Brides of Grasshopper Creek

by Faith-Ann Smith

  Finally, after several weeks of worrying and wringing her hands in anxiousness, a new letter arrived from Samuel Merriweather.

  My dear Miss Copeland,

  I was deeply relieved to read that you would like to come to Oregon and be with us. As you say, time is of the essence. I have enclosed two tickets to a ship that will bring you from New York to Coos Bay, by way of Boston and San Francisco.

  Christmas will be all the more wonderful simply for having you here with me. You tell such lovely stories. I have told my son your story of the decorated stores and he has requested going to see them in person. Perhaps someday, when you are longing to visit your hometown again, we can see these visions for ourselves. I do not doubt that yours will be a most beloved presence here this holiday season.

  I pray that you will have a safe journey and I will do my best to be sure that I am there when you arrive.

  All the best,

  Samuel Merriweather

  Chapter 3

  Mrs. Helen Copeland would not be moved as easily as Abigail. When she was told that Mr. Merriweather had sent along some boat tickets for them and that they were expected to move to Oregon, she looked as though she had swallowed a mouse.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked Abigail. “Moving all the way over there for some stranger?”

  Abigail smiled slightly at her. “It is something that a lot of young women are doing these days. You wanted me to get married. I don’t see why this way is not a perfect way to go about it. I will even be able to continue my occupation!”

  Maintaining at least some semblance of her nursing career was something that Abigail really hoped she would be able to achieve. If men could be married while still being able to pursue careers, why couldn’t a woman? And, after all, Mr. Merriweather highly prized Abigail’s abilities as a nurse. He surely would let her continue to use her skills, once his son was better.

  Oh, she hoped she would be able to make his son better! How dreadful it would be to go all the way there on that promise, only for the little boy to die…

  Abigail and her mother packed up their things, careful to remember that they must pack up everything because they would not be coming back. It was hard for Helen to fathom at first, so Abigail did her best to rouse some excitement out of her. “We’re going to explore the open country,” she told her. “Think of all the things we shall see! Why, we may even stumble upon something that no one has discovered yet. Won’t that be amazing?”

  Her mother smiled slightly at her. “I’ve seen enough of the world to be satisfied,” she replied. “But if I see you married there, that will make me happy. Is this man terribly rich?”

  “Oh, obscenely,” Abigail said. She actually had no idea; it was merely an assumption. One could not buy an ad in the newspaper without a decent bit of money and she thought that, as a coal miner in Coos Bay, he must surely have a lot of money by now. The miners out there had been a great success, according to the newspapers and word on the streets. She wondered if he had mined any gold.

  “Good,” her mother said. “I want to see you married well. I married well and never wanted for a thing…until your father passed away.” She suddenly looked sad. “Now I would trade everything to get him back.”

  Abigail gently laid a hand on her mother’s shoulder.

  “That is the sort of marriage I want for you,” Helen said at last, shaking away the sadness and carrying on with her packing. “I hope this Samuel Merriweather can give you that and he does not expect you to be his glorified wet nurse.”

  Abigail blushed. “Mother! It is not like that. Besides, I am quite sure the boy has been looked after by doctors there as well. It is just a convenience that I have nursing skills. If he had intended for his advertisement to be for simply a nurse, he would have said so.”

  She wanted to believe that. After all, he had called her lovely. What did it matter if a nurse was lovely?

  Once all of their things were packed up to be sent off on a train, they were ready for their boat ride. At least, Abigail was. “I’ve never been on a boat before,” her mother said, wringing her hands nervously on the train on the way to Boston. “What if I get sick?”

  “I’ll be with you, Mother,” Abigail replied soothingly. “If you get sick, I will take care of you. But I don’t think you will get sick. Remember, I’ve never been on a boat either and I am not worried about it in the least.”

  “That’s because you are young,” Helen said with a slight wink. “Young people are not afraid of anything. At least, they shouldn’t be.”

