by Cyndi Raye
Mrs. Brown smiled sadly. “I’m afraid you are right. But, we are not here to talk about me. There is a businessman in the small, growing Texas town of Wichita Falls who is perhaps looking for a bride. I recently received a telegram from a local agency there who is in need of finding him a mate right away. If you wouldn’t mind changing a few items in this letter, I’ll send this out immediately.”
Charity didn’t say anything at first. Was she ready to go through with marrying some stranger in a small town so far from where she grew up? She looked out the window of the store front. The streets were bustling with men and women, some stopping to purchase items where shop keepers and others were selling their wares. Chicago was growing fast and hard and by the looks of things, she’d have to continue to fight her way to the top. That’s if anyone hired her. She had been at every single newspaper in town. So far no one would consider hiring a woman.
“Miss Johnson?”
Charity sighed. “Hand me the letter and tell me what you want changed.”
Mrs. Brown did so, getting up and leaning over Charity’s shoulder to help with the wording of a few sentences. When she was finished, she laid the pencil back down and flexed her fingers. “That’s it, how soon will I hear something?”
“How desperate are you, Charity?”
“I can’t find work. In two weeks my funds run out and I’ll be homeless. There’s no work for a woman, not even factory work. The city has an over-abundance of workers right now. I went to the employment agency to find out it could be months before a job opens up.”
“I see. Well, then, Charity, I’ll expedite this letter and ask for a prompt reply. We should know something by next week.”
Charity got up from her seat, feeling unsatisfied. She hated the desperation in her heart and soul. It wasn’t how she was made. Forcing herself to marry someone to get what she wanted, a job, was the worst thing ever. Yet, there was still a fighting chance someone would hire her here in Chicago before she took this offer. Besides, she promised that little rat, Jimmy, her name would be bigger than his someday. How could she do so thousands of miles away? Confusion and anxiety filled her heart.
“Thank you.” She made to leave when Mrs. Brown placed a hand on her sleeve.
“I have an idea. I’m so busy that I’ve been working late into the night. I would like to hire you temporarily to help write some advertisements. Would you be willing to do so for an hourly wage?”
“My name may be Charity, but I don’t take charity.”
Mrs. Brown smiled, her dimple setting deep in her cheek. “I don’t expect you to sit around here all day doing nothing. Trust me, you will be working your fingers to the bone. I have more work here than one person can handle. Will I see you in the morning?”
“Yes. Of course.” Charity didn’t want her to see the look of relief on her face so she hurried to the front door of the office. “Thank you.” She scurried out the door and down the steps, finally breaking out in a big smile. At least she had a temporary job until the businessman responded to her letter. Her steps were lighter as she headed down the side walk. Instead of turning towards her lonely apartment, Charity took a route that led to the city park. It was too lovely a day to be inside.
<><>
Clutching the letter from the mail order bride in his hand, he ignored Ben Sloan when the man got up to leave. Uncurling the wrinkled letter, he laid it out in front of him. Pushing his much-needed glasses up the bridge of his nose, he focused on the woman’s fancy writing. His close friend, Ben, the owner of the finest hotel in Wichita Falls, had no intention of sending for a mail order bride. It had been a ruse to make his true love jealous. Daniel, on the other hand, had every intention of finding a partner.
