[2016] Widow Finds Love

by Christian Michael

  Grinning, Ida said, “I love you?”

  “Exactly. I love you, Ida Blaine, and nothing on this Earth will ever change that.” There was a long moment of silence in which Ida found herself unable to speak. She didn’t notice the anxious look on Asher’s face until he said, “Are you going to say something?”

  “I thought you knew, but if you insist on hearing it,” She paused, kissing him, the first kiss she’d ever had. “I love you too.”

  “You have no idea how good it is to hear that.” Ida shrugged, smiling up at her husband, her favorite Christmas miracle.

  “I think I can imagine.”

  It wasn’t a perfect Christmas that the young couple shared. There wasn’t a grand feast or any gift beyond that of having someone to be with. There wasn’t a speck of snow on the ground, and the fire in the woodstove made the house too hot.

  But it can be promised that, in all of the years Ida and Asher Blaine would live, that Christmas wouldn’t be forgotten. It didn’t look perfect, but it felt just as it should, as though all was right. As though it were, well, Christmas.

  And, after all, what really makes it Christmas?

  *****

  THE END.

  The Christmas Cowboy

  Mail Order Bride

  CHRISTIAN MICHAEL

  I didn’t see it coming. I should have; but I didn’t. That morning appeared like any other. I woke up at seven ‘o’clock sharp, slipped on a pair of blue overalls, and skipped down to the barn to feed the cattle. The walk from the house was only five to eight minutes but that morning, it felt like an hour. It was unbelievably cold which turned my brisk walk into a slow crawl. The atmosphere itself seemed put-off by what it was producing. I could barely tell whether it was night or day. It was almost as if one of the clouds had decided to gobble up the sky leaving behind nothing but its light blue streaks to remind us of its once rich color. Maybe it was a sign from God. Looking back now, maybe he knew the trouble that this day would bring me.

  Another alarm should have gone off in my head as soon as I entered the barn. All of the troughs had been filled. There was no way Papa had done it; his job in the morning was tending to the crops. My little brother, Ethan, wasn’t even an option; he was still too little to carry the buckets in from the silo. That only left one possible candidate; Mama. Her cheap perfume wafted around the stable and up to the rafters. I was surprised the animals hadn’t become intoxicated; she had turned the place into a gas chamber. Despite her efforts, there was still one trough that I knew would be untouched. My mother, even on her brightest days, refused to go anywhere near the pigs. So I walked over to the silo and filled a bucket with corn and soybean. On my way back to the barn, a voice cut through the cool layer of fog.

  “Brooklyn! Breakfast!” I didn’t need to see anything to know it was him. His husky tone was enough for me.

  “Coming, Papa!” I hollered in return.

  I finished feeding the pigs and ran back over to the house. There was no one sitting on the porch. This should have been my third warning. Papa had always waited for me on his rocking chair before heading in. I remember brushing the thought away, almost like it was nothing. How could I have been so naïve? Stepping into the house, I kicked off my boots and trudged into the kitchen. There, I had come face to face with the fourth and final sign. On a normal day, Papa and I were the only ones at the table. Mama would be busy knitting or she would have made a trip into town or anything else to help her forget the fact that she had married a farmer. Poor little Ethan would be kept on a short leash, at her side, at all times. Mama didn’t want him turning out like I did: just another farmhand. That morning, however, everyone was already at the table and, noticing by the way Mama looked at me when I stepped in, they had been waiting for me.

  “Papa, what’s wrong?” I sat down across my father, begging for an answer. He refused to utter a word.

  “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart? Here, I made scrambled eggs.” Mama eagerly pushed a bowl in my direction.

  I helped myself to some breakfast but continued to look at Papa, waiting for an answer. He poked at his bacon, still not making a single sound. It was like that for a while; everyone was quiet. At one-point Mama took out a compact mirror and a blush set. She started fixing her makeup in the middle of breakfast. It just went to show how eager she was to take part in her family's lives. Ethan snickered across from her, obviously amused by the task at hand. The week before, he had pointed out to me that the only other person that he had seen apply makeup was one of the clowns at the circus. We only ever took him to one show but he seemed to remember every moment almost like he had experienced it just days before. I glanced over at him, a huge grin sliding across my face. However, Ethan's cheeky attitude wasn't enough to cut through the tension that morning.