  The train ride was long enough that the two women were asleep by the time they arrived in Boston. Then they groggily boarded their ship to San Francisco, not looking forward to the fact that it would take an additional train ride afterward to get them to Coos Bay. It was quite a lot of travel to get from point A to point B.

  Abigail was amused to discover that the ship was largely heralded as a “mail order bride” ship. Many of the passengers were well-dressed young women around her age. Most of them, like her, had a chaperone such as a mother or perhaps an elder sister. She wondered what sort of things might go on with these strange men, if chaperones were needed.

  Finding some alone time on the boat, Abigail longed to be able to speak with Samuel. She could not even write to him now. She wondered, languidly, what his life was like and what his little boy was like.

  The sea stretched on ahead, and although she did not feel sick on the ship, she hoped that she might never need to make a journey like this again. She wanted desperately to feel as though she belonged somewhere and was needed.

  When they docked at last in San Francisco, California, Abigail and her mother took in as many of the sights as they could before and while on their final leg of their journey. The west was as beautiful and different as Abigail had hoped. She wished that she could stop in and see what it was like in the mines, but she knew that she would be shooed away immediately. Mines were men’s work. She did not want to get dirty, but she certainly was curious to see what sort of things went into mining. Perhaps her new husband would show her.

  Oh! Her new husband! She had not really thought of Samuel in that way yet. She had spent so long fretting about how she might help him that she had not fully realized that he was going to be her husband. They would be able to help each other. The thought excited her, and she also grew nervous at the prospect of meeting him. What if he did not find her as attractive as he had desired? What if he was disappointed in her? What if she was disappointed in him? She knew that she did not have a say in the matter, but she hoped that she could be happy with him. After all, they would be living together…

  After a while, all of the west outside of her window started to appear the same, much like the east did to her mind. The invisible boundaries of the states were not apparent at all, and she wondered aloud if they were anywhere near Oregon yet.

  “Yes, Miss,” a friendly coachman told her, chuckling. “We’re coming up on Coos Bay next.”

  “Oh, that’s marvelous,” Abigail said. “Did you hear that, Mother?” She nudged her mother awake. “We’re nearly there!”

  Dear Mr. Merriweather, she thought. We are almost to your home and so anxious to meet you at last. I pray that your little one is safe.

  She hoped that she would be everything that Samuel dreamed she would be, and she prayed that he would be everything she had hoped for as well.

  Coos Bay, Oregon 1870

  Once their train had stopped at the station and the attendant had helped them with their luggage, Abigail and Helen Copeland stood on the platform, looking around in wonder and no small bit of trepidation.

  There was no sign of the man they had come to see. No one held up a sign with their names on it, or even asked them where they were trying to go. Now that they had arrived, Abigail had no idea what they should do next.

  December in Oregon was not a good time for standing out in the drafts. Abigail wrapped her coat around herself and led her mother out t
o the dirt-filled road. She waved her hands at the passing carriages until she finally got one to stop. “Please sir,” she beseeched. “We have just arrived in town. Could you tell us how to get to—” She pulled out one of Samuel’s envelopes. “—One eleven Hickory Road?”

  The driver of the carriage considered it a moment. “I think I know how to get thereabouts,” he replied. He helped her and Helen with their suitcases and then helped them to climb aboard his coach.

  “Thank you so much,” Abigail said sincerely. “Someone was meant to pick us up at the station, but he did not appear.”

  “If the person who was supposed to get you was Mr. Samuel Merriweather, I should not be surprised why he did not show up,” the kind driver said, shaking the reins and sending his horses off on a trot. “His boy is terribly ill. Has been for quite some time.”

  Abigail frowned, feeling dreadful for wondering at their greeter’s tardiness. If Samuel had meant to be the one to greet them upon their arrival, then it was no wonder that he had been unable to be there. He should not leave his son unattended, especially if the situation was dire.

  “Is he very ill?” she asked in a sympathetic tone, as though the man must surely know everything about it.

