by Rose Jenster
I will tell you the story of my first roast chicken. I didn’t know that you have to take the disgusting bits out of the cavity first. When my mother told me, I was aghast! I tried to clean it out, and I gagged and ran out of the kitchen! You must not hold out much hope for any fine chicken dinners from me.
My efforts at stew have been considerably better, and I make good potato cakes and a beef pie. Apart from that, I can make cornbread and a credible cherry pie if someone else makes the crust, which I suppose means that I can cook fruit and sugar together, but I can’t make pastry—perhaps I'm less promising than you would like.
I’ve made a good deal of notes on the use of native plants to treat disease. Did you know that foxglove is good for heart ailments? I think you did, but you might be surprised that I know that, now, too. There’s a purple flower called the coneflower that can help hay fever and even ague. Mint tea is good for sick stomachs and for a headache, and honey helps sore throats. I am so surprised to learn all of this.
I’m beginning to make a little book for myself where I list sicknesses by the alphabet and put the therapies in each section. It seems a bit childish now I’ve written that to you, but I think it’s exciting. You must think me terribly simple to be so thrilled by something so commonplace as this. I’ve never spent much time on study before (apart from the weeks I read about Wyoming Territory and its settlement when I thought I was moving there). I know that your medicinal studies may find what I wrote primitive.
It is only fair to tell you straightaway that I gave my heart away to Daniel, and I haven’t the smallest idea of how to get it back again. I feel very lost sometimes. As a man of science, you will not set much store by talk of a broken heart since you deal in more substantial heart defects than that. Still, I have lost mine and if I were heart-whole, I might form a deep attachment to you. As I am now, I do not expect love or ardor of that sort. I would like friendship and fondness. I confess that already I am grown quite fond of you and look for your letters with a rather youthful excitement each day, even when it is far too soon to get one, even when I have only just posted my own reply.
I like you and am fond of you. I will, I believe, grow fonder of you as time goes on and I know you better. I can promise you that I will write to you as a way to get to know one another, with marriage in mind at the end of it. I can promise to like and support you and talk to you and make you beef pie and cornbread and try my very best. I cannot, I regret, expect to love you as more than a friend and companion. I do want my heart to heal again and I work hard to not think about my past and the losses. If that is not a condition you can accept, please tell me directly so I may not spend more hours daydreaming about yet another Western home and life that are not to be my own.
Sincerely,
Felicity
Chapter 6
Alec shifted from foot to foot, surveying the assortment of small farm tools and implements at the mercantile, working up his courage to approach the shopkeeper’s wife. Ever quiet and reserved around ladies, Alec had never been in a position to buy a gift for a woman before. He needed advice.
“Ahem, excuse me, ma’am,” he cleared his throat and began.
“Yes, Dr. Walsh?” Mrs. Cooper smiled.
“My sister is planning to wed, and I thought to get her a present,” he said.
“What a kind brother you are. I’m sure we will find something Miss Beatrice will treasure. What did you have in mind?”
“I’m not certain. Do you have, that is, what is customary?” He was awkward in this unfamiliar territory.
“She might like a nice embroidered tablecloth or set of pillowcases. We have a lady in Billings who does them for us. Let me show you them,” she said.
“Those are nice. I’ll have those two,” Alec replied pleasantly surprised by the ease of the transaction.
“Both of them? Or only the tablecloth?”
“Both, please,” he said and paid for them.
Mrs. Cooper wrapped them in brown paper for him and tied them with twine.
“I’m sure she’ll be so pleased. Ladies are very careful about what they spend on their trousseau, but everyone likes something pretty for a new household,” she said.
On his walk home, Alec thought of how Beatrice had probably saved the egg money for weeks to buy something for her hope chest. He decided to look over his books and see what he might give her to outfit herself for a new life. She would need dishes and things, shoes, and dresses.
Beatrice never asked for anything. She had a dress each spring and fall and made the ones from previous years serve for work and staying at home. He wondered why he had been so oblivious to her needs. Alec realized that the attention that Beatrice gave him over the years had never been reciprocated by him due to his own concerns and exhausting schedule.
His mind went to Felicity and how she had prepared every little thing for the wedding she was promised in Wyoming only to be left with a box of things for a life she had been denied. It seemed unfair to him, and he wondered what she would need to ready herself for Montana.
Felicity had mentioned something about her father working in a factory which did not pay terribly well, especially with four children to support. Alec would have to take that into consideration as well. He was surprised about how much he wanted to protect her and make up for past hardships in her family's life.
At the post office, he found nothing new from Felicity yet, but there was another letter from his sister’s intended husband. Alec had written to him out of concern for Beatrice and had found him to be a decent man with good advice on the care of poultry. The additions he’d suggested to the hens’ grain had indeed increased their production of eggs. Still, he was going to be staying alert about his character.
Alec tucked that letter in his pocket and made his way home. He was relieved to see that this man took responsibility seriously and appeared to have a genuine interest in Beatrice's happiness. Not all his doubts were satisfied, but he was feeling more trusting.
