“Um… Excuse me, Mrs. Maxon, but it’s snowing harder. We’d best be on our way to the hotel or out to the Mederi’s.” Eloy's tone expressed a pressing need for instructions.
“Yes, of course.” Addressing Dale, she explained, “I stopped here to introduce myself, and I’ve done that. I wanted you to know I’ll be in town for a few days. Once the weather clears, perhaps we can make an appointment to talk further.”
“There’s no need to take a room at the hotel. You’re welcome to stay here. I don’t know what these girls did, but I don’t think I can wait to find out what’s going on.” Dale stepped forward in an offer to remove her cloak.
“Thank you. If it won’t put you out, I’ll take you up on your offer.”
“Fine. I’ll help Eloy bring in your luggage.”
Ginny added, “Dale, we’ll put her things in the spare room off the kitchen. She’ll be comfortably warm there. Beryl, show Mrs. Maxon to the living room. Perhaps she’d like a cup of coffee or tea while I tidy-up her room. We’ll all be along shortly and get to the bottom of this.” As an afterthought, Ginny added, “Mrs. Maxon, please feel free to freshen up and help yourself to something to eat. I imagine you’re tired and hungry from traveling.”
“Thank you, I appreciate your hospitality.”
Irene noticed Dale pause in the doorway to watch Beryl lead her toward another part of the house. He smiled at the child’s nonstop chatter of pure delight, shaking his head and chuckling as he closed the door.
****
All things considered, Dale decided Meredith’s latest scheme had done no permanent harm to the parties involved, but mostly because Mrs. Maxon seemed a decent woman with an honest and open heart. She’d taken Beryl’s calling her their grandma with patient-humored understanding, but what impressed him the most was her defense of the girls’ shenanigans as an act of love.
Well, this marriage plot was Meredith’s handiwork at its finest. That Meredith, her sisters, and the Driscoll girls had managed to keep it a secret was an extraordinary feat. Then again, he’d learned not to underestimate Meredith’s ability to keep the household stirred up with her intrigues. Just a few months ago, a delivery man had arrived with a wagon load of crated bananas and pineapples Meredith had won in an essay-writing contest about the importance of fruit in a wholesome diet. Meredith had come across the contest in the advertisement section of the Bountiful Hearth journal Ginny received each month. She’d sent in her essay without so much as a word to anyone in the family.
Meredith had taken her few days of notoriety graciously after her Uncle Ben had reprinted her essay in the Platte River City Times, but since then, they were all a little tired of eating dried bananas and pineapple. And jelly…biscuits…flapjacks…and dumplings. But banana cream meringue pie—that was a different story.
Now, with the household asleep, the warmth from the parlor stove warming his feet, Dale unfolded the letter his granddaughters had conspired to write to a stranger with the naïve notion that it would all turn out as they’d hoped just because it was what they wanted. After the initial shock of finding out what they’d done had dissipated, he’d found their ingenuity and determination to find him a wife impressive. At least Mrs. Maxon had taken the situation with amusement. That she’d come all this way just to return the girls’ money and to explain the situation meant a lot to him. Chuckling softly, he adjusted his reading spectacles, resituated the oil lamp for better light, and reread the letter.
Platte River City
October 29th, 1891
Dear Mrs. Irene Maxon,
My name is Meredith Forbes, and I live in a town along the South Platte River in Colorado called Platte River City. I live in a big, two-story house with my mama Ginny, my pa Joe, my younger sisters Violet and Beryl, and my Grandpa Dale. I am writing to you because we three sisters have chosen you from the mail-order bride catalog called the ‘Matrimony Courier’ to marry our grandpa and to be our new grandma. Our first grandma died before Beryl was born, and Violet and I were too little to remember her, so you see, we’ve all been without a grandma for a long time. Our other grandma lives too far away in California to visit us much, and we’ve only traveled to see her once that I can remember, and that was two years ago.
