by Lucy Evanson
Miss Broder’s brow furrowed as she glanced down at the letter in Maddie’s hand. “Don’t be discouraged if you don’t find the kind of man you’re looking for right away. Just stick with it. You know, we’ve been doing this a long time, and we’ve never failed to match up a bride and groom,” Miss Broder said. “Eventually.”
Chapter 2
Lancaster, Nebraska
September 17
Bill’s footfall echoed on the plank sidewalk as he paced back and forth, and he glanced at the clock tower they were building down the street at the town hall. Ten to nine, he thought, and he again pulled out his pocket watch to compare. It showed the same, which wasn’t surprising; he’d already checked a half-dozen times since he’d arrived outside the Westward Hearts office. Not that I’m anxious or anything.
Truth be told, it felt more than a little uncomfortable hanging around outside a mail-order bride agency, and he didn’t make eye contact with any of the passers-by. He didn’t feel like getting a look from them this morning. Not just a look, but the look. The look that seemed to say poor man, can’t find a wife without a little help. Still, if he got the answer he was hoping for today, then people could look at him any way they wanted. It wouldn’t matter less to him, as long as Maddie said yes.
Bill slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and withdrew a carefully folded envelope. He’d already read Maddie’s letters, of course—he could practically recite them—but her last one was the one that had convinced him that she was the girl for him. He removed the letter from the envelope and unfolded it, letting his gaze flit across the paper, reading the lines that he liked the most.
Family is the most important thing in the world to me, she had written. I dream about having a family one day with a man who I can respect and support, and even love….
Bill liked that very much, but then again there wasn’t much not to like. Respect and love, all wrapped up in a family of one’s own. Sounds pretty good to me, he thought.
I want to be a helpmate to my future husband, and for him to be mine…I’ve always been alone and I’ve grown tired of that life….
To be honest, it was a bit hard to understand why she’d been alone. They had her tintype in the office window, and she sure didn’t look like a woman who would have any trouble attracting a man. Bill didn’t think of himself as the kind of person who was solely concerned with appearances, but he couldn’t deny that the reason he’d even stopped in Westward Hearts in the first place was because he’d seen Maddie’s picture displayed there.
He turned to look at it among the other photographs propped up on the bottom of the window sill, but almost immediately a frown furrowed his brow. How strange, he thought. It’s not there. He took a closer look at the row of pictures, but it was like looking for a rose in a field of dandelions; it was obvious that Maddie’s photo was gone. In her usual spot, sixth from the left, was the tintype of somebody else entirely. They must change them from time to time. Just as well. I don’t need anybody else getting interested in my Maddie.
It didn’t much matter that her photo had been moved. He had looked at Maddie’s picture so many times that he could envision her perfectly in her mind, from her thick black hair, to her flawless skin, to the full lips that he had already imagined pressed against his own. Her expression, however, was the most intriguing thing about her picture. Bill took a quick look at the pictures remaining in the window. All the other girls were smiling in their photos, but Maddie had posed with an entirely serious look on her face. Her eyes—light blue, pale as ice, she had written—revealed not even a hint of a smile, as if she hadn’t wanted to appear too open, too unguarded. She looked like the kind of woman who had secrets, and he couldn’t wait to find out what they were.
Bill drifted out of his reverie and turned his attention back to her letter. She had written quite a bit, filling out two pages, but his eye was drawn to the best two words of the whole letter, there at the bottom, just above her name. Yours truly, she had written, and every time he read that line, he felt full to bursting with strength and spirit, like he could leap right over his horse and beat it in a footrace to boot. That doesn’t mean what it sounds like, he had to keep reminding himself. It’s just an expression. At least, it was at the time she wrote this letter. Maybe now she is truly mine.
“Good morning, Mr. Parker.”
Bill quickly folded the letter and envelope, shoving both into his pocket again and turning to face the woman who had appeared at his side. “Morning, Ruth.” He frowned slightly, if only to put a businesslike look on his face instead of the silly grin that Maddie’s letter had given him. “How are you?”
“Fine, thank you,” she said. “I suppose you’re waiting for me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He waited as she unlocked the door and then followed her into the small office. “I meant to come out here last week, but I was away on business. And then the week before that, we had that windstorm and I was stuck making repairs for quite some time.” He shifted from one foot to the other, then back to the first one. He was suddenly finding it difficult to remain still. “In any case, it’s been a while.”
“Yes, it has.” She hung her shawl and settled into the seat behind the desk. “Please, sit down.”
“I don’t think I can,” he said. “I’m a little tense this morning. Look, I’m sorry to rush you like this, but do you have any letters for me?”
“For you? No, I don’t think so,” she said. “I just got the mail yesterday, and there weren’t any for you. Were you expecting something?”
It felt like he had been holding his breath all morning, and he now let it out in a long sigh. “Well, not expecting. Hoping would be a better way to put it.” The energy that had been coursing through him only seconds earlier seemed to have dissipated in an instant, and he suddenly felt very, very tired. “Maybe I will sit down.” He dropped heavily into the chair and leaned forward to examine the calendar that was open on the desk.
