When the water had cooled enough that his skin sprouted goosebumps, he finally roused himself from his copper sanctuary. He dressed and lit a lantern in the ever darkening room. He joined his parents out on the veranda for an evening pint of his father’s home-brewed beer. He pulled his chair closer to the lamp hanging from the corner and finally opened the letter.
He carefully broke the seal on the envelope and immediately, the fragrance of lavender increased. He raised the paper to his nose and inhaled the clean smell of flowers. He read the story of a young woman who had come to his country to live after her parents had died. He smiled at the tone. The woman had answered his advertisement, but in her letter seemed to be challenging him, daring him to disapprove of her or her ways. On the contrary, her knowledge of useful plants and her desire for a quiet life away from people only increased his desire to meet her.
She had included a description of herself that was unflattering, but he decided that only made it honest. He wondered what kind of world she lived in, where red hair was a challenge, instead of a boon. He rubbed his hands through his own thick hair. If she could live with a man whose hair had greyed by twenty-five, then he could stand the unfashionable look of a redhead. Especially a witchy redhead who could make his plants grow, and would stay out on a farm without company or complaint.
He had, with the intent of being forthright, explained the manner of his very late arrival to the lives of his parents, and the difficulties that arose from taking over the farm at such a young age has he had. In response, she had told him of her orphaning and subsequent upbringing by her elderly grandparents, who, he chuckled as he read, seemed spritelier at their ages than many younger than they.
Halfway through the letter, he realized that he hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d opened the envelope. It seemed strange to him, that he would actually be corresponding with someone he could genuinely like. When the lady at the dry goods store had suggested he try the Matrimonial Times like her brother had, he was skeptical at best. Now, he could hardly wait to share in person the same words they wrote to each other.
With a barely perceptible nod to his parents as they sipped their honey beer, he strode into the house, only to turn around and exit it again. He held the scented paper under his father’s nose, and pointed to the beer in his hand.
“Lavender, Pa.” He said, waving the paper around. “Next batch of beer, needs to be honey lavender.” He wagged his finger at his stunned father and winked. With that, he dipped his head towards his mother and disappeared back into the house, in search of paper and a writing utensil. Out on the porch, Jacob turned to his wife, a dumbfounded expression on his face.
“Was that perfumed paper?” He asked his wife. Sister bit back a laugh and nodded, eyes full of tears of mirth. “Is he going to start growing lavender now?” He inquired.
“I know not.” She replied, giggling as she spoke. “What I do know, is that scented paper like that is used by ladies.” She whispered. “When courting.” She added when Jacob still looked confused.
“Oh good Lord, finally!” He exclaimed under his breath. “I was beginning to be afraid we were seeing the last of the Calhoun line.” He sniffed, then turned toward his wife again and after a pause, added, “And she smells like lavender?” Sister Calhoun laughed out loud then, and shook her head, thinking to herself that to have another woman around would be a blessing indeed.
Inside the house and blissfully unaware that he was the topic of conversation not only at a little cottage one hundred miles away, but also on his very own front porch, Zeke made a plan. He wrote it out carefully, in his neatest hand. He glanced over at the bottle of cologne on his nightstand, but shook his head. He might not have been an expert on courting, but he’d leave the fancy-smelling paper to the ones who understood such things.
He poured himself another beer and sat out under the stars. He had no reason to consider himself a romantic man, but he had never seen anything quite so lovely as the view that he had to offer his potential bride. He stayed out until long after his parents had put out their lanterns and gone to bed, listening to the crickets and the soft whinnies of his carriage horses as they nestled in for the night.
He drove his parents into town the next day and immediately left them to their errands with the plan to meet at Aunt Roses’ restaurant when they were all finished what they needed. His first order of business was to mail his missive to one Miss. Seraphina Montague. As the letter exchanged hands and he couldn’t take it back, he gave a little prayer that she was more like her letters than her name suggested. He stopped at the dry goods store for sugar and molasses, which he hadn’t figured out how to produce on his land, what with everything else he had parcels for. By the time he reached the restaurant, his parents were already waiting.
