Brides of Grasshopper Creek

by Faith-Ann Smith

  “This is the reference I promised you. I added extra details to make sure you find work at any school, or can even open your own school.”

  Rose froze. The sound of wedding bells broke and shattered. A gong peeled in her ear and the clanging sound increased. She shivered and pulled her scarf closer. At her dumfounded expression, Joseph rushed to explain: “I can go myself and give a personal reference if needed. All you need to do is say the word, and I’ll be there.”

  No, you won’t. A dense cloud of unhappiness overwhelmed her, and Rose stumbled to her feet. The expected outcome of the evening was her fault, and she accepted the blame. She had no right for such high expectations, but her foolish heart had imagined things differently. Words of gratitude clung to her lips, but she didn’t have the strength to utter them.

  She ignored Joseph’s cry of concern as she ran from the room in a swirl of hurt. Dear God, please help me bear this pain.

  Chapter 8

  One week later

  Joseph watched the bright orb of the moon from the porch swing. Sleep hadn’t come in days, and left him gritty eyed and out of sorts. The cool air provided a fresh perspective to his tortured thoughts, but didn’t ease the pain in his heart. Why can’t I get her disappointed face out of my mind?

  He had bungled the entire affair, and his lips twisted into a bitter smile. What a fool he had been to see the truth too late. His life did not bear living without Rose’s guiding presence and bright smile. When he went to his parents’ home to tell her, she refused to see him or talk to him. His father had taken her side and glared at Joseph, and even his mother had been less than pleased.

  Joseph leaned forward and curled his hands under his chin. His father had relented after a few days and told him Rose was leaving on the morning train. The idea sickened him and spurred him to action. She couldn’t leave him—not now. Wait for me, Rose. I’m coming to get you.

  Chapter 9

  Rose dragged herself to the conductor’s window and bought a ticket to Maine. He noticed her red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks, but refrained from commenting. She had seen other furtive glances cast her way, but didn’t have the heart to pretend. Home was a haven for a broken heart, and she couldn’t wait to leave.

  She sat on the platform bench, her eyes bonded to the planks of wood. Maybe she could get a teaching job after she got back. Lots of children needed her help, and she needed theirs. It would be wonderful to feel—

  Two pairs of gleaming boots stepped into her line of view. Her eyes rose to a well-fitted suit, a perfect tie, until it locked on the mournful eyes of Joseph Wallace. Rose gasped at his grey-tinged face; he seemed to have aged ten years. Heavy eyes, deep-grooved cheeks, and a haggard appearance dampened his good looks. Her heart moved and she couldn’t stop her yelp of surprise. “Joseph, are you ill? What is wrong? Do you need a doctor? Please tell me.”

  “No Rose. I need you.”

  Rose blinked, wondering if she had heard wrong. She stood in his shadow, her eyes devouring his face. When he repeated himself, she expelled a deep breath. “What did you say?”

  “I need you. Then I will be whole again.”

  The chains shattered from around her heart and Rose reeled from the impact. The days of hurt and uncertainty melted away. Happiness swamped her in an overflow and she flew into his arms with a joyful cry.

  “Are you sure, Joseph? Please don’t offer your heart if you aren’t sure. I cannot take”—her voice cracked and wobbled— “another disappointment.”

  His chest rumbled against her cheek. “Yes, I am sure. And no, you will never have to doubt again. I am a Wallace and we don’t do things in half measures. My word stands on my honor as a gentleman.”

  He placed a hand under his chin and his eyes locked on hers. “Never leave me again, do you hear? And I promise I will love you forever.”

  Rose closed her eyes and allowed the moment to overtake her. She had countless things she wanted to say, but they were drawing a crowd. Onlookers clapped, some shielded their eyes, others laughed, and the children made faces.

  “I guess we had better go somewhere else so I can tell you how I feel.”

  Joseph released her with a grin and swung her carryall over his shoulder. “I have a great idea. Let’s grab a bite to eat at the restaurant, and then we will visit my parents to tell them the good news.”

  He held out his right hand to shake her own, and Rose glanced at him curiously.

  “Deal?”

  Rose smothered her laughter, remembering how they’d first met. She placed her hand in his own with delight and whispered, “Yes, my darling. It’s a deal.”

  THE END

  Mail Order Bride Margaret

  Sisters Of Binghamton

  Charity Phillips

  Binghamton, New York – 1872

  In the spring of 1872, young Margaret Perry is surprised to receive a letter from John Bartly, the Dakota farmer who she had written to well over a year ago. Mr. Bartly had placed an advertisement in the Matrimonial News seeking a bride and caretaker for his children following the unfortunate passing of his beloved wife.

  Margaret hates the thought of leaving Janie and Thomas, the children to whom she has served as a governess for seven years, but she must accept Mr. Bartly’s proposal to come West as her father’s struggle with consumption continues to worsen, and her mother’s sight has completely deteriorated, leaving them both unable to work. Her one comfort is that Mr. Bartly has two children.

  When she arrives in Dakota, however, Margaret finds Mr. Bartly to be just as cold in person as he was in his letters—and his children are just as demonic as Janie and Thomas are angelic.

