Brides of Grasshopper Creek

by Faith-Ann Smith

  She hadn't really given the idea much consideration, reading through the advertisements more out of curiosity than with any serious intent. But, staring down at the man's ad now, she couldn't help but contemplate the possibility. Her life here was so monotonous with no real chance of her circumstances changing anytime in the near future. If she wanted a change, perhaps she had to be the one to make it happen. And if this man was looking for a woman with a sense of adventure, he certainly couldn't be counted in with the same boring, humdrum collection of men she'd happened upon during her time in Boston with Aunt Margaret. All she had to do to open up the opportunity for a new life was to write a letter to him. She didn't have to commit herself to marriage this moment. She'd consider a more concrete decision if and when the man from California sent a response.

  Olivia rose to fetch a pen and paper and quickly started to scrawl before she could change her mind. She had absolutely no idea what people usually wrote in these types of letters, but figured that an introduction and a little about herself was a reasonable guess.

  Dear Sir,

  I would like to introduce myself. My name is Olivia Collins. I have lived with my aunt in Boston, Massachusetts for the past several years, prior to which I resided with my mother and father, and younger brother in Ashfield. My father owned a factory and my mother, I am not ashamed to admit, spent a great deal of her time helping him in his business dealings.

  While I was never formally schooled, my parents possessed a deep passion for learning, teaching my brother and I both to read and write from a young age. I inherited their passion it appears, and cannot ever seem to obtain enough knowledge. Subjects as varied as science and medicine to philosophy and history fascinate me beyond words. However, I must admit a particular fondness for the tales of new adventurers and explorers like Nicholas Baudin, Allan Cunningham and Hester Stanhope.

  I feel it only fair to tell you that prior to today I had not previously considered finding a companion in such a manner. I do hope you understand that it is not an unappealing prospect, but rather not the ordinary means of going about making a marriage. Upon seeing your advertisement, the possibility of life and adventure in a new place held an immense amount of appeal. I have read a little about those brave souls who have ventured out west in search of better lives for themselves and for their families back home. I would be excited to learn about your own experience, if it is not too forward of me to say.

  It is my hope that I might receive your response, so that we may have the opportunity to get to know one another.

  Sincerely,

  Olivia Collins

  She considered briefly as she wrote if she should mention her age, or extol her physical attributes, but if the man was really only interested in a young beauty, Olivia was afraid he would have to find one elsewhere. She slipped the letter into an envelope and headed out quickly, sending it off before she could reconsider. While she hadn't given the idea of marriage—or moving across the country to California—a single thought prior to that day, she found it invaded her thoughts almost constantly from the moment her letter began making its way to the unknown man across the country. At first, she wondered if she had acted too hastily, but as the days and weeks passed, Olivia found herself awaiting a response with increasing anxiousness. She read about the farmers and miners who had begun moving to the west in search of a better life. Land was free or cheap and there was plenty of it to be had. They were adventurers, in her opinion, willing to sacrifice comfort and consistency in their old lives in search of the unknown. The idea sent a thrill coursing through Olivia's body, and already she had developed a modicum of respect for the man in the advertisement. “He must be brave, or at the very least, determined,” she thought, and either one of those characteristics was a positive in her mind.

  She wondered what else there was to be discovered about him. Did he have family there with him or had he ventured across the country on his own? Was he an educated man or did he give his life to mining or farming because there were no other occupations in which his limited intelligence would enable him to succeed. In truth, she also wondered other things about him, though she'd never confess those curiosities aloud, like whether he was a handsome man, made strong by the work that occupied his time. Or was he ugly and plump? Not that it mattered much; Olivia didn't think a good match required attractive faces and desirous bodies.

  It was just such thinking that had her fending off the attention of young men there in Boston—men who knew nothing about her but for her physical attributes, and on that basis alone were convinced she'd be a fitting wife. Olivia was certainly a beauty—she wasn't so modest that she would deny it, but she wasn't the least bit impressed by a man who would use her long, auburn hair, chestnut eyes, soft, feminine features or her slim form as a gauge of her lifelong compatibility.

  She forced the matter of marriage from her mind then. It was early in the morning and she wasn't going to spend the entire day obsessing over the man from California nor how he would choose a wife. In the midst of clearing the table after breakfast, Olivia turned her attention to the tasks at hand, washing the dishes and the wobbly table, before readying herself for the day's errands. While her aunt's maid was responsible for the daily upkeep of the home, she didn't see any harm in helping out with the chores around the house; it was an awful lot of work for one woman to manage.

  Then Olivia was off, choosing to walk the short distance between stops rather than bother with her aunt's horse and carriage. There was a stop to make at the market, a book to return to the library on Mason Street and a trip to the post office to squeeze into the morning hours.

