by Leah Atwood
Anger took over, and he clenched a fist. If Mrs. Morgan’s story was true, and he had no reason to believe otherwise, then he’d like to get his hands on someone. Her fear of Donahue was real and reflected in her words. For the first time in years, he felt a small stirring in his heart. Even if it was only for the need to protect this woman, it was a beginning.
He knew what his decision would be with regards to Mrs. Morgan, Lettie.
The more he thought of it, the more peace settled over him. After months of waiting, he’d been matched with a widow who’d loved her first husband very much, enough to defy her parents in marrying him. That, in itself, must be a sign from above. Two people who had loved and lost. Perhaps their loss could lead to a friendship of understanding and empathy. He doubted he’d ever love again as he loved Mellie, but he could find a deep, mutual respect for his spouse. If Lettie had loved her husband the same way, he suspected she would have a similar approach to this marriage.
He reread the letter for the third time. There were subtle clues telling him who Lettie Morgan was. Independent, regardless of her need for a husband. Honest. Compassionate. Hardworking. She was a stranger, willing to join her life with him. In him, she was placing her trust. That was a heady notion that weighed heavily on his mind. What if he had died and Mellie had been the one left behind? Neither of them had parents still living; only he had a sibling, a sister living in Texas. Would she have resorted to marrying a stranger and moving west? She’d always been frail and delicate. A long trip would not have been good for her.
There wasn’t a doubt left in Rand’s mind. Lettie Morgan would be his bride. He couldn’t promise love, but he would give her a safe home, as he would hope for Mellie if roles had been reversed. A loud crack sounded from the rear of the church and a stream of sunshine filtered through an opened door.
“Good afternoon. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone in here today.” Pastor Lawrence Gibbons stepped inside the building, rubbing his hands for warmth.
“I was on my way out,” replied Rand, replacing his hat atop his head.
“The door is always open.” A gust of wind slammed the heavy door shut. “Figuratively, of course,” Pastor Gibbons added with a chuckle.
“That wind is something fierce. Do you think we’ll see some snow soon?”
“My guess is that everyone will be too snowed in by Sunday to have a service. As much as I look forward to gathering with my flock on Sundays, I’ve spent too many years here not to recognize the signs.”
Rand stepped forward. “In that case, I should take my leave. The last thing I want is to get stuck in a storm.”
“Take care. I’ll see you Sunday, barring no storm.”
“Absolutely.” Leaving the church, Rand walked straight to the general store where he’d parked his wagon when he’d arrived an hour ago. He dropped off his list, which he should have done when he first got to town, but his mind had been distracted.
“Give me an hour, give or take a few minutes, and I’ll have this all ready for you.” Glen Simpson, the store’s proprietor, waved the slip of paper once.
“I appreciate it. Do you mind if we settle when I come back in?”
“Not a problem, Rand.”
“I’ll be back in an hour or two.”
“Take your time. Business has been slow today, so no rush.” The middle-aged shopkeeper was already moving about his store, pulling items from shelves.
“Before I leave, can I purchase this stationery and pen set?”
Glen eyed him with blatant interest. “Now?”
“Yes. I remembered I wanted to write my sister a letter and post it before returning home. Who knows, with the weather, when I might get another chance?” So he wouldn’t be telling a lie, he promised himself he’d also scrawl a quick note to his sister.
Curiosity satisfied, Glen moved back behind the counter. He stooped down and when he stood, he held several sheets of paper and a pencil. “Here, take these. There’s no point in buying new stationery for a single letter.”
The level of generosity the citizens of Weatherton continually demonstrated, even on a small scale, such as this, continually amazed Rand and solidified his decision to plant roots here. There was a sense of community in this small town he’d never experienced in his hometown back in Kansas. Sure, the people were friendly, but they lacked the strong bond Weatherton’s folks had.
Which is why Rand shifted uneasily on his feet. He’d just told a lie, and no matter how small, his conscience wouldn’t allow him to continue. “That’s mighty nice, Glen, but I confess the letter wasn’t a correspondence to my sister, though I am overdue for one.”
A spark of intrigue reappeared again in Glen’s eyes, but he did not question further. “Either way, help yourself to what you need. Take a seat in the office if you’d like. There’s a storm on the horizon, mark my words. A train is due in tomorrow, so if you don’t get it posted today, it’s likely to sit for weeks. I’ve seen the rail lines bogged down for over a month before due to the weather.”
Rand only debated a second before deciding to accept the man’s offer. For one, spending the money on stationery would be foolish since he had almost a full set at his house. Secondly, prudence would suggest he respond to Lettie promptly for a variety of reasons. Extending his arm across the counter, he took hold of the offered items.
The path to the office was clear of any obstacles. Rosie, Glen’s wife, was an exceptionally tidy woman known for her exemplary standards of cleanliness. She was a pleasant balance to her husband, who had a reputation for being a bit scatterbrained, though no one would ever call him that in derision. It was simply, a quality which endeared him to the people of Weatherton.
Sitting down in a chair at the desk, Rand discovered that he’d have to sit sideways because his legs were too long to fit under the desk opening, even if he stretched them out. He leaned an elbow on the table and rested his temple against the tips of his fingers while he contemplated how to respond. Once he had mentally composed a reply, he began to write.