  Will Margaret find the key to tame Mr. Bartly and his children, or will she be resigned to end her month-long trial at Bartly Farm before she has the chance to have a glimpse of the future they could share?

  Chapter 1

  Margaret Perry sat in a wicker rocking chair on the Edwards’ wraparound porch, sipping a glass of iced tea. She kept a close eye on Janie and Thomas as they scampered over the Edwards’ expansive plot of land.

  Without losing any of her focus on the children, Margaret leaned back into her chair and sighed a happy sigh. It was a perfect spring day: blue skies, puffy white clouds like cotton, and it was temperate with a soft breeze without being windy enough to blow her dark hair loose from its bun at the nape of her neck.

  Thomas came running toward Margaret and she couldn’t help but smile. With their golden hair and skin, Thomas and his sister looked like children of sunshine. When Janie noticed Thomas running, she took off toward the house as well and arrived on the porch before Thomas could even make it to the stairs.

  “Mags—” Janie began in her adorably-proper-for-a-ten-year-old voice.

  “We made bouquets for you!” Thomas said. He held out a messy bunch of wildflowers tied together with a wilted ribbon.

  “I made you a bouquet,” Janie said with disdain. She held out a beautiful bouquet of pink, blue, and yellow flowers tied with a delicate bow. “I don’t know what exactly Tommy made for you.”

  Margaret accepted the bouquets with a wide grin. “I love them both, thank you. What would you like to do now?”

  “Read us a story!” both children chorused.

  So the group went inside to the Edwards’ beautifully appointed library. Margaret’s sisters Ann and Sarah would have loved the library for its thousands of old books and first editions, but Margaret loved it for all the wonderful memories it held. For the past seven years that Margaret had served as the children’s governess, ever since Thomas had been a baby, she had read stories to the children in one of the library’s cushy armchairs.

  Janie and Thomas still insisted one scrunching into one armchair with her while she read, even though they were getting a little big for it. She didn’t mind being scrunched by these adorable creatures at all—in fact she quite enjoyed it.

  Just as Margaret was starting the third chapter of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, she heard a key
in the door. Quickly she rose and checked to make sure neither of the children had gotten dirty during their romps outside (not that the Edwards tended to notice such things.)

  Holding each child’s hand, Margaret led them into the front hall where Mr. and Mrs. Edwards were closing the door behind them. They looked glamorous as usual—him in an elegant pale suit and her in a white frock and hat.

  Margaret gave the couple the same nod and curtsy she’d been giving them for seven years. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Edwards. Did you have a nice time?”

  Mrs. Edwards put her hand on her chest. “Oh, Margaret, it was divine. Water looks so much more beautiful from the deck of a sailboat—you just have no idea.”

  “I’m sure I don’t,” Margaret replied.

  Mr. Edwards pulled a few bills out of his wallet and handed them to Margaret without once looking her in the eye. “We’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked absently.

  Each time Margaret was around Mr. and Mrs. Edwards, she hoped they would hug their children hello or even simply pat their heads—something. But more often than not, they ignored Janie and Thomas altogether.

  Margaret nodded at Mr. Edwards. “See you tomorrow.” She gave wide smiles to each of the children. “We’ll make sure we read through the tea party tomorrow, alright?”

  The children beamed back at her and Margaret left the Edwards’ mansion with a spring in her step.

  Her mood soured, however, when she arrived home and checked the mail. There was the usual pile of correspondence for both her parents—they’d once been the best shoemaker and seamstress in all of Binghamton, and their grateful customers liked to keep in touch. But one letter was not for either of her parents; it was for her. The letter was from Mr. John Bartly and had traveled all the way from Dakota.

  Margaret frowned down at the letter the whole way to the house. It had been nearly a year since she had responded to Mr. Bartly’s advertisement in San Francisco’s Matrimonial News. Could he really be responding after so long?

  The photographs that accompanied the ads in The Matrimonial News were so grainy that Margaret had never had any sense of Mr. Bartly’s appearance, but she remembered his ad well:

  April 7, 1861

  John Bartly, a thirty-four-year-old farmer of the Red River Valley in northern Dakota, seeks a sensible woman to care for his two children, a boy and a girl.

  All the men to whom Margaret had responded had children.

  It had been over two years since Margaret and her three sisters had pooled their money to buy a subscription to The Matrimonial News. Their mother had been nearly blind then, and their father had just been diagnosed with consumption. They had hoped that if they found men to marry out West, their new lifestyles might enable them to help their parents back East. The eldest Sarah and the youngest Lizzie had both found love with the first men they’d written to, while Margaret and Ann had been responding to ads for months with no replies whatsoever.

  “Is that Maggie?” her mother called from the kitchen as Margaret walked in through the door. Ada Perry stood in the kitchen chopping vegetables. The doctor said Margaret’s mother was completely blind now and shouldn’t be anywhere near knives or her sewing things, but Ada stubbornly continued to cook for her family and sew small pieces for her favorite clients. Margaret was, as ever, in awe of her.

  “Yes, it’s me, Mama. I’ve brought the mail.” She handed over everything but Mr. Bartly’s letter.