  Olivia had been ecstatic when the library opened to the public in March of 1854. She had spent countless hours in the reading room, absorbing knowledge from so many more books than her aunt's bookshelves could hold. Later, when books from the library began to circulate, the building became a regular stop on her travels, and until recently, the most exciting point of any outing. The past several days, she'd saved the post office for last on her list, entering with bated breath as she asked about mail for herself or her aunt. On the second day, a letter had indeed arrived, but it had been addressed to her aunt from an acquaintance in a nearby town. She smiled graciously at the clerk, but inside she felt an enormous sense of disappointment. She hadn't realized she'd been anxiously awaiting the California man's response until that moment, but it seemed with each passing day, the idea had grown on her a little more to the point that she was now quite certain she had made the right call in sending the letter.

  As she entered the post office after making the other necessary stops along her way, she did her best to remain calm. There was absolutely no guarantee the man would respond to her letter at all, and so there was no reason for the anticipation she could feel welling within her. She felt her breath catch in her throat as the clerk left to search for her mail—a response she was regrettably becoming accustomed to after too many trips to the post office in recent days. As the clerk returned with a letter in hand, the anticipation she'd tried to keep in check coursed through her.

  “There is one for you today, Miss,” the clerk smiled at her kindly.

  “Thank you very much,” Olivia replied, doing her best to feign a visage of nonchalance.

  But as she turned away and walked out of the post office, she read her name and address over and over again, handwritten neatly on the front of the envelope. There was nobody else who would be sending her letters—she hadn't received a single correspondence from her few acquaintances back in Ashfield in several years. The letter had to be from the man in California. She continued walking toward home, the letter clenched in her hand all the while. She wanted to indecorously rip it open right there in the street like it were gold contained within the envelope rather than a letter. She hurried home instead, refusing to give into the curiosity that plagued her. If her feet wanted to propel her there faster, who was she to refuse?

  Not twenty minutes later, Olivia walked through the front doo
r of her Aunt Margaret's house and deposited her new book from the library along with her purchases from the market on the wobbly kitchen table. Seeing her aunt engrossed in her knitting, she sat down, placing the envelope in front of her and with the most composure she could muster, opened the letter.

  “Dear Miss Collins,” the same neat handwriting from the envelope penned the greeting.

  It was a pleasure to receive your letter. Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jackson King and I am originally from Cambridge, Massachusetts. I traveled to San Francisco, California nearly five years ago in search of a new and different life from a rather mundane existence in New England. The west has been replete with challenges and it is certainly not for the lackadaisical or weak, but it is certainly unlike any experience that could be had back east; a land not yet refined or corrupted by polite society, and ready to be wrought in any form or shape a pair of dedicated hands may desire.

  I have thoroughly enjoyed the adventure. While the first year here presented a substantial amount of solitude to which I was unaccustomed, I am the eldest of five brothers, all of whom have since joined me here in San Francisco, California. The youngest of my brothers, William, only recently joined us. In fact, he arrived just in time to celebrate the last Christmas holiday. Though our celebrations may not be as elaborate as they were in Cambridge, we enjoyed a plethora of good food, song, and the best company to be found in the east or west. Until they came here, I had not fully realized how much I had enjoyed our time together and their arrival brought along new additions to our family as three of my brothers have married, and two have presented me with nieces and nephews. I admit to playing a part in making those youngsters some of the most spoiled children in the state of California, perhaps in the entire country.

  I was pleased to read about your fondness for learning. Having attended college prior to moving out west, I share with you an undying interest in acquiring knowledge. While it was an unnecessary venture for a man determined to mine his fortune with his hands, it was an enriching experience nevertheless that served only to bolster an unquenchable thirst for intellectual growth. One of my favorite rooms in my home is the library. It has been filled with a multitude of books hand-picked by myself...until recently, as it seems there is a mounting number of children's fables gracing the shelves.

  I do hope you will write again soon.

  Sincerely,

  Jackson King

  While Olivia wasn't generally the type to sum up a person so quickly, she couldn't help but to feel an immediate affinity to Jackson King. He was intelligent and adventurous, and yet it was evident from the fondness with which he spoke about his family, there was a deeper and kinder side to him as well. It was surely too early to conclude anything with any certainty, but she was inclined to believe this was a man with whom she would be content.

  A love match? She wouldn't speculate on such a silly thing. Olivia had never seen love abounding within any marriage and was prone to believe “true love” was nothing more than a myth. Perhaps more aptly, a story told to children by mothers with good intentions, but who do little more than concoct unreasonable expectations in impressionable, young minds. When she considered the possibility of marriage to the man from California, Olivia thought of the potential for lively, intelligent discussion with Mr. King. A man with an eagerness for knowledge and adventure; surely their conversations would never be dull and that was enough for Olivia—to find a man who would value her opinions and intellect, who would not judge her to be daft or stupid solely on the basis of her being a woman. She could live in harmony with such a man. So, without hesitation this time, Olivia pulled out pen and paper and immediately began her reply, feeling surprisingly comfortable conversing with the California man.