The photograph is us girls with Grandpa from last winter. I’m the tall one standing beside Grandpa, Violet is on the other side, and Beryl is sitting on his knee. You can see how handsome Grandpa is. He hardly has any wrinkles, and his hair is only a little gray. He is 52 years old, but he is strong and healthy, so I hope you don’t think he’s too old. He’s so strong that he can lift Violet and Beryl at the same time and carry them around when he plays horse.
Grandpa isn’t much of a talker. I guess what I mean is he doesn’t sit around Ketrick’s Mercantile shooting the breeze all day like some men in town, but he likes to go on walks just as the sun goes down. He likes to laugh, too, and he laughs a lot. Grandpa likes to play cards and dominoes and read and tell us stories. He reads poetry and memorizes it to recite whenever he feels like it. He works hard and people say he and Pa do the best leather work west of the Mississippi River. Grandpa doesn’t smoke tobacco, but sometimes he drinks beer or a glass of wine at special times, but he’s not a drunk like Larry Osgood’s uncle Bart who spends most Saturday nights in jail. Grandpa and Pa have a leather working shop, and Mama sews clothes. Mama is always saying how much she wishes she had someone to help her during the busy times, and with you being a seamstress, I’m just sure Mama would be glad for your help. (She’s a really nice, pretty lady.)
Grandpa lives with us, but it wasn’t so long ago that he still lived next door in his own little house. I think he just got too lonely there after Grandma Margaret died, and it’s a lot more fun at our house anyway, so he just packed up and came over. He still goes to his house every once and again. I think he goes there when he’s feeling especially sad or lonely. He’s happy living with us, but sometimes late at night, I wake up and go downstairs by the stove in the front room and curl up next to him on the sofa where he’s reading, or I go out on the porch and look at the stars with him. I think those are the times he must miss Grandma the most, even though he smiles and tells me not to worry about him when I ask if he’s sad.
We did extra work around town to go with our egg and butter money. We been saving it since August so we’d have enough to buy a magazine and send you the rest for a train ticket or a stagecoach ticket to come here and meet us and Grandpa Dale. Our town has a Christmas supper and dance every year on the second weekend in December. If you could come here by then, you could meet just about everyone we know. That way, you and Grandpa could invite everyone to your wedding right then. If Christmas is too soon, there is an even bigger, more fun dance on Valentine’s Day in the church meeting hall. We get new dresses and shoes, just like for Easter, and everyone has a good time. Maybe you can get here in time for that one. People in Platte River City are always kind to strangers.
Since it takes Grandpa a long time to make big decisions and taking a new wife is a big decision, doing all the work to find him a wife is our secret surprise present for him. There’s another mail-order bride living here. She’s the grandma to our friends Lydia and Clara Jean. Maybe you and her will become friends. I hope so, because she’s a nice lady.
Last summer on parade day, Grandpa said he’d like to get married again and that he’d even buy a new suit, polish his boots, and get a haircut and shave at the barbershop for the wedding. So, you see, he’s been thinking about getting married again, but we have to help him make up his mind, or he mightn’t make up his mind at all.
We hope you haven’t already found a husband. It took a lot longer than I thought it would to get a catalog, save up enough money, and then be able to send you this letter all without anyone knowing. I only got a new catalog because our Uncle Ben owns the newspaper in town. That’s where I had the new one sent so no one would be suspicious. I knew Uncle Ben wouldn’t throw it away when it came since he’d already helped Mr
. Driscoll order a wife that way. I also figured he’d let me have it if I asked since he was paying me to work a few hours every week at the newspaper.
While it was fun reading what all the ladies wrote about themselves, we knew right off when we read your advertisement that you were the grandma we wanted. Lydia helped us send this letter so we wouldn’t get caught. Since Lydia is adopted, no one here knows who she calls kin. Lydia told a little white lie to Mr. Beecham the Postmaster that you are shirttail kin on her mother’s side.
So, you see, this is the only letter we’d better send, and you can’t send a letter back, because then the whole town will know, and all this will be ruined, and we’ll never have another chance to have a grandma. Grandpa will say no to getting married for sure, and that will make us very sad for him and for us and for you.