  “What’s that you have there?” Ada asked.

  “Are you sure the doctor wasn’t lying when he said you couldn’t see at all, Mama?” Margaret’s younger sister Ann called from the doorway. She had her ever-present stack of books in her arms and a scowl on her face.

  “I can read my Maggie like a book is all,” their mother replied, “even if I can’t see the pages.”

  “One of the personal ads I responded to in The Matrimonial News…” Margaret told her. “He wrote back.”

  Her mother smiled. “I’m surprised it’s taken this long, with a beautiful face like yours.”

  Margaret ducked her head in embarrassment. She had noticed how men sometimes looked at her, just as they’d looked at her youngest sister Lizzie back when she’d lived at home. Lizzie had enjoyed the attention, but Margaret preferred to be left alone. Why spend the countless hours Lizzie did on her appearance when neither the children nor their parents cared either way?

  Her mother and Ann both took seats at the table and Ada looked up at Margaret with her sightless eyes. “Well? Are you going to read us the letter?”

  Margaret nodded, realized her mother couldn’t see it, then cleared her throat. “Yes, of course.” She ripped open the envelope and withdrew the single sheet of stationery inside.

  She began to read:

  March 28, 1971

  Dear Miss Perry:

  I am writing in reference to the reply you sent to my April 7, 1871 ad in “The Matrimonial News.” A few other women have come on a trial basis to care for my children, but things have not gone well and I still find myself wife-less. My wife died two years ago, and no one will ever replace her, but the children need a mother of some sort.

  If you are still otherwise unengaged, I would like you to send me a detailed description of your current duties as a governess as well as references. Then we shall take things from there.

  Sincerely,

  Mr. John Bartly

  Margaret finished reading with a frown on her face.

  “He seems awfully cold, don’t you think?” Ann asked, voicing Margaret’s thoughts.

  “Not necessarily,” their mother said. “His wife died somewhat recently and he’s been left alone with two children to raise. It wouldn’t be an easy situation for anyone.” She turned to Margaret. “It sounds rather perfect for you, doesn’t it, Maggie?”

  “It does,” she replied, and tried not to let her frown into her voice.

  Margaret had always known she wanted children. People her own age could be so brusque, but children had a way of making the world brighter.

  But then, when she was seventeen, she began her governess job with the Edwards. At first, she’d just seen it as a way to bring some extra money in to help the parents she loved so dearly. But soon she loved Janie and Thomas as though they were her own. The thought of leaving them now was devastating.

  Her mother patted her shoulder, startling her out of her reverie. “I know it might be hard to leave the children, love, but you’re already twenty-four years old. This man may be your only chance to have children of your own.”

  But Janie and Thomas are my children, Margaret’s irrational mind insisted. Who would care for them if she left? How would she know the next governess wouldn’t ignore them just like their parents did?

  Still, Margaret pasted a smile on her face and nodded. “You’re right, Mama. I’ll go write my reply right now.”

  Margaret walked tall out of the kitchen and only allowed her shoulders to slump once she reached the stairs. The truth was, she would have responded to Mr. Bartly’s letter even if her mother hadn’t insisted upon it. Her parents’ medical bills were piling high and though Sarah and Lizzie both helped where they could, it wasn’t enough. Maggie had to take responsibility and hope that a marriage to this man might enable her to help her family back home.

  Still, on her way up the steps to her bedroom, Margaret couldn’t help but hope that Mr. Bartly decided she wasn’t up to snuff and had moved on to another potential bride.

  Chapter 2

  Margaret had only been corresponding with Mr. Bartly for three months when he asked her to come out west. After Margaret sent him the description of her duties as a governess and the reference he’d asked for, his letters had remained cold and indifferent, asking only the most cursory questions about her family and upbringing. Sarah and Lizzie’s husbands had insisted each sister respectively call them “William” and “Fred” in their letters, but no such insistence had come from Mr. Bartly. Writing to him felt more like Margaret’s initial interview to work for
the Edwards family than anything else.

  As she read Mr. Bartly’s lists of questions, she tried to look on the bright side. His two children, Charles and Emily, were nine and seven just like Janie and Thomas. While they would never be able to replace Janie and Thomas in her heart, they might make for fine substitutes.

  On a sunny day in late June, a thicker-than-usual letter arrived from Mr. Bartly. Most of the letter consisted of a detailed route she could take by train to get from her home in Binghamton, New York to Mr. Bartly’s farm in the Red River Valley. On top of that was a short note:

  June 1, 1872

  Dear Miss Perry,

  I have received reference letters from your current employers and am satisfied that you at least qualify for a trial out here at Bartly Farm. I’ve attached instructions for the specific route I’d like you to take out west should you choose to accept my proposal. After a month-long trial, we can discuss marriage.

  Sincerely,

  Mr. John Bartly

  Ann sucked in her cheeks as she listened to Margaret read the letter to her and their parents. “That is one cold fish you’ve caught yourself, Mags,” she said.

  “I still don’t think any of us know him well enough to decide that yet,” their mother said. She looked to her husband sitting on her left. The girls’ once mighty father looked so tiny in his dressing gown now. “What do you think, Joseph?”