He walked in and a hush fell over the dining room. Curious, he looked around at the familiar faces staring at him like he was a masked stranger, instead of the farmer down the road. He was unnerved by the attention, and he didn’t figure out why they were staring until he joined his parents at their table. Looking around, he hazarded a guess.
“Mother, did you speak to anyone about me today?” He asked. He was starting to enjoy the nervous looks on people’s faces as he met their stares and made them look away.
“Well, of course people ask how you are doing, Ezekiel.” She replied, sounding defensive even as she looked guiltily around the room and refused to meet his gaze.
“Well, let’s hope she says ‘yes’ then, because I don’t know if I could show my face in town again if I don’t bring home the bride they’re all expecting.” He drawled, raising his voice just enough to be sure anyone close enough heard him. Suanne, the lunch waitress stopped by their table just then with a pint of beer for Zeke and a basket of bread for them to share while they waited for their food.
“I ordered you the pot roast, I hope you don’t mind.” His mother informed him as he spread fresh-churned butter on a thick slice of whole wheat bread.
“Naw, that’s perfect.” He agreed. “Not as good as home, but close enough that I don’t think Rose will be offended by the comparison. Zeke’s mother blushed prettily at the compliment, but knew it to be truth, and wasn’t prideful about it.
Lunch was served and, since the cat was out of the bag already, Zeke filled his parents in on the Matrimonial Times advertisement, the responses, and how he had narrowed it down to just one girl. He let his mother read the latest letter, and his father even snatched it out of his hand and sniffed it again.
“So, this girl smells like lavender, then?” He asked his son. Zeke raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t rightly know. I didn’t think to ask.” He admitted.
“Well, thank God for that, or we’d be back at square one, wondering why you wouldn’t get you a wife.” His mother scoffed. “I hope you put some thought into what you’re going to say to her when you see her for the first time.” She chided. “First impressions can never be undone, so you need yours to be a good one.” She looked to his father, who nodded sagely in agreement. As soon as his wife turned away though, he gave his son a wink.
“I’m guessing, Ma, that if our son can run the farm and make it better and more profitable than the two generations that preceded him, and do so all by himself while he takes care of the two of us, well then, I’m sure he can woo one pretty girl all on his lonesome.” Jacob mused. He looked at his wife and son, staring at him with twin expressions of shock and amazement.
“Thanks, Pa.” Zeke stammered. Jacob smiled benignly. Zeke raised an eyebrow to his mother, who lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug as if to say, “I never knew he had it in him either.”
The ride back to the farm after lunch was filled with questions and planning by his mother, punctuated by admonishments from Zeke that she needed to hold off on plans until they knew that there was an event to plan for. She ignored him, as mothers do, knowing that of all the sons in all the world, the woman who had chosen hers was the luckiest.
3.
Seraphina packed her things slowly and carefully. She took only what she needed for the time being, and left most for when she returned for her grandparents. She looked around the little bedroom she’d lived in for most of her life and for the first time during this endeavor, she felt afraid.
She wasn’t afraid of her dear Zeke, he had proven himself a gentle and worthy counterpart when he had written her, telling her to come and to bring her grandparents. “I could not live happy, knowing your loved ones were in need and alone.” He had written in his last letter. It was those words more than any other that convinced her that she was making the right choice. But now, as her grandfather hooked up the wagon, tiny tendrils of worry climbed up her spine and settled around her heart.
“You’re certain that everything will be all right while I’m gone?” Seraphina asked her grandmother as she carried her last suitcase down the narrow hallway to the wagon out front.
“We won’t go and die on you, just because you left home for a few weeks.” Her grandmother replied, drily. Seraphina gasped in shock and dropped her luggage to the floor.