Ten days for the letter to get back to her, ten days for her reply…if she had wanted to, she could have had an answer back to me already. “You’re sure you checked all the mail carefully?”
Her smile was sweet and sad at the same time. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “There wasn’t anything for you. But there were plenty of new letters, from some lovely girls. Would you like to read some?”
He snorted. “Nope, I wouldn’t. I’m waiting on Miss Harrison’s answer.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “An answer? From Madeline Harrison?”
“Yep. By the way, I noticed you moved her picture from the window.”
“Yes, I did.” Ruth’s voice had become quieter, and she was intently staring at the folders on her desk, almost as if she didn’t want to look at him. “That’s what we do when a girl gets engaged.”
“Engaged?” He blinked several times, and his jaw dropped. “I thought you said there wasn’t any mail for me.”
“There wasn’t. Miss Harrison is going to marry another man.”
“Another man? That can’t be,” he said. “I asked her to marry me in my last letter.”
“I’m sorry, Bill. It happens sometimes. Some girls even get five or six proposals, and they have to choose the man they like best.”
He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his temples. “No, there must be some mistake,” he said. “Are you talking about Maddie Harrison, from Maine? Sanford, Maine?”
She nodded, and her sad smile reappeared, as if she were a mother with a brokenhearted boy. “I only have one client by that name,” she murmured. “It’s her.”
Bill slumped in his chair and sighed again. “Who’s she marrying?”
“I’m not really supposed to say…but I suppose you’re going to find out soon enough,” she said. “She’s engaged to Lawrence Eastman.”
“She is? Well, good for her,” he said, though it felt like his heart had frozen over. This actually wasn’t good for her, and it certainly wasn’t good for him. It was probably only good for La
rry Eastman. “You couldn’t ask for a more successful husband, could you?”
“He does pretty well, from what I hear.”
“Guess I was too slow. I’ll have to be quicker with the next one.” Bill forced a smile that looked more like a grimace, but it was the best he could do at the moment.
“I’m sure you’ll find another girl real soon,” Ruth said. “Do you want to take a look at some of the new letters? Like I said, I just got the mail yesterday, so hardly anybody’s read these yet. You can get the jump on the other fellas.”
Bill got to his feet and put on his hat. “No, I’d best be on my way,” he said. “Lots of work to do today. I’ll stop in next week and take a gander at some of these girls.”
“Whatever you think is best, Bill. I’ll be—”
“You have a good day, Miss Broder.” He turned quickly and left the office, stepping outside and giving Ruth a quick wave through the window as he left. His boots thumped on the plank sidewalk like war drums as he went, which was a good fit for the mood he was in. The truth was that there was little work to be done today, and he couldn’t possibly imagine going through a bunch of letters when all he could think about was how he’d lost Maddie’s hand. So embarrassing, he thought. Ruth must think I’m some kind of prize fool, going on and on about Maddie Harrison when she’s already engaged to another man.
When he reached the mercantile, he was still cursing his bad luck, and entirely lost in his own thoughts. As he went to loosen his horse’s reins, however, Bill heard footsteps behind and turned to see who it was. A man had just stepped out of the store and apparently had forgotten that he was on a raised sidewalk, because he took one big step and immediately fell flat on his face in the dirt. Bill quickly leaned down and grabbed the man’s elbow to help him up.
“You all right?”
The man’s eyes were glassy, and for a moment Bill thought that he must have hit his head harder than it had appeared. Then the man opened his mouth.
“Get yer hands off me,” he mumbled, each word accompanied by its own cloud of alcoholic vapor. The man brushed himself off and turned his attention to the other side of the street, where the Oak Barrel saloon stood. Bill had never been in the place, but as he watched the man weave his way across the street, he guessed that his new friend was something of a regular there.
Pretty early to be drinking, he thought as he watched another man—this one a bit steadier on his feet—head into the saloon as well. But if there was ever a day deserving of a drink before noon, today’s it. Might make me forget about Maddie, in fact.
He rubbed his forehead and only then realized that he had a headache brewing. Given how the day had started out, there was only one good thing he could think of to do: head home, get to work and put all this behind him as soon as he could. That would be the smart thing to do. He could head out to the north pen and retighten the fence wire, plus there was still that brush to clear, and those feed bags weren’t going to come in from the shed themselves. Yep, heading home sounds like the smart thing to do right about now. But I’m not feeling too smart today. He headed directly across the street and pushed open the saloon doors, taking a seat at the bar.
“Morning,” he said. “I’ll have a whiskey.”
They evidently hadn’t hired the bartender for his personality; the slightly bored, slightly dim expression on his face didn’t change as he stuck out his hand. Bill dug into his pocket and produced a quarter, and the bartender poured a healthy shot, managing to splash quite a bit on the bar as well. He apparently hadn’t been hired for his talent either.
Bill took a sip and felt the rotgut burn as it slipped down his throat, making him cough a bit as he turned to survey the room. The place wasn’t full, although there were quite a few men who hadn’t let a little sunshine and fresh air stop them from making it to the bar this morning. They looked like the kind of men who truly didn’t have anything better to do than get drunk before noon; Bill turned back to the bar and sipped a bit more. Maybe coming in here wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had, he thought. I’ll finish this drink, and then I’m on my way.