  "Bethany," Mama smiled, "your father and I have some good news."

  "Good news." I repeated, rolling the words around in my mouth. They just didn't seem right coming from her.

  “Yes.” She clapped her hands together, eagerly. “Good news.”

  “Ah-huh…” I nodded, not too convinced

  “Common honey, don’t sound so surprised.” She frowned in disappointment. “Just here me out, okay?”

  Her eyes narrowed into a tight squint. Mama eyed me carefully but I didn’t bother fighting her. I let out a long sigh, stretching my arms out beside my empty plate. It was my signal for her to continue. Plus, part of me actually wanted to hear what she had to say. Finally realizing that she had the spotlight, Mama decided to take her time. She uncoiled her curly brown hair from its prison of a bun. Then, helping herself to another slice of bacon, she spread her napkin out across the table and refolded it onto her lap.

  “Well,” she took a deep breath and spoke in a hushed tone, “a couple of weeks ago, I paid to put an ad in the Parisian Times.”

  “What kind of ad, mother?” I asked in an icy tone. A cold shiver ran down my spine. Something big was coming; I could feel it.

  "Mama found you a husband!” Ethan blurted before slapping his own hand over his mouth. The entire table went silent. I felt my heart skip a beat. She found me a husband? A husband? By, doing WHAT!? Putting an ad in the newspaper? What did that make me; a mail order bride? Were my parents actually trying to sell their only daughter?

  "Now Ethan, dear, it's impolite to yell at the table.” Mama reached across him and snatched the salt shaker like nothing had happened.

  My voice lowered to just louder than a whisper, "Mama, what's he talking about?"

  She didn't say a word.

  "T-tell me he's lying." I stuttered, "Tell me that Ethan's playing a joke or something."

  Her eyes darted around the room. She, herself knew that she had done something unspeakable.

  "So… what? You’re planning to ship me off to some random stranger half way across the world just so you can earn some quick cash?" My words began to seep with venom. I could feel years of pent up rage surging through my veins. This wasn’t the first time the subject had been brought up. Every time I heard my name and marriage in the same sentence, I would never hesitate to change the subject. However, this time, things were different. This time, it was actually happening.

  “That’s the thing, sweetheart. He’s not just some ‘random guy’” she insisted, curling her fingers into air quotations. “He’s an honored American Soldier. He’s practically a hero where he comes from. I’ve been telling his parents – Mister and Missus Williams – all about you and I’ve even sent them a few dozen photos. They say that you have plenty in common with their son, Andrew, and that he’s eager to meet you as well. Isn’t that fantastic?”

  “No mother. No it’s not” I grimaced.

  “Beth, honey, most girls your age are already married. Don’t you think it’s time that you settled down? I’m only looking out for your future.” She tried desperately to plead her case.

  Mama wasn’t always this traditional. She used to tell me to chase after my dreams and do what I thought
was right. Those trips into town she would make weren’t always entirely selfish. Mama used to purchase nursery rhymes and fairy tales from the used book store on Brewer Street. Growing up, I remember her sneaking into my room each night after Papa fell asleep just to read to me. Be it Cinderella, Snow White, or Sleeping Beauty, all of them would end the same; with Mama telling me to leave room for ‘true love’. She pushed the idea that I should do what I love and, only if it was meant to be, somewhere down the road I would meet my future husband. She stopped reading to me when I turned sixteen. She never said anything, nor did I ask why but in that moment, I finally understood. Mama never meant a word she had said. I was a child, so she filled me with what she thought was child-like ideas; ones that she hoped would never threaten her perfect plan for my future. Now that I’m older, she wants to just rip the Band-Aid off ignoring why it was there in the first place. I wasn’t about to let her get away with something like that.

  “You hypocrite…” my voice went down to a whisper.

  “Bethany, don’t talk to your mother like that.” Papa snapped

  “But Papa, I-” I began to argue.