Dear Mrs. Morgan,
May I call you Lettie? Just this morning, I received your letter sent along with that from Mrs. Broadmoor. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your husband. I lost my beloved wife several years ago, and I understand the grief which accompanies such a loss.
Since you have been completely honest with me, I shall return the favor. The only reason that I have sought a bride is because I promised my late wife that I would one day remarry. Please know that, although my motivation is not in finding love, as I expect yours is not either, I will strive to be a good husband to you and a father to your child.
He paused, the added clause taking him by surprise as it hadn’t been in his mental note. His teeth grazed his bottom lip. Mellie and he hadn’t been able to have children; her body had been too frail to carry a baby to birth. Yet it had always been a desire of his heart, one he’d repressed so not to upset Mellie and make her feel inadequate. A father. His heart pounded with the idea. His dream would be realized. When would Lettie’s baby arrive? He hadn’t considered that aspect in the need for hasty decision-making, but it added another layer of urgency. The sooner he married Lettie Morgan, the better for all involved. Bracing himself, he waited for the feelings of betrayal to strike.
They didn’t. He chose to believe that Mellie was smiling down from Heaven, granting her blessing. After all, she is the one who wanted him to find another wife.
I feel that I should apologize on behalf of all men for an experience you have suffered at the hands of Mr. Donahue. Violence against a woman is never acceptable and always deplorable. Though you don’t know me, I can guarantee that you will never suffer from my hand. A wife is to be taken care of and cherished, not struck.
Reading that you have worked on a farm pleases me. Although ranching and farming are two distinct industries, they both require an immense amount of work and dedication. Our life here will not always be easy, it may not even be prosperous at times, but it will
be rewarding.
Enclosed, you will find a train ticket for your passage west, for the earliest possible date. Though I realize winter is not the ideal season for travel, I recognize your time constraints. I do look forward to your arrival and beginning our life together.
Yours truly,
Randall, Rand, McCade
He folded the letter and placed it into an envelope which he didn’t yet seal. He hurried to the bank, withdrew a sum of money, stopped by the train depot to purchase fare for Lettie and then, finally, went to the post office. As he walked back to the general store, a small smile crept to his mouth. Two hours ago, he’d been full of trepidation about marriage for a second time and unsure he could proceed. Now, he felt God had answered his prayers and was not only giving him peace, but the spirit of anticipation.
He couldn’t shake the notion that Mrs. Broadmoor took so long in finding a match because Lettie was meant to be paired with him and the time had to be right. Love might not be in his future, but he did look forward to companionship.
Chapter Two
February 1893
By the grace of God, Lettie made it out of Baltimore undetected by her mother or Maxwell Donahue. Mrs. Broadmoor, bless her heart, had lent out a spare room for her to stay in during her remaining time in the east, enabling her to give up the small room she’d rented. Lettie doubted that she’d ever meet a more empathetic, understanding woman. Over the course of three months, Lettie had learned that Mrs. Broadmoor’s spare room was often filled with a soul in need of help. By the time she’d boarded the train last week, she was convinced that the dear woman was actually an angel in disguise.
Tugging the sleeve of her tweed traveling suit, Lettie tried in vain to create more warmth in her body. Toward the beginning of the trek, she’d despaired of the crowded cars and the never-ending chatter, but now she realized how much warmth those extra bodies had provided. As more passengers departed the train, Lettie had tried to move closer to the stove. At long last, she’d reached the prime spot, but then, at the previous stop, a young mother had boarded with her children. A young boy and girl, both of whom looked to be no older than five, shivered while their mother bounced a crying infant. Without a second thought, Lettie gave up her warm spot.
The weary-looking mother with tired eyes gave her a gracious smile. “Thank you. I told my Frank traveling this time of year wasn’t wise, but he’d hear nothing of it. Said he couldn’t wait to have his family together again.”
Despite the dark circles shadowing her eyes, a hint of a smile graced her face. The love she felt for her husband was evident, sending wistful reminders through Lettie. “Where are you heading?”
“Oregon. Frank inherited a nice piece of farmland and we decided to make a change in our lives. He’s been there since the spring.” She balanced the quieted baby on a hip. “This little man was only a month old when he left.”
Lettie smiled softly, her hands instinctively going to the small swell of her stomach. “I only have several months until my own little one arrives.” Realizing she’d breached social norms, she quickly covered her mouth before saying more.
“No worries, dear. Out here, we make friends where we can. My name is Sarah Oliver.”
“Leticia Morgan, but I prefer to be called Lettie.”
“Nice to meet you, Lettie. What is your destination?”
“Weatherton.”
“You’re almost home then. I envy you the end of your trip while we are only beginning.”
“It’s been a long trip from Baltimore though. At the risk of sounding grouchy, I must confess I will be glad to step off this train for good.”
“Baltimore you say?” Sarah’s eyes lit up.
“Yes. That used to be home.”
“I’ll be. I’m from Westminster, lived there my entire life until I came to Wyoming.”
Lettie tilted her head, intrigued, wanting to ask questions while not crossing the bounds of propriety again. “How long have you been in the west?”