  The driver shook his head a little, appearing sad himself. “I don’t know the Merriweathers all that well,” he said. “But the word about town is that the little fellow is always sick with something. Ever since his mother died.”

  Abigail frowned. “Oh, that’s awful,” she said. “Oh, I hope I’m not too late.”

  “Too late?” he asked. “Are you a doctor?” He looked at her, seeming to appraise her looks for a moment. “You’re from New England, aren’t you? They have women doctors there now?”

  Abigail straightened up in her seat, feeling slightly offended. “They have had women doctors in the northeast for quite some time. I am, however, a nurse. I believe I may be of some help to Mr. Merriweather’s child.”

  The driver slowly smiled at her. “Indeed, you will be. I think you’ll be of great help to Mr. Merriweather, too.”

  She rode the rest of the way in silence, her head spinning slightly as she thought about what this driver had said. Could she really be of great help to Mr. Merriweather? Oh, she hoped so!

  Chapter 4

  The house that the carriage stopped in front of was large and solemn-looking. A large, black wreath that signified mourning was on the front door. Abigail wondered if the people inside were still deep in mourning. Was it right to come into their lives and assume the position of matriarch? Samuel was clearly hoping for such a thing, but it made her feel odd. Possibly the little boy would feel the same way about all of this.

  Abigail and Helen thanked the man for driving them to the house and alit from the carriage, carefully carrying their bags up to the front door with them. Abigail knocked, feeling a sense of dread as though she might possibly be intruding on a funeral.

  A middle-aged woman answered the door. She was dressed in a moss green dress, with an apron and a white bonnet. “Hello?” she asked, before smiling at the newcomers. “You must be Miss Copeland. Mr. Merriweather told me to expect you any day now. Please come in.”

  She held the door open for Abigail and her mother. They stepped inside and another servant swiftly took their bags away to another room.

  “Please let me help you with your coats,” the woman who greeted them said. “You must be tired from your travels. My name is Mrs. Bertha Mills. You can call me Bertha. Mr. Merriweather is in town at the moment, picking up some things at the drug store. Would you like me to see you to your rooms?”

  Helen and Abigail looked at each other. “Thank you very much for your hospitality, Bertha. Please call me Abigail. This is my mother, Mrs. Helen Copeland…if you please, may I have a glass of water. I am a bit too restless at the moment to go to my room.” She smiled at the housekeeper – for that was clearly Bertha’s position – and hoped that it was not to presumptuous of her to stay out in the sitting room.

  Her mother, on the other hand, happily went off to see her new room. The trip had been more tiresome for the older woman. Indeed, she had much less to be excited about whereas Abigail’s nerves were buzzing with the excitement – and a little bit of fear – at meeting the man that she was to marry.

  As Bertha showed Helen to her room, Abigail explored around the sitting room of Mr. Merriweather’s house. On the wall, with a black drapery around it, was a portrait of a beautiful young woman that could only be his late wife. Abigail’s heart ached for Samuel. To have lost someone so young, and now be worried for the health of their child…it was enough to break anyone’s heart.

  Just as she was standing there looking at the portrait, Bertha came back into the room with a glass of water for Abigail. She saw that the young woman was admiring the painting and let out a sad little sigh. “It has not been the same around here,” she said, slightly startling Abigail who had not noticed that she had returned.

  “No, I imagine not,” Abigail replied with a sadness of her own. She gratefully accepted the offered glass of water and took a long sip from it. The journey west had made her mighty thirsty and she did not want to start feeling sickly. That would be the last thing Samuel would want or need more of.

  Abigail sat upon one of the sofas in the sitting room, continuing to admire the paintings on the walls as well as the books on the shelves. She heard the sound of the front door opening and straightened up in her seat, almost as though she had been doing something wrong.

  “Bertha!” a young man’s voice called from the foyer. It was not too deep, and it was bright-sounding which surprised Abigail due to the sadness that surrounded the place.