  “No buts! Jesus Christ Beth, you’re almost twenty! It’s time to stop acting like a child!” He yelled. Papa never yells. The table fell silent. Ethan, who was now shaking, slipped his hands over his eyes. Mama couldn’t stop fidgeting in her seat. She devoured her bottom lip and began to wrap tendrils of hair around her fingers. I watched them both carefully before shrinking back into my chair.

  “Listen,” Papa sighed, clearly regretting his actions, “the boy went as far as to send you a letter.”

  He slowly pulled an envelope from his front pocket and placed it onto my empty plate.

  “We didn’t ask him to send it, you know.” Mama butted in.

  “Marilyn, let me do this. You’re not helping the situation” Papa said, firmly. He looked me dead in the eye, “He’s making an effort and we all know that, being an American and all, he doesn’t have to. The least you can do is provide him with the same courtesy. Will you do that for me, Beth?”

  I nodded. Having to fight with Papa was the absolute last thing I wanted to do.

  “Thank you.” He forced a smile, “Now, why don’t you take this letter up to your room and give it a read. Your mother and I will finish up your chores for the day.”

  Without uttering a word, I snatched the envelope and marched up the stairs. I hadn’t seen it coming but I should have. There were so many signs that lead me to that point. Not once did I stop to question what was happening; nor did I put up a good fight when it finally happened. So, now here I am. It’s the next day and I still haven’t touched the letter. Mama convinced Papa to take me off farming duty for the entire week. Lord knows she was happy when he said yes. Although getting out of my work was a nice thought, it occurred to me that I had nothing else to do. My entire day was devoted to sitting in my room, staring at the unopened letter, and driving myself insane over this crazy idea of a marriage.

  At about six ‘o’clock, Papa called me down for dinner but I declined, claiming I wasn’t hungry. I sat on the edge of my bed, deep in thought. The truth is, I just didn’t want him to find out that I hadn’t read the letter yet. Letting Papa down was probably one of my biggest fears. Mama, on the other hand, I wouldn’t particularly mind at the moment. Only a half hour passed before Ethan snuck his way into my room. It was obvious she had sent him.

  “Hey Sissy, are you still not hungry?” he chirped.

  “Save it,” I murmured in reply, “I know Mama told you to come up here.”

  He let out a deep sigh which unexpectedly drew a smile to my face. Although it may be strange for a ten-year-old, Ethan was an old soul. At times, I found him oddly humorous. He was a man walking around in a boy’s body. He continued to speak and all I could do was grin.

  “You know; we’re just looking out for you.” He droned on, “One day, you’re going to leave the nest and you won’t need us anymore but today is just not that day.”

  “Oh, I see.” I raised an eyebrow, “And what day is it exactly?”

  “Umm, I don’t know” he looked at me, sheepishly. Ethan’s always had trouble remembering the days of the week. But, who could blame him? Papa never pushed schooling and, being farm folk, we never needed to know what day it was. For us, there was only planting season and the harvest.

  “That’s okay.” I patted the bed beside me, “Why don’t you come sit?”

  He nodded before making a swan dive into the sheets. I flew off, hitting my butt hard on the wooden floor. A sudden yelp escaped my lips. Ethan shot up from his spot on the bed and rushed over to my side. His face was a mixture of fear and concern. I stared into his eyes for a brief moment before we both burst into a fit of laughter. And, when we started, we couldn’t stop. At one point I felt tears cascade down my cheeks. Ironically, the funniest part was that it wasn’t that funny.

  It had been quite a while since he and I had laughed together. When Ethan turned seven, he had finally begun to understand the world around him. The two of us could have proper conversations because he could finally understand me and relate to what I was saying. It produced some of the happiest moments in my life. Going to town, I was always ridiculed for being the “farmer’s daughter”. The city kids considered themselves too good for me so they never gave me a second glance. On the bright side, when Ethan was born none of that mattered anymore. He became my anchor. Mama saw that. She saw how strong he made me so her only choice was to take him away. Ethan had as much say in the matter as I did and I sure as hell knew that Papa wouldn’t do a thing. After all, Ethan was the new man of the house. He wasn’t to be contaminated by my dangerous ideas of free will.

