But that had long since passed. The war was over; the Union had won. And when those men who survived returned home, their jobs were given back to them.
Catherine didn’t resent losing her job, though some of the women did. She felt that she had done her part, and now it was time to move on to other things. She went to New York and visited with her uncle for a little while afterwards. He showed her the beautiful shops filled with the latest fashions and took her to see all of the best sights in the city. She had wanted so desperately to see the theater, but her uncle hadn’t had the time and Catherine would never have forced his hand in the matter. He had done so much for her already; she couldn’t ask him to spend the money on something so frivolous like that. It was an experience that she would never forget and it frequented her dreams often, pulling her into fantasies of social events and being at the very heart of society.
With a sigh, Catherine brought herself back to the present. She had returned to New Haven with gifts for her dear friends, but there was little left of New York, save her precious memories. It was time for her to accept that her center of society was destined to be far out West.
Finishing her letter, she put it in the post that very day and it left before evening settled.
Chapter 2
My Sweet Catherine,
I find you to be quite lovely. A flower in bloom, but one behind a glass case, so that I might see it, but only from afar. I wish that you would let me pluck your ripe bloom from that case and plant it within the garden of my home.
As you know, I search for a wife. It has become a desperate search, one that I have endeavored for years now. But my search has been in vain. Were I have to received your letter at my very first efforts, I would have ceased all further attempts immediately. I sense it in my very soul that you are the woman I wish to embrace in my arms for the rest of my earthly life.
Will you deny me this gift? Even as I proclaim my love to you, it grows stronger. I await you here, impatiently I must confess, and yet still you linger in your New Haven home!
Have I given you reason to doubt me, my gentle bloom? If I have, I must send forth all manner of reassurances. I shall shower you with gifts of words and flowers and riches until you are yet convinced of my sincerity, for I can no longer resist the call of your heart, the tug as it pulls mine out from my very breast and across the lands to join with yours.
Oh, my sweetest Catherine, I beg of you, come to me so that I might wed you at once. I cannot bear the distance between us.
Yours Always,
Arthur
Catherine let out a sigh as she finished reading the letter. It went on and on like lines of poetry, as romantic as anything Catherine had ever hoped to read in her entire life. To have it come from a suitor just made her heart fill to the verge of bursting all the more.
Arthur Miller was a wealthy homesteader in Nebraska. He owned nearly two hundred acres of land out in the West, and while much of it was still wild, he had sent her small tintypes of his home on the property. It was a massive house—almost a mansion, really—and in the picture, there were at least five men standing in front of the main entrance; each was a servant with his own purpose.
Catherine was quite impressed, but she hadn’t been sold on the man—not initially. Although wealth was lovely, it didn’t necessarily match with her view of what form adventure ought to take. She thought the struggle was part of adventure, and though that might have been naïve of her, she thought that too wealthy of a man might detract from the overall experience of moving so very far away from home.
She wrote him letters anyway, however, because the four women—Catherine and her three closest friends from the New Haven Arms Company—had made a pact: they would each find a husband and adventure with him. The other women were bound until she found a suitable prospect, so she wrote to Arthur, not expecting to receive much excitement from his response, if she received any at all.
But then his letters began. At first, they were rather plain, asking questions about her life in New Haven. Then they began to delve deeper. He wanted to know her dreams, her skills, her heart’s greatest desires; she almost felt he was being inappropriate with his inquisition, but he assured her it was all in the most innocent sense. By the time they had exchanged their fifth letter each, Catherine was enamored. It wasn’t his wealth, but his written word that had wooed her. It was time, Catherine finally decided, to let him win his chase.
Dearest Arthur,
I write to you because I can no longer contain what is in my heart for fear that it may explode within my breast! I say to you, “Yes!” a thousand times, “Yes!” I shall take the next train and I will join you in Nebraska where we might be properly wed. Adventure I expected, but dear Arthur, I could never have expected what you have offered me in your sweet letters: love.
I come to you with an open, willing heart and arms waiting to embrace. I shall begin to count the days from the moment this letter leaves my delicate hands until it reaches your rugged ones. Once it does, know that I am not far behind, my dearest.
Wait for me!
Your Flower,
Catherine
She signed it with a flourish and when it reached the post, she felt her heart near to bursting.
Catherine’s intent was to return home immediately and at once begin to pack, but as she hurried down the walkway towards her home, she passed the familiar faded blue door that marked the home of the only one of her dearest friends to still reside here in New Haven.
Biting her lip, Catherine debated merely pressing on. She was eager now to travel, and though she loved Laura dearly, the slightly older woman was often dreary. She would not share in Catherine’s excitement, and worse, she might warn her against going at all.
Still, Laura was a dear friend and Catherine wanted her to know that she would be leaving soon. Laura would be left alone; she would be the last.
Catherine straightened out her dress, smoothing over the corset which was covered in a pale pink fabric, before knocking on the door. After several moments, Laura’s elder sister Esther answered the door.