Beatrice was at work mending one of his shirts where he had rent the elbow of the sleeve. Bent low over her needle in the wavering light of the lamp, she looked as young as she had when he returned from school to set up his practice and give her a place to live. The same brown hair parted neatly in the center and wound into a bun, the same steady hands and brave chin.
It tugged at his heart a little, some affection and some thought of missing her after she left that was more than the mere inconvenience of trying to replace a housekeeper, cook, and accomplished medical secretary. It was the comfort of her presence and her kind interest in all his pursuits from treating gout to growing better tomatoes. He felt shame inside for his past inability to see her goodness. Sighing, he placed the parcel on the table before her.
Beatrice looked up, startled, for her brother was seldom home during the day.
“Are you well, Alec?”.
“Yes. Open it,” he urged.
Beatrice unknotted the twine and unfolded the paper to reveal the linen tablecloth, with its intricate pattern of pink roses scrolling along the border.
“Oh, it’s lovely!” she exclaimed, touching it reverently, “And pillowcases, too? Oh, Alec, you mustn’t. They’re too costly. I looked at them myself only last week and put them back because of the expense. I am just a simple person.”
“Nonsense, Bea. I’ll not have you depriving yourself. It seems to me that for years now you’ve labored for my comfort and worked as my secretary for nothing but room and board and not much of that. I reckon I owe you some back salary, and I’ve done some figuring in my head. You’ll have to go over my numbers and see if they agree with yours,” he said.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind, Alexander Walsh!” she protested, “You gave me a place to live, a home with the only family I have left. I wasn't expecting to be placed on salary. You took me in and looked after me. Otherwise I would have—“
“Done perfectly well living at the boarding house and working as a cook, I expect. By he
lping me, you narrowed your life considerably, living outside of town and away from your friends, focusing on my work and my interests and comfort. You never have thought of yourself or said a harsh word to me over the years. Let me do this. It will not acquit me of guilt in taking advantage of your skill and generosity, but it will go a ways to making me feel better about it.”
Alec handed her a slip of paper where he had figured the usual wage for a secretary in business and multiplied it by the years she’d worked for him doing records and billing. She shook her head in disbelief.
“I couldn’t,” Beatrice said weakly.
“Brave it out, Bea. You must,” he told her, “There’s things you need for a wardrobe and a home that I can help provide. Lord above knows you’ve earned as much time and again. I know no one else with the type of consistent devotion that you have shown.”
“I don’t know what to say, Alec. I’m very grateful, truly,” she sniffed, wiping at tears so as not to drip them on the beautiful linen cloth.
“I have heard again from your betrothed,” he began. “I wrote him soon after you told me. He has satisfied all my inquiries. I know you have said you do not need my permission or my blessing, but I give it freely anyhow,”
Beatrice clasped her hands together and smiled, tears welling in her eyes. This meant more to her than his very generous gift.
“I had hoped in time you might come to accept this. I am so pleased that you have already,” Beatrice said, stunned by the change in his attitude.
“Your intended has replied to my questions about the state of his house and its furnishings. I have made a list of items I think may be of use to you, and it is my intent to provide those as a marriage present. I know we are past the time of dowries, but it would please me to make a small provision for you as well, just as insurance against any sort of privation you might otherwise suffer in a bad year for crops or the like. There is an account in your name alone at the bank nearest his home.”
Alec handed her a small packet of paper.
“This is the receipt for deposit and the account details for you to keep at hand,” he said diffidently as his sister wept into a handkerchief. She had not seen this side of her brother in many years.
“Thank you, Alec,” she managed.
“Now, if I may, I would like to show you the letters I have received from a young woman in New York State. She responded to my—or rather your—advertisement, and I was struck by her plain way of speaking and her lively personality. You may read the first two.”
“I’d love to read them.” She wiped her eyes and scanned the pages eagerly, smiling at a phrase or two. “She sounds lovely. Only two letters though? In all these months?”
“Those are only the first two. I intend to keep the rest private,” he said, his smile belying his stern tone.
“So you believe she could be a wife for you?”
“Yes. I believe so. She seems a bit reluctant, not to marry in fact, but to care for me,” Alec said, hoping secretly for a comment from his sister.
“She says she was jilted. That might make a girl a bit shy of betrothal,” Beatrice offered.
“Yes, but I think it is more than that. I think she considers herself finished as far as attachments are concerned, that a person loves only once and that is the end. Perhaps he took all of her heart.” Alec felt he was too inexperienced in these matters to draw any conclusions.
“I hope for my own sake she is wrong, for my betrothed is a widower and loved his wife dearly,” Beatrice said with kindness.
“If he has half the wit I think he does, he will love you even more, knowing who you are and what a jewel he has found.” Alec meant every word he said.
“That is kind of you, brother,” she said with gratitude.
“It’s true, Bea. You’re a tremendous girl. I just took you for granted. I have cautioned your fiancé not to do the same, or he shall contend with me. I will be studying your letters closely that you'll be sending me.