  After years had gone by, a thick layer of negativity had settled over mine and Ethan’s relationship. However, that didn’t mean that I didn’t miss him. I still had so much to say to him; so much to show him. Sitting there with Ethan made me realize how overdue all of that positive energy was. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t funny; we were just looking for an excuse to blow off some steam and drive the tension away.

  “My stomach hurts.” Ethan grinned while laying himself across the floor, “It hurts, but in a good way.”

  “I know what you mean.” I moaned, placing myself beside him.

  He cleared his throat before speaking, “Beth, I’m sor-”

  “Don’t.” I cut him off, “It’s not your fault that Mama’s being senseless.”

  He turned on his side to look at me, “I know you hate this whole idea but don’t you think that you should at least give it a shot?”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because it’s crazy and new. How do you know it’s going to be a bad experience?” He sat up and looked me in the eye, “The answer is you don’t. You don’t know, not really; not unless you give it a try. And hey, if the guy is a butt head like you think, who says you can’t tell him to bugger off?”

  “Thank you. Oh wise one,” I smiled at him, “how did you ever get so smart?”

  “Well,” he threw an arm around me, “I learned from the best.”

  I hate to admit it but Ethan had a point. After Mama stopped by to take him for his bath, I tore open the envelope. I had to at least see what this man was like. Taking a deep breath, I began to read.

  Dearest Bethany,

  My name is Andrew Briar Williams – feel free to call my Andy. I know this may seem strange to you – planning to marry a man you don’t even know – but I promise you that I will do my best to make you feel comfortable. You’re probably wondering what kind of man agrees to sign off on something like this. I’m going to be honest with you. This wasn’t my original intention; it was my parents’ idea. They thought it was time for me to settle down and leave my young bachelor days behind. At first I had thought the idea was utterly ridiculous but recently, I’ve decided to open up and put myself out there. Although I don’t particularly like how we’re being matched up, I am adamant to make us work. I want this
to be a proper marriage. Ask me anything and I will not hesitate to answer honestly and to the best of my ability. I want you to know me as I’m eager to get to know you. What’s your favorite season; who do you look up to; why do you get up in the morning; there are so many questions I want to ask you but so very little time.

  Please, just give me a shot. I admit, the circumstances are strange, but I am willing to love you unconditionally. Even if you are not looking for a lover, how about putting your trust in a friend? We can start off slow. I am willing to try if you are.

  Sincerely,

  Andrew

  I read the letter over and over. And, after the fifth time, I read it once more. I didn’t know what to say; hell, I didn’t know what to think. How could he, above all people, feel the same way that I do? He was the one who was extending his hand for the sake of this marriage yet here he is telling me that it wasn’t his original intention. What changed his mind, I wondered. However, wondering wasn’t enough. I had to know. So, I grabbed a piece of paper, stole a fresh quill from Mama’s room, and took a seat at my writing desk.

  Sitting there, I felt a spark ignite at my center. I couldn’t tell anyone what I truly thought about being married this soon; mama wouldn’t listen, Papa wouldn’t want to hear it, and Ethan was to still too little to fully understand. It occurred to me that I should tell this Andrew guy how I felt and hopefully, I could nip the problem at its bud, before it gets any bigger. I didn’t need any more time to think; the words flowed naturally.

  Dear Andrew,

  Hello, my name is Bethany Abigale Stainton. My family refers to me as Beth but if we are being perfectly honest here, I prefer Bethany. I don’t particularly like nicknames so you can probably gather that I won’t be calling you ‘Andy’ either. Let me start off by getting this out of the way as I know my mother would plan to strangle me if I didn’t. It’s been nice to get acquainted with you. I’d like to thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to write a letter to little old me. I know you didn’t have to. And, if you really want honesty, I wouldn’t care if you didn’t. It wouldn’t change my mind about this whole situation. Growing up, I was taught to believe in myself and chase after my dreams no matter what. I never worried about having a husband because I didn’t need one, nor did I want one. I was told that if it was meant to be, love would find me; not the other way around. I’m not interested in your proposal. The advertisement was my parents’ idea, not mine. I’m truly sorry for wasting your time. I do however have one question; if you at first shared my views, then why on earth did you change your mind?