“Oh, Catherine!” she greeted warmly; Esther was the absolute opposite of Laura. “Please come in!”
Catherine thanked the woman who was only a decade their senior. She was married with a baby on the way, her swollen stomach larger still than the last time Catherine had seen it.
“How much longer now?” Catherine inquired, indicating the baby to be.
Smiling broadly, Esther said, “Nearly two months and a day. We’ve been talking of names. He’s set on Thomas, but I still hope it’s a girl.” She whispered that last part as though it were a secret, but then laughed to show it was all in good fun.
“Where is Andrew?” Catherine asked.
Andrew was Esther’s husband. He was nearly fifty now, all but an old man already, but Esther swore she loved him dearly and didn’t mind the rather large gap in age. Laura didn’t care for the man much, but never said anything outright rude to him. Catherine was sure it was more for Esther’s and the baby’s sake than for any respect towards Laura.
She wouldn’t say why she disliked him so.
“He’s at work still.”
“You’d think a man such as him would have the chance to sit and relax in his—” Catherine had been about to say “old age” but caught herself just in time. She wasn’t sure how much of a sore subject age might be for Esther, though their situation wasn’t uncommon. In fact, there were greater age disparities all the time. It was hardly something to be ashamed of. Still, commenting directly on the age of her husband might be deemed rude.
She was saved from having to finish her statement, however, by the appearance of Laura as they rounded the corner to the sitting room.
“Have you come to see me, or is it my sister that you are really invested in?” came Laura’s cool, sardonic voice. She was always a bit too crass for Catherine’s taste, leaving the two girls not the best of friends within the group, but they learned to adjust to
each other.
“Don’t be so rude or I’ll send you back to mother!” Esther scolded, wagging a finger and looking every bit the part of the mother she would be very soon.
Laura said nothing to her sister; she was embroidering.
Catherine thanked Esther hurriedly and urged her to sit for a spell as she was so very large with child. Esther left the two younger women alone and trundled off towards another room in the house.
For a long moment, Catherine stood there in the doorframe uncertainly, swaying slightly on her small heeled boots. After a time, Laura asked her, “Are you going to sit with me, or have you come all this way to stand during the entirety of your visit?”
“It wasn’t out of my way,” Catherine blurted immediately in response, coming fully into the room and finding a seat in one of the upholstered chairs adjacent from Laura. “I was mailing a letter when I passed your door and thought I might stop. I have news.”
Laura had paused in her embroidery to look up at Catherine, a slight frown tugging at her pale, but full lips. “A letter?” Her eyes glanced towards something behind Catherine. “What letter?”
Catherine swelled with excitement and blurted, “To Arthur! He’s a homesteader in Nebraska and I’m madly in love with him! I wasn’t certain at first, but now I am.” She was giddy with excitement to the point where she didn’t notice the deepening of Laura’s frown. She felt she might burst from the joy of it all as she exclaimed, “I’m going to meet him! I take the next train leaving tomorrow to meet him halfway across the country! Isn’t this terribly exciting?”
For a moment, Laura said nothing. As her silence extended, Catherine felt her giddiness and excitement begin to deflate. Why wasn’t Laura excited for her?
“I say this with all good intentions: you do not have to do this, Catherine,” Laura said sincerely. Her eyes were a cold pale blue, like ice or the first winter’s snow. She was quite lovely, but like a porcelain doll or a sculpture made entirely of ice; frozen in her beauty, unable to thaw less she be destroyed.
Catherine shook away such silly thoughts and focused on Laura’s words. “I can’t believe what you’re suggesting!” Catherine said, her voice rife with indignation. She found herself standing up from her seat before she had thought of herself doing it. “We made a deal; a pact! This is the way we have all agreed to do this!” A startling thought occurred to Catherine as she spoke and she gasped, covering her mouth with her cupped hand for a moment as her naturally wide eyes grew wider still. When she moved her hand, she asked, “You haven’t gone back on your word, have you Laura?”
Laura rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Oh, honestly Catherine, sometimes I think you really are still just a child.” A moment later, however, she added, “But no, I have not gone back on my word. I will still follow through. My correspondence has been… slow going, but I have written and he has replied. I am merely wording my next letter accordingly.”
Although Laura did not say it, Catherine thought that there was perhaps an additional reason for her hesitancy. There was, of course, her poor, aching heart, but it seemed as though perhaps there was a bit of worry there, too. Could she be worried for Catherine?
Laura stood suddenly, putting her embroidery to the side, and began to pace in a way that was most unladylike. Her normally smooth brow pulled down as she frowned pensively, thinking hard about the words she was about to speak to Catherine. “Delia has always had good intentions,” she began. Abruptly she came to a stop before the window, rounding back to stand and face Catherine. “But she is not always right. You do not have to do as she bids.”
“But I want to!” Catherine exclaimed. As soon as she realized how childish she sounded, she cleared her throat and once again smoothed over her corset. “I have sent nearly half a dozen letters to this man; I know him. He is good and kind and will take excellent care of me. It is the right thing to do.”
