luck.
The man who’d bumped into her earlier stood on the platform and eyed her coolly. Surely he wasn’t still mad about tripping over her satchel? It wasn’t her fault she was standing there. If he hadn’t come running around those trunks the way he did, it never would’ve happened. For Heaven’s sake, one would think his pants were on fire the way he’d hightailed it out of the shadows. Why was he glaring at her now? For that matter, who was that man speaking to him, and why were they nodding her way?
“Miss Hammond?”
Jasmine looked up and smiled at Violet. “Yes?”
“I just wanted to welcome you again to our little group. I’m glad you’re here. I’ve heard a lot about what Genevieve Kinnison has done in Noelle. Mrs. Redburn told me in her letters.”
“Oh, yes, Genevieve’s a saint.”
“Indeed. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Of course.” Jasmine smiled and turned to Myrakle, who was looking out the window across the aisle as the train pulled out. “Isn’t this exciting?” Then she remembered that if she wanted to talk to her, she’d have to make sure they were facing each other so Myrakle could see her lips. Still, she was happy she was making new friends and wouldn’t be alone on this journey. If not, she might not feel as brave as she did at the moment.
Chapter Three
Jasmine’s confidence lasted until they arrived in Bent late that evening, and no one met their group at the station. They waited over an hour before being approached by a handsome cowboy with bad news.
Viola Redburn had passed five days earlier from pneumonia.
Her heart sank. “What does this mean?” she asked Myrakle. But Myrakle was turned away, looking at the cowboy. Her mind was reeling – she wanted to shout, to scream.
And things had been going so well. She’d told Myrakle her life story, and the two had bonded during the their journey. She imagined her and her new husband spending holidays with Myrakle and her new family. Their children would grow up together. She, Myrakle and the other brides could start a sewing circle or some other club and serve the community together. And on it went. Not even tripping and almost falling on her face as she got off the train had dampened her happiness.
But now how could all that come about? Who would match them to their new husbands? Egads, what if there were no husbands lined up due to Mrs. Redburn’s untimely demise? Would they all be stranded here? She checked with the kindly old man in the ticket office, but he wasn’t much help. He only confirmed that Viola Redburn was gone. All she could do was sit with the others and wait.
Slowly but surely the women began to fall apart. Alice, who hailed from Baltimore, was the first to crack and start crying. The cowboy, who was still around – a gentleman couldn’t well leave ten damsels in distress, could he? – moved toward her, but Myrakle got there first and pulled Alice into her arms. Jasmine appreciated his presence, but what could he realistically do? They were all cold, upset and scared, having traveled so far only to find they’d made the trip for nothing. No matchmaker. No husbands.
Alice’s younger sister Abigail began crying next, and Violet gave her a hug. Several others followed the sisters’ lead. Even Dumpling, Myrakle’s cocker spaniel, was upset, clinging to his mistress’ side and fidgeting. The cowboy tried to calm the dog down. Jasmine, still dry-eyed, stood and paced. “Oh, Father,” she whispered. “I’m glad you’re not here to see this.”
Then a tall, lanky man came out of the shadows, had a few words with the cowboy, then turned to the women. “Good evening. I’m afraid there’s been a mistake …”
Jasmine shut her eyes as her throat grew thick. That was the last thing she needed to hear. The women pressed in around the man. She did too, but only because she was jostled by the others.
The man was Chance Redburn, Viola’s nephew. His starched white shirt gleamed in the gaslights, his hat in his hands as he explained the situation. She listened with the others, wondering if Myrakle was able to understand him. There were too many of them gathered around him, and her friend was hanging back to one side.
When he was done, Jasmine relayed to Myrakle what he’d said. He’d inherited everything from his Aunt Viola, including the matchmaking business. Everything would be fine and they should follow him. Would he be able to get them the husbands they were promised? Who knew? But it seemed like the best chance they had, so they followed Mr. Redburn along with everyone else. All Jasmine and any of them could do at this point was pray and hope.