I’m sorry if this letter is too long, but getting the right wife for Grandpa Dale is really important to us. So, please, please, please come to Platte River City soon to meet Grandpa and all the family. We’re hoping you’ll come here by Christmas, and if you don’t make it by Valentine’s Day, we’ll know you already found a husband. If that happens, we’ll try again to order another grandma when we save up some more money. We think you are a nice lady, and you’re pretty, so we hope you find a happy life even if you don’t come here and marry our grandpa.
Below the three signatures, was another line, and it was the one that made him bring out his handkerchief and wipe his eyes.
P. S. We hope you like to dance. Grandpa sure is happy when he dances.
He’d managed to mask how much this letter had touched him when Mrs. Maxon had read it aloud over sandwiches and coffee. All this time, he’d been proud of how well he’d concealed his loneliness, and now it took this letter to find out Meredith’s all-too-grown-up-insight had seen through him.
“Excuse me. Do you mind if I join you? I must be overly tired from traveling. I can’t seem to fall asleep.”
Lost in faraway thoughts, the soft words gave him a start, and he looked toward the doorway. Mrs. Maxon waited there dressed in a floor-length flannel nightgown with a matching robe tied at the waist, and her feet warm and snug in sheepskin house slippers.
“I don’t mind at all.” Dale put the letter aside as he stood and gestured to the overstuffed chair beside his. “Please.”
Once she was situated with a lap blanket over her legs, Dale resumed his seat. “I was just re-reading the girls’ letter. I want to thank you again for going out of your way to return their money and the photograph, and especially for your understanding.” He chuckled. “Meredith is quite the schemer.”
“Schemer she may be, but her heart is full of love and compassion for you.”
“Mrs. Maxon—”
“Please, call me Irene.”
“All right, if you’ll call me Dale.”
“Thank you. I will.”
“You said you’re on your way to Denver?”
Irene sighed, nodded. “Yes. I…uh…I took a position there for a few months.”
“Oh. What sort of work?”
“Industrial sewing.”
“Is it with someone who contacted you through the marriage catalog?” He added hastily, “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I don’t mind at all. Yes, I’ve corresponded with a man who might be interested in marriage, but that isn’t at all decided. I’ll see how it all goes after working in his business for a few months.”
Oddly, he was relieved she wasn’t committed to marriage. “Do you have a date by which you have to be in Denver?”
“Not an exact date. I agreed to arrive early in the year.”
Dale nodded, because he didn’t know what else to say. Silence grew between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was more like a soft blanket of warm friendship wrapped around the room, and he sensed she was also satisfied sitting in the quiet warmth while gusts of wind battered the house and rattled the windowpanes, reminding them of the tranquility within the protection of the sturdy house. As the silent minutes passed, he grew bolder in his curiosity about the circumstances in her life that had prompted her to seek a husband through a mail-order service, so he asked.
Over many cups of tea, she talked, and he listened. Then she turned the question around to him. To his surprise, sharing stories of his life with Marjorie came easily, and before he knew it, the wee hours of the night had arrived. He bid Irene goodnight and for the first time in years, he went to bed with a light heart and a smile on his face.
****
From her discreet position a few steps back, Irene watched the Forbes family in their tight huddle as they alternately looked at the foot of snow on the floor and then at the gaping hole in the kitchen ceiling right where the back porch sloped up to the house roof.
“Must have lifted in a gust then ripped off as the wind picked up,” Joe observed, his breath, like that of everyone else’s, puffed out in a vapor cloud in the still, frigid air.
Dale nodded. “Early on in the storm, from the depth of the snow in here.”
It was Joe’s turn to nod. Even the girls understood this was not the time for chatter. Beryl slipped her mittened hand into Irene’s, her mouth drawn down in a sad frown. Violet and Meredith stood on either side of their grandpa, and he put a hand on their shoulders.
“I built this house for Margaret just before we married.”
He was quiet for a few seconds, and it seemed to Irene he was visiting old memories brought into the present by the damaged roof.