Dear Sir, I was asked to send a letter to you in hopes there could be a union of sorts between the two of us. I want to add I am a very independent woman with a career. I love my work more than anything and if I do take up your offer of marriage as a mail order bride, it is my sole intention to continue to work in my chosen field as a newspaper reporter. You must know this up front before any type of matrimony occurs. I am not too tall of a woman, have dark hair and love to investigate all kinds of events. I am a curious sort who loves to indulge in the mystery of things. If you, sir, need someone to cook, clean and be a child bearer, then I am not for you. I am blunt and to the point and want you to be the same. My intentions of becoming a mail order bride is to carve out a career out west where men don’t push women out of the way like they do here in Chicago. I am educated but can’t get a decent job for the life of me in this city as a news reporter, and understand you are a businessman who understands my intentions. If you, sir, are indeed interested in more, please send a letter as soon as possible as I am fully intending to go through with any offer that will help to move my career forward. Yours truly, Charity Johnson
Perfect! Daniel Ashwood grinned. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, realizing the stubble that grew there from ignoring his own daily habits. He’d have to no doubt shave to make himself presentable but that wasn’t a problem. He’d take a trip over to Lii, the towns only barber, to clean up his act. Perhaps spend a few coins on one of those fancy showers in the hotel his friend, Ben, owned. It wasn’t that he was dirty, no. He had so much work running a newspaper that it would be days sometimes before he’d go upstairs and clean up.
Daniel had deadlines like any other newspaper in the territory. Except he was striving to make his the best ever, giving more value for their five cents than any other paper. Whatever he was doing worked. People stood in line waiting for the weekly paper to come out. Filled with stories, true and bold about Indians, frontier life and his weekly fiction serial, Outlaw Stories, along with local advertisements, even farmers living miles from town made an extra trip on Monday morning to buy the paper.
A woman reporter would be a perfect wife. She didn’t want babies or any of the household duties a normal wife should do. That would be easy to accommodate as long as she helped him with the newspaper. He had a small apartment on the second floor. It wasn’t much but he didn’t need much. Besides, Daniel cared about one thing. His newspaper. It was his life, what he lived for, writing the news. Ever since his parents abandoned him as an infant at the home for wayward children in New York City, he was determined to plant roots in Wichita Falls. Perhaps riding the Orphan Train at eleven years old was the best thing that ever happened to him.
The thick dust in his apartment upstairs was not a big deal. He’d hire someone from town to swipe over the place before his future bride got here. Taking a sheet of fresh stationary from his desk, Daniel began the task of writing the best introductory letter ever before getting back to work.
<><>
Charity waved a gloved hand to her new friend and ex-employer through the cloudy window of the Union Pacific car. Her things were all packed, labelled and delivered to the cargo department. Charity was shocked herself at all the things she had accumulated in the last two years. Two trunks and a carpetbag stuffed full with her belongings would be taking this trip with her. She had been so busy making a name for herself, which clearly didn’t happen, Charity hadn’t realized she had bought so many outfits from fine department stores in Chicago. Most of her pay went to rent, food and nice outfits for assignments. Even if they weren’t the best in the world, Charity liked to look sparkling, sharp and professional.
She arranged the edge of her skirt neatly over her ankles as it had worked its way up her legs when she sat on the seat. Scooting closer to the window, Charity watched the skyline of Chicago go by, a bitter-sweet smile portraying the mood she was in. She would have been a great reporter there, she mused. If only.
But this was a new chapter of her life and she wasn’t about to drown in sorrow and sadness or let anything or anyone stop her from this moment on. It was said in the west anyone could become whatever they wanted to be. There were freedoms out beyond the mountains and prairies unheard of east of the Mississippi and she was aiming to find out.
She had to prove
to herself and to those scrupulous men back in Chicago that Charity Johnson was not a garden-party reporter but a top-notch news reporter. She would become the most notorious newswoman in the west.
Pulling out a pencil and paper from an overstuffed reticule, Charity wasn’t about to relax. She wanted to record every sound, smell and movement of her trip riding the rails. When she published her excursion westward, she wanted the readers to feel as if they went with her on this journey. It would make a fine story for the newspaper. After miles of putting pen to paper, the chug-chug-chug of the car lulled her to sleep. She dropped her chin in her chest and let the pencil fall to her lap.
Charity woke with a start. She placed a gloved hand over her mouth before emitting a loud yawn so long it scrunched up the features of her pretty face. The edge of her hat had tipped to one side and she carefully moved it back in place.