Once they’d reached Mr. Redburn’s deceased aunt’s house, the group sorted themselves out and settled into bedrooms in pairs. Jasmine and Myrakle naturally paired up, changed into their bedclothes, said their prayers and got into bed.
But Jasmine couldn’t sleep. She knew she’d have to keep a stiff upper lip, smile and be as encouraging as she could to her fellow brides. Genevieve told her she’d make her transition to matrimony easier if she stayed happy and confident, but she didn’t feel confident anymore. How was she going to keep pretending like she was? Had she made the right choice in leaving Noelle and coming here? And why did she have to be the one to put on a happy face and keep it there?
She turned over and looked at Myrakle on the other bed. That was one reason – it was hard enough going through this without having to do it minus one sense. Would the man she was to be matched with be upset that she was deaf? The cowboy from the station was kind and attentive to her and some of the others, but to be married to such a woman might be another matter, though Myrakle couldn’t help it.
And what about Jasmine’s own flaws? She talked too much, she was clumsy and it might not take the other young women long to be annoyed by it. She could be exuberant and excitable at times, but not always over things other people were excited about. Was there such a thing as being too happy?
The news of Mrs. Redburn’s passing had really thrown her off. She liked order, as did her parents, and this was chaos in the extreme. Chance Redburn was a handsome man with blonde hair and green eyes, but while he was kind enough, she suspected he didn’t have a handle on things. How could he when his aunt died less than a week ago? No one was that organized, except maybe her mother …
The next morning Jasmine put on a smile just as Genevieve had instructed and went down to breakfast with the others. That, too, was chaos. There was something resembling coffee, but only just, and a great batch of biscuits and gravy. The cook, a Mr. Clarence “Beans” McGruder, looked like he’d fallen off a chuck wagon that morning and been hired on the spot. She choked everything down – it was filling if not tasty, though the biscuits were good. She found out later when Mr. Redburn came in that Mr. McGruder really had come from a chuck wagon … or rather worked for Mr. Redburn when he owned a cattle ranch. That explained a lot.
Poor Mr. Redburn, he was bombarded with a cacophony of complaints by h
er fellow brides. That did nothing for her confidence. Neither did Mr. Redburn’s insistence that they cook and clean so long as they were there, whereupon Mr. Beans threw a fit at being expected to teach them. If father were here to see this, he’d throw a fit too.
Then Mr. Redburn threw a stick of dynamite into the works. “You see, my aunt didn’t keep very good records and I’m still trying to figure everything out …”
Jasmine and a few others gasped, missing whatever he said next. The sinking feeling of last night was back, making her stomach knot. If the man couldn’t match them to prospective husbands, what were they going to do? Well, she knew she could go home, but from the sounds of it several of the women didn’t have that option.
“Maybe that’s why I’m here,” she said to herself. “Maybe this is what Genevieve was talking about. But I’m not like Genevieve. I’m not even married yet.”
“What was that?” Myrakle asked.
Jasmine looked at her. “Sorry – just talking to myself. We’d better keep paying attention to what he’s saying.”
Myrakle nodded and faced Mr. Redburn, who was saying something about … unsuspecting grooms? Oh, that didn’t sound pleasant. And the other brides were becoming more and more upset.
Finally they were ushered into the parlor, given some decent coffee and calmed down a bit. Jasmine took a moment to study her fellow brides. How could she help them? What would Genevieve do? To distract herself she glanced around the room and imagined having a grand house like this one. The Redburn place was a brick mansion with a lovely veranda wrapping around it. The chairs in the parlor and bedrooms had lace antimacassars. It was neat, clean and pleasant. Viola Redburn must have had a bit of money.
But enough of that – she had a job to do! It would keep her mind off possibly not being matched with anyone. And what about poor Myrakle – would Mr. Redburn find a husband for her? She took a sip of her coffee to open up her throat.
Bertha Langston from Boston sat nearby. “You look worried,” she told Jasmine.