  Dear Mr. King,

  I enjoyed receiving your letter and I was pleased to read about our shared enthusiasm for intellectual pursuits. I smiled as I read about your family. I imagine it was heartwarming to have those you care about so close as you began your new life out west. I wish I could relate to such a circumstance now, but I am afraid I have very little family to speak of, having lost both my parents and young brother to tuberculosis when I was only sixteen. I can recall a multitude of fond memories made with each of them and I treasure those dearly. How I long for a family celebration like those you spoke of in your letter. It is only my aunt and myself here in Boston, and our quiet, little Holidays together pale in comparison to the notion of a grand family event. I think that would be exciting to have small children around the house, though I cannot profess any personal experience in such matters. My brother and I were close in age, and there have been no other youngsters around but for the few I greet at the market.

  I have read a great deal about California in the past several weeks, and I must tell you that it sounds tremendously exciting. Perhaps I should say that I want to tame the west like so many others in polite society in New England seem to feel prudent, but I confess, I would not change it one bit.

  Perhaps that is not entirely true. I read that the weather there is terribly warm, particularly in comparison to the cold and snowy winters in New England and it is precisely that snow I would bring with me there if I could. I cannot imagine a Christmas with the streets bare and the grass green. It is nearly as inconceivable as one's own mortality, is it not? Though I think it would be quite amusing to adorn an Oleander or Indian Laurel tree in the parlor.

  I will look forward to receiving your response.

  Warm regards,

  Olivia Collins

  Olivia sent the letter off without a second thought, already anxious to receive a reply but knowing it would be several weeks at least. She allowed her mind to wander as she walked the few short blocks back to her aunt's home, thinking about how her life would be different if she moved away and married a stranger that she had never met. From the second she found Mr. King's advertisement in the newspaper until she handed over the letter at the post office just a few moments ago, she had been indecisive, not entirely certain this was the path for her, but at some point during the brief stroll home, Olivia came to a decision. This was it. There would be no more debate, no more questioning or vacillating. Barring some strange or unpredictable event, she was prepared to accept the proposal insinuated in Mr. King's advertisement. She longed for a new and different life, a conversation with someone who knew something more than the finest wool to use for knitting or the proper way to arrange the dinner table. She wanted to know if it really was as warm in California as the stories she'd heard. Was it really a lawless place with nary a woman in sight for miles? Was the land really teeming with gold, and what did a palm tree look like up close?

  She stopped mid-step as she affirmed her decision silently, changing directions in search of the library instead. If she was going to travel to some foreign place, if California was truly going to become her home, Olivia wanted to know everything. Walking through the library's front door, Olivia got to work. She investigated what was involved in gold mining out west, learning about those who had been successful thus far and in what ways she might be able to contribute when she arrived in California. She researched what methods of transportation were available from New England to the west and how daily living differed between the two places. Long before she was finished, the sun began to set in the sky, reminding Olivia she should be hurrying home. Besides, her head felt so full, she couldn't imagine where her brain had stored so much information.

  The next day, she slipped away to the library after her morning chores to investigate further. “It is as worthwhile a way to pass the time as any,” she reasoned, diving into another book filled with information about the “Wild West.” Day after day, she returned to the library, determined to absorb everything she possibly could, though she couldn't deny that the mission served in part as a distraction as she waited impatiently for a reply from Mr. King. Particularly now that she'd committed herself to such an enormous change, she was anxious for it to come to pass.

  She ha
d never known time to crawl by so slowly; the time that passed by since she'd sent the last letter feeling more like months rather than weeks. She resisted the urge to incorporate the post office into her daily errand schedule, knowing it would still be some time before a reply could be expected. And so, she continued to learn all that she could, branching out to learn about other foreign places when she'd read all she could about the west. The Caribbean sounded like a fascinating place, and she wondered if she would one day make a journey to England, thinking that visiting the place that her family came from would be exciting, too.

  Finally, Olivia deemed that enough time had elapsed and made her way anxiously to the post office. The clerk there now knew her by name and was already searching for her mail by the time she arrived at the desk. Returning with a letter in tow, she thanked the clerk and darted out the door. She didn't wait this time, too impatient to hold back even the few moments it would take to reach her aunt's home. Instead, she stood in front of the post office with the envelope in her hand and opened it, recognizing the tidy writing on the page.

  Dear Miss Collins,

  I hope this letter finds you well. Your letter arrived in California at the most opportune time, providing me with a much-needed break from the laborious tasks that have occupied much of my time in recent weeks. My brothers and I have spent countless hours toiling in the soil, and while the land has rewarded us generously for our efforts, it is difficult, monotonous work that I am happy to escape from even briefly. Or perhaps it is my dear brother William whom I am relieved to escape temporarily.

  Being unaccustomed to the work here, I believe he is not yet fully adjusted to the arduous labor. I do not mean it as an insult. He is, in fact, the most lighthearted of our small group, always ready with a witty retort or a humorous tale. I am quite certain that without him, our dinner table would be quite dull.