“It’s time to eat supper, you know,” an anonymous voice said behind her seat. She turned to find a little man whose feet didn’t touch the floor staring at her, a big smile on his friendly face. He had a dark beard and moustache that turned up at the ends.
Charity swallowed. “Hello. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of your name, sir?” Her hand swung out to take his in a firm handshake.
“Name’s Mr. Martin.”
“Why, hello, Mr. Martin. I am Miss Johnson.” She stood up to go to the dining car, realizing she was indeed hungry. He scooted off of his seat and held out his arm.
“It would be a pleasure to have you dine with us?”
Charity rarely missed a thing. “Us?” She gazed beside him and behind but there was no one else.
“My wife and I. She is already at a table. I thought I would wait for you to finish napping to invite you to dinner.”
Charity took his small arm with her hand, finding it interesting to know someone had taken an interest in her. “Lead the way, sir, I am famished.”
She learned over the course of the meal Mr. and Mrs. Martin travelled quite often from Chicago to Fort Worth and other places as well. At first Mr. Martin didn’t want to give anything away but through her persistent questioning, she found out he was a wealthy man who loved to travel and the railroad was his means of doing business, investing in the railroad of course and many other business ventures along the way. It was impossible to say what all he owned his wife told Charity in the rare moment she spoke up.
“What is the West like?” Charity asked, curious to hear from someone who had been there.
“Oh my dear, what a loaded question. The West is filled with vast lands that are so empty in some areas you won’t see a settlement for many, many miles. All of a sudden you will come upon a town in the middle of nowhere. The railroad is becoming the popular way to travel now-a-days, ever since the connection at Promontory. Why, I have rode the rails from Boston to California.”
“Do you mind if I interview you, Mr. Martin? I am a reporter.”
A smile spread across his miniature cheeks. He blushed. “A reporter? Yes, yes, of course. Just ask away and I’ll tell you what I know.” His wife nudged him with her elbow. She hadn’t said much with her mouth full of the food from her supper plate. Mrs. Martin liked to eat.
For the next hour and a half, Charity sat in the dining car listening to Mr. Martin and his tales of travel to the west. She hurried to write down every detail, making sure not to miss anything of importance. The rest she would have to keep in her memory. “Thank you for your kindness,” she told him as they parted ways. “This adventure story will be in the first publication, I promise.”
As the next two days sped by, Charity became more excited the closer she got to Texas. Stopping and picking up passengers or dropping off folks at stations along the way kept the train from moving along in a timely fashion. Even so, there was plenty to observe along the way. Charity introduced herself to several strangers she thought may add intrigue and a bit of excitement to her story she planned to present to her new husband, who hopefully would allow her the freedom of publishing any article she wanted.
She pondered her new life as the wife of man who owned a newspaper. What would he be like? Scatter-brained like some of those reporters in Chicago? Or a hard-core women hater? The thought made her skin crawl for a moment as she gazed over the prairie from the window. Was she trading one job for another that wouldn’t be any better?
Charity pulled out the letter he had sent, reading it over for the tenth time.
Dear Miss Johnson, I am not the businessman you originally intended to write to but in all consideration, I would like to plead my case. The original owner of this letter has reconsidered a mail order bride because of issues of his concern. To be honest and between the two of us, his intentions were only for a dark-haired beauty here in our small town of Wichita Falls. It is a love story at best and if you agree to my proposition, I will enlighten you of this wonderful romance in person.
I find this is a perfect opportunity for the both of us. I run the only newspaper in Wichita Falls and am in desperate need of help. As a news woman, I truly believe you would be the perfect partner to help me run things here. I’ve hired local people but they never work out, losing interest in the newsworthy assignments too quickly. I am offering you a hand in marriage but there is one condition and that is to be my faithful wife in all areas except the following: no cooking, cleaning or household work. No waiting on a husband hand and foot. I need a professional news reporter to make my newspaper the best in the area. Would you accept my proposal?