There was the squeak of the saloon doors behind him, and then a booming voice that filled the room.
“I’ll be buying a drink for every man in here.”
To most of the men there, that sentence must have sounded wonderful, even musical, but to Bill it sounded about as sweet as a belch in church. It wasn’t the words that set him on edge, but rather the voice, since it was recognizable immediately. Eastman.
The customers who were scattered around the bar may have been ignoring a lot of things—their families, their hygiene—but the offer of a free drink had caught their attention like little else. There was a smattering of applause, and as Bill turned toward the door he could see Eastman there, enjoying the attention of the drunks. He was framed by the doorway and backlit by the sunny street behind him, giving him a bit of a halo. It was almost enough to make Bill’s stomach turn, though the cheap whiskey wasn’t helping either.
“I’m serious,” Eastman called, motioning to the bartender as he strode across the room to the bar. “Set these fellows up with whatever they want.”
From every corner of the room, the men rose from their seats and descended on the bartender, who began spilling whiskey for each of them in turn. “You’re a hell of a guy,” one of the men said, raising his glass to Eastman and then knocking his drink back in a single gulp. “What’s the occasion?”
“Well, it’s not every day a man gets married, now is it?”
The drunks let out a whoop at the news, and crowded around him again to shake his hand and clap him on the shoulder—as well as extend their glasses across the bar for refills.
“I didn’t know you were engaged,” one of the men said. “Anybody I know?”
“Not likely,” Eastman said. “She’s from back East, and she’s just arriving on the ten o’clock stage this morning.”
This morning already? Well, this is turning into a hell of a day. Bill let his head drop to his hands and he rubbed his temples. His headache had now fully arrived.
“She a pretty girl? A man like you needs a pretty one,” one of the swaying drinkers mumbled.
“Madeline is one of the finest women I’ve ever seen,” Eastman said. “Now, you boys may have seen nice-looking girls before, but you’ve never seen anybody like her.”
“Got a picture?”
Eastman smirked and ran a finger across his lip, smoothing his mustache. “Of course,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. “You all be careful with this.”
Bill had turned his back to the crowd at the end of the bar, but he couldn’t help looking over at them now. Eastman had given the men Maddie’s tintype, and Bill grimaced as he watched her photo get passed from one grubby hand to another.
“She’s pretty, all right,” a man wearing a crumpled hat said. “But are you sure about this? They say those girls come out here because they can’t find a man back home. Maybe there’s something wrong with her.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my Madeline at all,” Eastman said.
Bill could feel the bile rising in his throat at hearing Eastman refer to Maddie as his, and he quickly drained the rest of his glass.
“We’ve been corresponding,” Eastman continued. “Not only is she beautiful, but she knows how to cook, how to clean, and she says she knows a little about running a farm. She even offered to help run my ranch. Can you imagine?”
Several of the men laughed at the thought; Bill grabbed his hat and stepped down from the barstool, then headed for the door.
“And if she needs to know anything else, I figure I can teach her that myself,” Eastman said. “Matter of fact, I plan to teach her some things tonight. In bed.”
The crowd around him hooted and hollered as Eastman laughed with them. It all echoed in Bill’s ears as he stepped outside into the bright sunlight. He put on his hat and headed across to the mercantile.
How could she choose a man lik
e that? So disrespectful. Bill once heard a man say that we all get what we deserve in life, whether good or bad, but that didn’t seem to make any sense right now. He couldn’t imagine what Maddie had done to deserve Eastman, and Eastman certainly didn’t seem to deserve her.
But then for all I know, they do deserve each other, he thought. Best thing to do would be to go on home and forget about all this now. He reached the fence railing where he’d left the horse tied and quickly unwound the reins. Still…it would be something to see her in person. Even from a distance. He pulled out his watch. Ten minutes to ten. Lord, how could so much change in so little time? It was hard to believe that only an hour earlier he’d been blissfully ignorant of what was about to happen.
Bill stepped toward the fence again and looked down the street. The stagecoach always stopped right there at the town hall, and with the good weather today it would probably be right on time. The horse nickered at him as if asking him to make up his mind, and Bill absentmindedly patted its neck. “Guess I’ll go see what I missed out on,” he muttered, looping the reins around the rail again and ignoring the snort of the horse.
He walked down to the wheelwright’s shop opposite the town hall, and pretended to busy himself with a close examination of the wheels on display out front. He was really watching the town hall’s clock, of course; he was so close that he could see the hand advance with every minute, though it seemed to be moving awfully slowly.
The stagecoach appeared almost exactly on schedule, swinging wide around the corner as it pulled onto Lancaster’s main street and shortly rolled to a stop in front of the town hall, directly across from the wheelwright’s. Bill took a deep breath. It wasn’t every day that a man watched his hoped-for wife step into the arms of another man, but there was no way he was going to miss his chance to at least look at her while she was still an unmarried woman.