“I’m glad you’ve found someone, Alec.”
“As am I,” he said.
They both made silent prayers for each other and themselves that human beings could indeed love deeply more than once in their lives that happiness was attainable through effort and the grace of the Lord.
* * *
Beatrice Walsh sat down, gathered her thoughts and penned a letter. She was so moved by her brother's approval and for the first time in months her heart was very peaceful.
Dear Felicity,
If I may take the liberty to address you so. My brother, Alec, has told me of your correspondence and it was my wish to contact you myself and explain a few things.
I am an old maid of long standing, but have, through the matrimonial advertisements, become acquainted with, and later engaged to, a widower.
It was my own imminent marriage as well as a wish to see my younger brother cared for and comforted that impelled me to pen an advertisement seeking a bride for him, without his consent. He was angry with me at first, but he never stays angry long. Alec took great pride in discarding the first batch of letters, and I am grateful yours was not among them. You seem just what would suit him. If it's not too bold, I'd like to tell you more about his personal traits.
He needs someone lively and fun, with an eye for detail, for he misses a great deal in that way. Alec is a man of science, and moreover, a devotee of big, grand ideas such that he might allow the roof to leak, setting a pan under it absentmindedly and never giving it another thought. He is very much a lonesome person and needs a confidant.
For years I have been a sort of stand in, cooking meals that keep well because he is often late in the evenings, writing up bills and keeping record of visits and diseases treated. I have done the pen and paper tasks but have never been able to inspire him to confide in me. Recently, he has surprised me by being more expressive and less secretive about his inner thoughts.
I think because he was away at school so many years and came back a grown man that there was a distance between us. When he was a lad I used to take him berry picking with me every day in summer and he would hang on my apron strings eating the berries as we went, the little scamp!
I will do all I can to smooth your way as you move West and to help you understand his life and how best to fit in to it. His solitary ways have been due to habit and please extend your patience towards him as he learns to trust.
God bless you,
Beatrice Walsh
Little did she realize at the time, but as Beatrice wrote to Felicity in her bedroom, so did her brother in his. Alec turned up the wick on the lamp so he might see more clearly. He took out two sheets of creamy linen stationary he had bought at the mercantile for this purpose and set his pen to paper decisively.
You may call me arrogant, Felicity, or ambitious (though by that sin fell the angels) to say it, but I harbor no fear that you will fail to become most deeply attached to me nor I to you. I understand that your recent experience may take time to heal your heart and I hope to nurture your inner wound back to health. While I am not a romantic, one who reads sonnets or composes them, I am not without feeling, and I know that you are the wife I am meant to find.
Scientists do not deal much in destiny, but I find myself thinking on the idea of fate. I can think of no other explanation. For, it defies logic that, statistically speaking, I would ever have found you at all. My sister’s intervention provided opportunity, but the odds that you would look at that newspaper on that specific date, that you should select my ad from among hundreds of similar ones, are daunting.
I do not like to think what would have become of me had you not come along at just the right time, in the exact manner in which you have. It must, then, be fated, or else the luckiest of chances, making myself the most fortunate of men.
Marry me. Use this ticket. Board the train and come. Make haste, my bride. I await you.
Alec
He enclosed a cheque and a postscript, detailing his new understanding of the tasks a
nd expenses inherent to being a bride and wishing to fund those purchases she might require. Alec bought a one-way ticket. If he was going to be accused of arrogance, he thought, he might as well be in for a pound as for a penny.
Chapter 7
Felicity took the letter to her father and mother after supper. She asked them to sit down and told them that she wanted their permission to form an engagement. Her father looked over the letter, wearing a grim expression.
“He’s a stranger, Fliss,” her mother protested.
“I know him better than I knew Daniel, Mother. We’ve been writing letters for months—since last summer. He writes regularly and has been consistent in this as well as his intentions,” she said.
“It’s gone winter now and soon enough to be spring, but do you think that a letter’s the same as knowing a man face to face?” her mother cautioned. She knew Felicity's mind was made up, but there was so much unknown about this.
“I’m not keen on the idea of sending you so far off as that Montana place. Never even been there, nor did I want to go,” her father said. “You’d not see your nieces and nephews after Tom’s wed and has a family. We’d all be parted.”
“You can visit, and so might we!” she objected. “I’d like a home and a family, my own,” she said, softening her voice, pleading.
“If it’s all that will suit you, I’ve never been one to keep you from your heart’s desire, Fliss,” her father capitulated, patting her hand fondly. He didn't let himself feel how much he'd be missing her but instead concentrated on her smile.
Her mother shook her head. “It’s your mistake to make, only don’t be counting on me to ride the train clear out to Montana to fetch you when it goes awry.” Still, she knew that she'd face that dusty long ride if necessary to bring back her daughter depending if circumstances required it.
“I won’t,” Felicity promised sturdily, pleased at her father’s consent and saddened by her mother’s doubt.
