Over the years, she’d helped countless students master their characters—tweaking their performances and showing them how certain scenes should be done. However, if asked to do it in front of a crowd of adults—even just the other teachers—her blood would run cold. She simply couldn’t do it. But maybe I can now, if it means not having to marry a man I’ve never met?
Tillie’s whole body shuddered. No. Not even the threat of a marriage of convenience could make her take the stage. Besides, she loved teaching. Her true passion lay in the shaping of young minds, and empowering the children who were entrusted to her to have more courage than she did. The theatre had saved her sanity after she lost her parents, and continued to be her escape during each new stage of life. There were so many lessons to be learned in each play, so many parallels to hardships most of the children would eventually face as adults, or visions of hope for brighter futures than the current lives they led as orphans. Although, she did hope that the children who attended the Wigg School were happier than most in their same situation.
She fingered the ends of her long, dark hair as she thought of all the young, smiling faces she’d seen grace her modest stage for their little productions, and let out a sigh. She wouldn’t give up teaching for performing, even if it would save her from losing her choice about whom she would love. Although, Sally’s idea of an exit strategy had soothed her nerves enough to realize she didn’t have to be as helpless as she looked. She might be tiny, but that didn’t mean she was incapable of shaping her own future.
Chapter 2
“Mrs. Jones!” Dr. William T. Powers straightened his newspaper. He paid a premium price to get The Morning Chronicle all the way in Marshfield, Oregon, from San Francisco, and he wanted to enjoy it with hot coffee.
“Mrs. Jones!” William tried to keep his annoyance from his tone, but he was afraid he was failing. Mrs. Jones, his housekeeper, was usually quite attentive. However, today she’d served his eggs almost raw and his coffee merely lukewarm.
“Yes, sir?” Mrs. Jones’s feathery voice barely seemed to make it to his ears, it was so soft.
“Like most people in this world, I like my coffee hot, and unfortunately, this coffee is not, so if you could please bring me some hot coffee, I would be most appreciative. Also, these eggs need to be cooked a bit longer.”
“I’m so sorry, Dr. Powers. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m a bit flustered today. I apologize.” Mrs. Jones took his plate and his mug and exited the dining room, her frazzled demeanor very unlike her.
William took a bite of his toast—which had somehow ended up perfect, despite the rest of his meal—then immersed himself in an article about a new play that would be appearing at the Baldwin Theatre in San Francisco. He shook his head as he chewed. He would never understand why anyone would waste their time watching other people act out nonsense on a stage. He couldn’t think of anything more frivolous than the theatre.
Once Mrs. Jones came back with his eggs and his hot coffee, he found his mood had improved greatly, and he was ready to go visit his first patient of the day. He cherished the time he got to spend at home, and a slow morning such as this was a rarity. He spent a great deal of his time on his horse, traveling around Coos Bay. This morning he was needed in Empire City, and then he would spend the rest of his time seeing patients in his office that was just down the road.
His work as a doctor was demanding, but fulfilling. He simply wished he could spend more time in his home. He looked around the exquisite dining room as he finished off the last of his coffee, still enamored with the rich stain of the woodwork. He’d hand-selected every finish and every paint color in this home as it was being built, and he was completely satisfied.
Well, he was satisfied with the house. He’d fulfilled two of his lifelong dreams now—becoming a physician, and building his dream home. He wasn’t satisfied, however, with how lonely it felt. Each evening, after Mrs. Jones cleaned up from dinner and made sure the fire in his study was roaring, she left to join Mr. Jones—William’s gardener—in the small cottage on the edge of the property, and William was left alone. Most of the time he was too preoccupied to think about being lonely, but since he turned thirty, he’d begun to worry about how isolated he was in his busy life.
William walked to the window to watch for Mr. Jones, who was supposed to be bringing his saddled horse out front. The large picture window in the dining room faced the bay, and he studied how the water rippled in the wind. It was early spring, and he was thankful not to have to be so bundled up to travel. Springtime in Oregon was beautiful, and William was looking forward to the rejuvenation he usually felt as the seasons changed. It had been yet another long winter with no wife to keep him company during the cold, dark evenings.
Lately, he’d been wondering how he would ever find a wife with so little time to go courting. And it would certainly be of help if there were more women around. He’d had a few patients offer to introduce him to a friend or family member after they discovered he was unmarried, especially the little old widows he visited, but usually there was a good reason why the women were still single when the population of single men outnumbered them twenty to one.
William found himself to be very practical in most aspects of his life, but he knew there was one thing that couldn’t be calculated or planned for, and that was falling in love. It’s not that he was looking for “the one”—he didn’t believe there was only one woman out there for him—but he wanted to feel something before he decided to spend the rest of his life with someone. So far, there had been a significant lack of feeling toward any woman he’d had the chance of meeting.
William’s ride out to Empire City was pleasant. The birds were chirping in the trees, the wind was hardly blowing at all, and from the road he traveled on, he could see several signs of new life. Baby bunnies, buds on the branches of the tress, and new sprigs of grass pushing up through the dirt on the edges of the road all brightened his soul.