“Five years.”
“Ma, how much longer.” The little girl pulled on her mother’s skirt.
“Quite a while, still, darling. Why don’t you and your brother see who can count the highest.”
Instantly taken with the suggestion the little girl turned to her brother and they began counting.
“Was it much of an adjustment?” Lettie asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
Sarah chuckled. “Oh my, was it ever. Back then, I only knew Frank through letters. See, my husband was killed in a mill accident. My parents had died several years prior to that; they were in advanced years when I was born. All I had was a sister, but she and her family were struggling to get by and couldn’t take on the responsibility for me. I didn’t know at the time I was expecting.”
Clenching her jaw so it wouldn’t gape open, Lettie marveled at the similarities in Sarah’s story and her own. She rubbed her stomach, thinking of her own baby and briefly wondering how far the similarities continued. No, the chance of her also having twins was too much, though she would welcome having two of Daniel’s babies. Either way, providence must have placed them on the train together for this brief time. Recovering from her surprise, Lettie opened her mouth to speak. “Were you a mail-order bride?” The words came out in a forced whisper.
“Some would call it that, yes. I’ll tell you, I wouldn’t go back and change it for anything.” Sarah’s countenance lit up with sudden understanding. She tilted her head forward. “Is that what brings you to Wyoming?”
Lettie pursed her lips before answering. “Yes.”
“Would you like some advice?” Sarah asked, genuine kindness emanating from her.
“I would welcome any. My first husband and I knew each other from childhood even though my parents didn’t approve of our marriage. I had no choice except to leave Maryland, but I’m so torn. Mr. McCade seems to be a good man, but how do I really know beyond a single letter from him?”
“Faith is a prerequisite for taking a step such as we have. True, there are risks, but the payoff can be wonderful. I remember how nervous I was to meet Frank. I was fortunate that he is a kind and generous man, but at best, I was hoping for friendship, never expecting to fall in love again. My best advice—be open to whatever the good Lord has in store for you. His plan is much greater than we can see at one time.”
“How… I mean… does he accept the twins as his own?” Lettie asked nervously. Her highest concern was for her child above all else.
“Frank adores Henry and Marilee. He is the only father they’ve ever known, and he loves them just as he loves little Franklin here.” She bounced the baby who was now positioned to sit facing forward on her lap. “Adjusting to a new life with a stranger won’t be easy, but I firmly believe if you’re both willing to put forth the effort, then everything will turn out fine.”
“Thank you for sharing. I wish we had more time to talk,” Lettie said wistfully. Having a ready-made friend would have been nice.
“I’ll be praying for you.”
“And I, you, as you begin your life in Oregon.”
As though the train knew their turn of conversation, it came to a screeching pause. Lost in conversation, Lettie hadn’t realized the cars had been slowing down. With one last final bump, the train stopped completely. This was it, time to begin her new life. With a twist of her head, she looked around to see if any other passengers would be departing. No one stood. She was the only one in the car destined for Weatherton.
She stood and Sarah reached over and gave her arm a supportive squeeze. “Remember, all things work together for the good for those that love God.”
Lettie covered her new friend’s hand with her own. “Thank you for the reminder.” Freeing herself, she approached the opened door. She’d only known Sarah for a very brief time, but she already felt a keen loss at leaving her.
“Write to me,” Sarah called out. “Sarah Oliver in Grant’s Pass, Oregon.”
“I will,” Lettie promised in a
short breath.
She stood at the exit, wishing her back and legs didn’t hurt so badly. The days of sitting had not been kind to her body, and she longed for the freedom to move about. Maybe even run through a field barefoot. Closing her eyes, she tried to draw on the inner strength she’d relied on since Daniel’s death. Having peace that she’d made the right decision didn’t negate the swirl of nerves being stirred in her stomach. Or was that the baby moving? Probably a combination of both.
The man she’d promised to join her life with but had never met was standing somewhere just outside the train. She sucked in a breath and squared her shoulders. Her swollen midsection made her self-conscious though it was not yet noticeable under her traveling dress. Oddly, faced with the direct cold bearing down against her, she felt warmer than she had on the train and her cheeks were on fire. She gave one final look behind her, to see Sarah giving her an encouraging smile.
Turning to face the outside world she took a step. Her foot made contact with a patch of ice and slid forward. Still stiff from disuse, her legs weren’t able to stabilize her, and she began to fall. Everything around her swirled until she could no longer focus on a single object. The last thing she remembered before everything going black was two strong arms reaching out to stop her from hitting the ground.
“Lettie? Lettie, can you hear me?”
From the darkness, a deep voice called her name.
“Daniel, is that you?” she asked in a state of confusion.
“Give her a few minutes,” another voice spoke, this one also deep but had an aged timbre.
Blurred images became visible. Lettie blinked, trying to bring them into focus. Slowly, she made out three figures, the first an elderly gentleman wearing a black shirt underneath a black vest. His hair was eggshell white, and he sported an even whiter mustache. Next to him stood a plump woman with dark hair peppered with grays tied into a knot at the nape of her neck. They hovered over her, their eyes crinkled with concern.