I find I’m not a romantic at heart and don’t know how to do romance but I will be the best partner in the world of business. Please accept this money to purchase a train ticket right away. If you don’t mind sending a telegraph as soon as possible, I’ll make the preparations for everything so you will literally walk in the door and get to work at what it sounds like you love doing. Sincerely, Daniel Ashwood.
It did sound heavenly! To be able to walk in the door and begin working in the job of her dreams! Charity sighed. Her talent at writing stories would be known in the town of Wichita Falls. Even if it wasn’t a popular town, it was a start. She had to be sure this man was not a fraud and everything he claimed to be.
One more night on the train and she’d be in her new home.
Chapter 3
Daniel clicked open the stopwatch to find himself behind again. In less than an hour, his new bride would be here. He had to finish the story. Just another ten minutes should do. Pushing his dark framed glasses back up, he bent over the desk and began to scribble as fast as possible.
Someone shuffled down the steps slowly, opened the hallway door and popped their head inside the newsroom. “Daniel?” a voice whispered.
His head reluctantly came up to see who was annoying him. “What is it?”
“Sorry to bother you but I must get back home. I’m sure the children are getting restless. I know you didn’t ask for supper but I have some pot luck warming on your stove.”
Mrs. Fisher was a sweet lady. Daniel felt ashamed. He stood and walked towards her as he pulled bills from his pocket. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fisher, I didn’t mean to sound annoyed. Thank you for cleaning my place up.”
She accepted the money from his outstretched hand and tucked it in her breast pocket, smiling. Daniel thought she looked tired. The woman normally had boundless energy for being in her fifties. She took care of four grandchildren and her husband, who lost his leg in the war. Her daughter and son-in-law died a few years back in a wagon accident making her the sole guardian of the four small children. She took on extra chores cleaning houses and doing whatever it took to make ends meet. Daniel always called her even if he didn’t need much more than an errand run. Even though he needed to get back to his project, he tried to be kind with small talk. “How are the children?”
“They are wonderful, Mr. Daniel. The oldest boy, Thomas, plans to become a news reporter, just like you. He says he will be famous!” She cackled at the remark, pushing some gray hair from her forehead.
>
Daniel noticed how her hands shook. He dug deeper in his pockets. “Here.”
She shook her head and stepped back. “No, Mr. Daniel, that is unacceptable. I work hard for my wages and will not take a hand-out.” Anger flashed across her face.
“Mrs. Fisher. I’m not giving you charity. I would like to hire your son for one hour a day to help me and this is the first weeks pay. Take a look around, I need all the help I can get.” There was clutter everywhere, she couldn’t deny that fact.
She lowered her head to stare at him with aging eyes. “You sure about that? I thought that was why you were getting yourself a mail order bride?”
He shrugged and pushed the money in her hand, closing her fist. She didn’t hand it back but stuffed it in her pocket with the rest. Daniel sighed deeply. He had enough money to hire a young man who obviously wanted to learn the tricks of the trade. Having an apprentice would benefit the paper. “She is a reporter like me and will be too busy to do some of the small tasks that I am hiring your grandson for. He can start at the bottom and learn the trade. Do we have an agreement?”
“Welp, I guess we do as long as Thomas agrees. I better be on my way. You best finish up and get to the depot. Train will be here in about ten minutes.”
Daniel heard the bell above the front door jingle as he ran full speed ahead up the stairs, taking two at a time. He stopped in his tracks when he saw what a little housecleaning could do to an untidy place. Mrs. Fisher had dusted and swept, even opened a window to clear the air. A single flower in a vase sat on the small table pushed up against the window. Along with the smell of dinner, the place seemed a bit cozy and romantic. He laughed out loud. No one in their right mind would accuse him of being romantic.
Daniel dipped his head and cupped his hands, filling them with the water from the wash basin. He scrubbed his hands across his face, taking the hanging towel and drying his skin. As he pulled the towel from his face, he caught his reflection in the mirror hanging above the basin. It was the first time he had gazed at himself in a long, long time.