He would be visiting Mr. Caldwell today, an older gentleman who’d had a lingering cough for the last few weeks. Nothing he gave the man seemed to help his wheezing and hacking, and he wasn’t sure what more he could do, but he knew he had to try.
When he arrived at the Caldwells’ cottage, tucked in a thicket of trees on the edge of a grassy meadow, he tied his horse to a tree in the front yard, then made his way to the house. His knuckles had scarcely touched the door before Mrs. Caldwell yanked it open.
“Oh, Dr. Powers! I’m so glad you’re here!” Mrs. Caldwell was acting even more flustered than poor Mrs. Jones had been that morning, and William found himself wondering how he kept being subjected to such unstable women.
“It’s been a very long night. I’m afraid Mr. Caldwell has gotten even worse! He was up all night coughing and coughing. Nothing could get him to stop. I was tempted to hit him over the head with a pan from the kitchen so he could get some relief. The poor man. And you know, I swear it gets worse every time he tries to take a drag from that blasted pipe! He takes one puff and doubles over, heaving and hacking until he’s red in the face. I keep telling him he needs to lay off it, but of course he won’t listen to a word I say. Could you tell him? He might listen if it comes from his doctor.” Mrs. Caldwell’s words were spilling out from her mouth so quickly, William was taken by surprise when she paused for a reply.
“I will do my best, Mrs. Caldwell.”
The squat, round woman had long gray hair that was woven in a braid down her back. The end reached down to where the strings of her white apron were tied in a bow. Her slippered feet shuffled on the floor, making a scuffing sound as she led him down the short hall to their bedroom. They didn’t have as fine of a house as he did, but it was clean, and quaint.
Mr. Caldwell struggled to sit up in his bed as William entered the room. “Oh, hello, Doc. I dunno why ya bothered to come all the way out ’ere today. I keep tellin’ Mae I’m fine, but she won’t listen ta me. It’ll pass, I say, but she—” Mr. Caldwell’s words were cut sh
ort by a fit of coughing, and his shaky hand brought a blue handkerchief up to his mouth.
“Yes, I can see that you’re as healthy as an ox,” William joked. “Don’t worry, I’m only here to see if there’s anything else I can do to stop your barking. I promise I won’t bite.”
Mr. Caldwell tried to laugh at William’s bad joke, but it sent him into another round of wheezing. When he was finally able to settle down, William took his stethoscope out of his bag and listened to the man’s lungs. All the traditional remedies he’d prescribed to ease this man’s troubles had failed, and he wasn’t sure what more could be done, but he did agree with Mrs. Caldwell that smoking seemed to make the man cough more, as he’d witnessed it himself during his past visits.
“Well, Mr. Caldwell, the good news is that I don’t think you’re in danger of dying from whatever this is. The bad news is, there’s no way to tell how long your body will take to recover. I do want to suggest one thing, though. It seems that the smoke from your pipe may be aggravating your symptoms, or in other words, making your cough worse. I’m going to suggest that—at least until you heal from whatever this illness is—you lay off the pipe.” William wasn’t sure if it would really do any good, but he’d read a few essays by doctors he respected on the matter, and their theories on smoking were sound enough for him to personally swear it off completely.
Mr. Caldwell’s mouth twisted up, and William could tell that he was stifling a cough, but he nodded once, then crossed his arms. He was so obviously unhappy about William’s request that it was almost comical—like a child who wasn’t getting their way. William stole a glance at Mrs. Caldwell, and she, however, looked very pleased indeed.
“Keep giving him the medication I gave you last time until the bottle is empty. Don’t let him work until this coughing has stopped, and try to help him get some sleep. He looks absolutely exhausted.” William looked at the man with pity, and wished there was more he could do.
“Thank you, Dr. Powers. I’ll take real good care of him. Don’t worry. If anyone can nurse him back to health, it’s me.”
As Mrs. Caldwell walked him back to the door, she asked the dreaded question. “So, have you found a nice little lady to keep you company in that big empty house of yours yet?”
William was walking behind her, so thankfully she couldn’t see him squeeze his eyes shut in protest. He despised discussing this topic with the people around here, but he didn’t blame them for being curious. “Nope. You know there’s hardly any women around here. I have a feeling I’m going to have to move away in order to get hitched.”
Mrs. Caldwell just laughed. “Or move one here to you!”
She was joking, of course, but it planted an idea in William’s head nonetheless.
On his ride back to Marshfield, William couldn’t help thinking about how concerned Mrs. Caldwell had been about her sick husband. His heart ached to have someone at home who would give him the kind of love and attention he’d just witnessed. Part of him wondered if he would be doomed to die an old bachelor—a slave to his profession—or if he really would find a woman and fall in love.
The longer he waited, the more unlikely it seemed that he’d ever fill up his dream house with the children and the memories he longed for. Seeing the Caldwells together today made the issue seem more urgent than ever. He had to find a way.