When he continued talking, his voice held the tone of someone reminiscing aloud rather than intending others to hear what they said. “Our first boy, Thomas, was born here, then we built the big house and added two more boys to our family—Patrick and Joseph. We lost Tom in a tornado, and Patrick took to the sea.” He turned to Joe. “Then you went off to college in California and brought back a beautiful bride, and we gave you the big house as a wedding present.” His smile for Ginny was warm with the love he obviously felt for her. “And Margaret and I moved back here where we’d started.” His smile faded. “And I’ve let it down. I’ve let this old house down.”
He gazed around again. Memories like shadows passed over his face, shone in his eyes, and Irene blinked back her own sympathetic tears. She hadn’t lost a child, but she knew something of disappointment and broken dreams.
After a slow exhale, he said, “I’ve neglected this house, and it let me know. Houses are funny like that. Once they’re lived in and loved in, they don’t like to be left alone.” Under his breath, he muttered, “So much work to do in the shop. Orders to fill.” He glanced at Ginny. “Dresses to finish for the Weimer girl’s wedding.” He looked back at the roof. “And now this and the mess it made in the rest of the house.” He shook his head. Meredith put her arm around his waist and looked up at him.
“It’ll be all right, Grandpa. We’ll all help sweep out the snow and patch the roof. It’ll be good as new in no time.”
A phrase from Meredith’s letter came to Irene’s mind. It takes Grandpa a long time to make big decisions. It occurred to Irene he was as overwhelmed with so many tasks to accomplish as he was disappointed in himself for disregarding the upkeep on the house.
Dale patted Meredith’s shoulder. “I know, honey, I know. But where to begin? It feels like we’re in for a cold stretch, too. The roof has to be fixed...” His voice trailed off on a dejected head shake.
Joe clasped Dale’s shoulder. “I’ve been thinking on that. Roof first. Clean-up the house second. Everything else can wait.”
“We’ll have to put on a temporary patch with what we have on hand, until we can get to the lumber yard or order materials.”
“Dale, we’ll manage.” Ginny soothed. “The first fitting for the dresses is still three weeks away. Meredith has a neat hand for hemming, and Violet’s sewing is coming along. They’ve been helping.”
Beryl piped up. “What about me? I’m a good helper.”
Ginny smiled. “Yes, you are. You en
tertain us with the beautiful pictures you draw and the endless stories you tell.”
“Excuse me.” Irene stepped forward, squeezing herself into the group. “I’ve seen a few snow storms in my day, but not one could hold a candle to a prairie blizzard the likes of this one. I’ve never seen so much snow in such a short amount of time.” She made a sweeping gesture meant to encompass the snow inside the house and outside. “It looks to me like it’ll take the rest of today and tomorrow to shovel paths to the barn and your shop and then out to the street. If it’s like this every winter, how in the world you all get around is beyond me.”
Dale said, “You’re right about that. Unless we get a Chinook in the next couple of weeks, we’ll be digging out until the spring thaw. We’re bound to get more snow. We generally do.”
“That is my point. There’s an inordinate amount of physical labor ahead just so you can resume your daily routine of making a living, and no doubt the girls have school and that will be a chore in itself to get them to and fro. It seems to me you can’t work on the roof or go into town until you have paths opened up.” To her own ear, she was babbling, and she felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment.
Exasperated with herself, she said, “What I’m trying to say is, if there’s anything I know about, it’s hard work and helping out. Lending a hand is what I do best. Point me to a broom, buckets, old rags, and a shovel, and I’ll clean-up this snow mess and put this house back in order. That will free-up your time to tackle what you all need to do.”
“No, you’re our guest. We don’t expect you to work,” Ginny protested.
“Well, guest or not, I can’t just stand back and watch other folks work when I’m perfectly capable of pitching in.”
“But the train. Denver,” Ginny reminded.
“Pshaw! I can catch that train any day. My time is my own. And since I can’t get to the depot anyway, I’d just as well put my idle time to something productive and worthwhile.” She looked from Ginny to Joe then back to Dale. “We’re wasting good daylight.”
Lariats, Letters, and Lace Page 32