  She did not have long to wonder about his voice however, because a few moments later he stepped into the sitting room. He was tall, with dark hair that curled a bit as it brushed against his shoulders. His eyes were a piercing blue, and he had the beginnings of a beard and mustache, most likely from being too busy caring for his son to worry about shaving.

  Abigail stood up at once from her position on the sofa and gave a polite bow. “Hello, Mr. Merriweather.”

  He suddenly stared at her, and she felt her heart swell in her chest. He was ever so handsome! And he did not look like anyone she had ever seen in New York, except perhaps an immigrant which made her even more excited.

  “Why, Miss Copeland,” he said, giving her a small smile and taking her hand in his. “How wonderful to have you here at last.” He gave her hand a kiss and she blushed shyly.

  He looked around for Bertha and, not finding his maid about, he returned to Abigail. He gestured for her to sit back down and he sat beside her, careful to keep a cushion between them.

  “Have you been here long?” he asked her pleasantly. “Has Bertha gone to fetch Tommy for you yet?”

  “Oh, no,” Abigail said, shaking her head. She did not know who Tommy was, but she could guess. “Bertha was just here with me so she cannot have gone far.”

  The maid was awfully good at quietly slipping to and from the rooms of the house. Abigail thought that it must largely be due to the fact that the sick Tommy needed quiet.

  “Oh,” Samuel replied. She wondered if she was allowed to call him Samuel. She would have to ask, later when he was not quite so frantic. “Well, no matter. I will go get Tommy from his bedchamber so you can see him. Would you like that?”

  Abigail did not really want the young man to leave again so soon, for she liked looking at him and thinking about the fact that she was to be his wife, but she nodded. She would need to start caring for Tommy as well, so that everything could go as Mr. Merriweather had asked.

  Samuel got back up from the couch and rushed off to the staircase in the hall. The house had more bedrooms than she had expected based on how it looked from the outside. She wondered if Tommy’s room would be close to hers should he need her.

  A few minutes later, Samuel came down the stairs holding a small boy who wore a nightgown and clung to his father’s shoulder. S
amuel smiled and sat on the couch beside Abigail, with Tommy in his lap. “This is Tommy,” he told her. “He is five years old and he is not feeling too well, but he is a sweet boy. Aren’t you, Tommy?”

  Tommy nodded timidly. He looked at Abigail and then averted his eyes. She smiled at him. He had his father’s dark, curly hair. His eyes were gray like the sky before a storm. He would surely be handsome, should he make it to adulthood. She silently prayed that he would.

  “It is wonderful to meet you, Tommy,” Abigail said. “My name is Miss Copeland, but you can call me Abigail.” She looked from him to Samuel. “You can call me Abigail too, if you like.” She smiled at him. “Miss Copeland makes me feel like I’ve become my mother.”

  Samuel chuckled. “Then you may call me Samuel,” he replied. “Or even Sam. The only people who call me Mr. Merriweather are my employees.” He winked at Abigail and she sighed a bit. There was a certain friendly ease about him that she had not imagined him possessing. She had been expecting a solemn, serene widower. Perhaps this was his way of providing a more positive environment for his son?

  Carefully, Abigail took Tommy into her lap. She listened to his breathing and noted that it seemed labored. “Has Tommy been to the hospital at all recently? How long has this been troubling him?”

  Samuel’s smile faded slightly. “He has been sick this way a little over a year. I take him to the hospital in town pretty regularly, for monitoring. They say he has asthma.”

  Abigail tutted softly. Asthma was a serious, chronic condition. She wondered if the young boy might have contracted it from being around coal mines in town. “If you don’t mind my asking, how often do you go into your mines?”

  Samuel shook his head. “Not as often as I used to. As the owner of Merriweather Mining Corp, I oversee the workers now, instead of going down into the mines on a daily basis.”

  She smiled slightly. “That’s good. I don’t want little Tommy to be around coal dust in the air, and I don’t want you getting sick either.” Abigail had only been there for a few hours, but she already cared about her new little family.