His sorrel horse, Clover, was trotting along at a nice, even pace, and William found himself looking forward to the rest of his day. Well, mostly to the end of it—when he would be sitting by the fire, reading the rest of the newspaper he’d started that morning. Imagining holding that paper again, combined with Mrs. Caldwell’s funny remarks, conjured up the memory of The Bride’s Bulletin column that he’d passed over earlier that morning into his head, and with it, an idea.
Why didn’t I think of this before? William laughed out loud at how simple the solution to his problem was. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. He never read through the postings, but he saw the article often enough to know that The Bride’s Bulletin was basically like a help-wanted ad for women. He didn’t personally know any men who had put an ad for a wife in the paper, but he’d heard of women coming from back east to marry men out west. It was common knowledge that the new, unruly towns were short on women, and suddenly, putting an ad in the paper for a wife didn’t sound as crazy as it might have a couple of years—heck, even a couple of months—ago.
If he could say the right things in his submission, he might attract the very woman he would be seeking in a wife. And besides, couldn’t they write back and forth a few times to make sure they had enough commonalities between them? It could be romantic even. Women loved romance, didn’t they? He had three sisters, but they were all so much older than him, and they’d all stayed back in Massachusetts, that he didn’t really have any help understanding what women liked or didn’t. Maybe he could ask Mrs. Jones when he got home that evening.
As long as William’s office was busy, his days passed by fairly quickly, but even with the number of patients he saw that particular day, it still crawled by at a snail’s pace. He couldn’t wait to get back home and ask Mrs. Jones her advice about how to write his submission to The Bride’s Bulletin. What woman wouldn’t want to marry a doctor with a grand house already built for them to live in? It was more than any other man in this town could offer a woman, and he knew that for a fact. There wasn’t another house in the whole bay that even compared to his.
Of course, his sisters had never wanted to come out west, and there were many women who probably felt the same way. He hoped his ad wouldn’t only attract the desperate women who would go anywhere for a husband. He wanted a woman of good breeding, preferably educated so she could teach their future children. The lack of proper education in the west was astounding, and as a graduate of Harvard, he would not stand to see his children ill-equipped to go on and study there, or at any other university they chose.
On his short ride home, he silently wondered if there really was any such woman out there. A handsome, educated woman who was willing to come live in the unruly frontier of the Pacific. He wondered if the women who read his entry would even know where the state of Oregon was.
After handing Clover off to Mr. Jones—who had been working in the flower garden at the back of the house—William walked directly into the dining room and picked up his morning paper, which lay exactly where he’d left it on the table. Bless Mrs. Jones for finally learning not to move it. He’d spent far too many minutes of his life searching for his newspaper every time she did.
He flipped to The Bride’s Bulletin and scanned the submissions. There had to be a price to pay in order to have an ad run, and he wondered how much it was. Surely it would be worth it, as he’d have to leave town in order to meet a woman anyway. It couldn’t cost more than a journey down to San Francisco. Besides, it would be worth it to make sure even the women back east saw it.
William sat down as he read entry after entry, noticing that only a few had photographs. He wondered if he should get one. He’d never had a photograph taken of himself. It seemed indulgent in a way.
“Mrs. Jones!”
His housekeeper appeared in record time, and she seemed much less frazzled than she had that morning.
“Yes, Dr. Powers? What can I do for you? I was just preparing your supper.”
“I need to ask you a few questions. You can finish making supper in a moment. I’m not very hungry just yet.”
Mrs. Jones took a few steps closer. “What is it, sir?” Her face was scrunched up in concern. He never asked her for anything outside of her household duties.
“Well, first, what was going on this morning? You weren’t acting yourself.”
“Again, I’m sorry about that, sir. Everything is fine. Mr. Jones kept me up all night with his snoring, and I guess my brain just doesn’t work right on little sleep. I apologize.”
“No need to apologize again, Mrs. Jones. I was simply concerned for your well-being. It was so unlike
you to botch my food. And I don’t believe you’ve ever served me cold coffee before today.” William smiled. He couldn’t help but be excited about his next question. “Now, for the real reason I called you in here—I need your advice.”
Mrs. Jones’s eyebrows shot up. “Mine? Well, whatever for?” The woman looked extremely uneasy.
“I’m going to place an advertisement in the paper, and I was hoping you could help me make it more appealing to women.” William swallowed hard. He’d never felt so foolish. What was he doing? Was he really going to meet his future wife through an ad? It seemed improper somehow, but he saw no other choice.
“An ad for what, sir?”
William could hardly believe he was about to divulge his plans to Mrs. Jones. “It would be a—” He paused, cleared his throat, then spoke with more authority this time. “It would be an ad for a wife. For me.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Jones blinked several times in a row. About five times too many.
“Yes, I know. Please, don’t make me feel worse about it than I already do.”
Mrs. Jones quickly pressed her mouth into a thin line from the O it had held for just a few seconds too long. “I’ll do my best to help you, sir. What would you like to know?”
“Well, what does a woman want in a man? What can I possibly put in my submission to The Bride’s Bulletin that will help me stand out?” William ran his fingers through his hair.
Mrs. Jones chuckled. “Well, I can tell you’re already in trouble.”
Tillie's Theatre (The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides Book 20) Page 2