Laura sighed, but nodded. “I am simply telling you that there are other options. You needn’t run off now if you do not wish to.”
“I do,” Catherine assured her before Laura said anything more. “I came here in the hopes that you might rejoice for my good fortune. Is it not wonderful that I’ve found happiness?”
Laura fidgeted and glanced over towards her writing desk where there were three letters. One was half written—Laura’s to her correspondent, presumably—and the other two were open. One was undoubtedly from her suitor, but what was the other one? It lay forlorn off to the side, a curling script scribbled across it in a flourishing hand.
Finally, Laura said, “I will always wish you the best. If you feel this is the right fit for you, then I encourage you to follow through with your plans. I meant only to offer an alternative.”
Catherine frowned at her friend. “Thank you,” she said stiffly, then added, “I really must be going.”
Laura only nodded. As the younger of the two women left, she heard her friend call out, “Write me, please, and tell me of your wonders and your woes.”
Catherine did not respond, but in her heart, she knew that she would write Laura as soon as she could touch ink to paper.
Chapter 3
Beatrice, Nebraska, 1865
Catherine was set to meet Arthur outside of Boots & Barns, a boot retailer that also occasionally sold certain items that homesteaders might find useful. She waited outside on the porch where there was a small bench that looked clean enough that she might settle her skirts about them without marring them too much. Her back was straight and her hands folded neatly in her lap as she awaited her would-be husband. Her train had been delayed by nearly a day and it was only through the grace of the telegraph system that anyone was notified of the delay. Still, it worried her; what if Arthur hadn’t received the telegram?
It only took a quarter of an hour before Catherine’s fears were put at ease. There he was, approaching in a neat suit with long coattails and a tall black hat that matched perfectly. His trousers were of a lighter color and were creased perfectly down the middle. When Catherine had first begun to correspond with Arthur, she had been concerned that he would be some sort of ruffian. These settlements were notorious for lawlessness and cowboys and miners all with a terrible sense of morality. But after reading only a few of his letters and a seeing a single tintype of his soft face, Catherine had been certain that he could not be such lowly man. Now, seeing him approach her with confidence, certainty, and a charming smile, she knew that she had been right. Her heart swelled with excitement; this was her new husband.
Standing hurriedly, she smoothed out her skirts and adjusted the bonnet she had tied about her mousy hair, an effort to make her look older and more fashionable, though it fell short. She still looked like a tiny school-aged girl.
She said nothing until he stopped before her, waiting to make sure that the tintype had been accurate and that she was not about to make a complete fool of herself.
When the man came to a halt before her, standing level with her on the porch—a full foot and a half taller than she—he bowed low and took up her hand. Pulling it to his lips, he placed a quick kiss to the back of her hand and then looked up at her with a winning smile.
“My dearest,” he whispered to her. “I have longed for your arrival.”
Her heart fluttered, and with her free hand, she fanned her burning face. Her smile was so broad that her cheeks hurt. “Oh, Arthur—or is it inappropriate to call you that yet? Mr. Miller?” she stumbled along, flustered and far too excited to control her rambling tongue. “I was so worried that you wouldn’t receive my telegram.”
As Arthur straightened, his expression froze. For a moment, it looked as though he had absolutely no idea what she was referring to. A moment later he regained himself, however, and said, “Oh, yes, the telegram! I was so… so glad that I was here to receive it.”
“Yes. If my train had been delayed any longer, I thought you might not be here to wait for me at all! Silly of me, because, of course, here you are.”
Again, Arthu
r’s expression seemed to belie a bit of confusion—did he not know what she was referring to? He must have received the telegram; he’d just said as much. But then why did he seem so confused about the whole thing?
“Ah, yes, the delay,” he said lightly, his eyebrows lifting from their frown so that they might smooth out the lines that had formed on his brow. “How silly of me. I was… my mind was elsewhere. I am just so happy that you’re here, I had put everything else from my mind!”
He glanced at a pocket watch in his waistcoat, frowning at the time, then shaking it and checking to make sure it still worked by pressing it to his ear. When he seemed satisfied that it was indeed correct, he tucked it away back into his pocket and offered his arm to Catherine.
“My dearest, my flower, shall we go?”
Catherine blushed; could this all be real?
Chapter 4
Arthur escorted Catherine by carriage to his home; it was everything he promised it to be and more. There must have been a dozen rooms in the house, each of them kept immaculately clean by a crew of servants who tended both the exterior and interior of the house. Her own room was large and airy, with thin, wispy white curtains covering a full-length window and a bed with a canopy and curtains that might be pulled around for additional privacy. Arthur was careful to explain that this would become her private room after their marriage; for the sake of propriety, she would sleep elsewhere until the wedding. She was set to stay in a separate portion of the property where an additional guest house was built, complete with an old spinster woman who would act as her chaperone.
That was the final brick laid in place, fully convincing her that he was indeed a very honest, charming man who would treat her as an adored wife after their marriage.
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