“How could you even say that?” She exclaimed. “I can’t go now. I’ll have Granda send a telegram explaining that we will simply all have to out together in a few weeks.” She paced the floor, swishing her skirts as she walked.
“Seraphina!” Her grandmother made the word a command. Seraphina stopped mid step and face her. “We are fine. You aren’t the first child in our family to leave home you remember.” She stated. “We will take care of everything here. You’ve left us firewood, and made enough tea to last until winter, and, and for goodness sake, you even have young Heber Schmitt coming to milk the cows and muck the stalls for us.” She took her granddaughter’s hands in hers and pulled her into a hug. “We will miss you, as will Zeus and Ares and especially your little Minxy. But, we will all be here when you get back, and if you wish it, we will be ready to join you.” Seraphina held on tight and tried not to cry, but tears began slowly sliding down her cheeks.
“I will come home soon, and no matter what, that will be the last time I ever leave you. I promise.” She squeezed her grandmother tightly one last time. Standing up straight, she rubbed the tears off her face and picked up her bags. “I will see you very soon.” She said with a bleary smile. Without another look back, she tossed her bags to her grandfather in the wagon and accepted his help climbing up next to him in the driver’s seat. All the way into town, her grandfather sang Irish drinking songs her grandmother pretended to disapprove of, making her giggle through her tears.
“Now, you be sure to write as soon as you arrive, and then every day after, or your grandmother will fuss.” He reminded her as he helped her settle in aboard the train. “It’s only a quick three-day trip to Rushville, and you can telegram when you arrive if you need to. If you need more money, just send home, and we will wire it to you as soon as we can. Don’t…” He broke off in his instructions as Seraphina started to laugh.
“Its okay, Granda. I will be fine, and I will telegraph you as soon as I arrive, and I will write every day until I’m on the train home again. I love you and Nana very much and I will miss horridly.” She confessed. They hugged and her grandfather wiped his eyes with his handkerchief, and pulled a clean white one out of his pocket for her to keep.
“Be safe, young one.” He murmured into her ear as he kissed her head and said goodbye. Seraphina watched him waving from the platform until the train lurched forward and even when she craned her neck, she could no longer see him standing there.
The train ride was uneventful, even a little boring. She chatted with the other passengers, especially a couple of older ladies who worked on their needlework for the entire ride, sometimes chatting as their fingers flew over their hoops, sometimes just sitting quietly. She spoke to a family with three young boys who were headed out west to a farmstead of their own, and another young woman like herself, who was traveling all the way to the coast.
She and the other girl, a pretty blonde-haired girl named Mathilda, sat together for most of the trip. Occasionally less reputable-looking men came by their seats and tried to start conversation, but Mathilda was far too shy to engage them, and Seraphina was far too brusque for them to engage her. By the third day, Mathilda admitted to Sera that without her as a seatmate, she would have been terrified. Seraphina embraced the girl and confessed that she too was far happier on the trip for having a friend, and made Mathilda promise to write her when she arrived at her destination, and assured her that she would send a missive of her own to the address Mathilda gave her, to greet her when she arrived.
The train pulled into the Rushville station and the reality of what she was doing hit Seraphina like a sack of grain to the chest. Her palms grew damp as the conductor reminded her that she was nearing her destination. She accepted a tight squeeze from Mathilda as the train began to slow, and stared out the window as they approached the station, the platform loomed larger and busier in front of her. She pressed her cheek against the dusty window trying to see better. The train finally lurched to a complete stop, and the conductor kindly helped her with her bags.
Seraphina stood on the platform and looked around at the milling people surrounding her. No one stood out as looking for a stranger, and she began to worry that she’d gotten off at the wrong stop. She bit her lip and tried not to panic, but a sense of foreboding had fallen over her. Looking around furtively, she finally saw a man watching her. He was much more intimidating than she had imagined her farmer, with a scar on his face, and something about his demeanor set her nerves jangling as he watched her through heavy lidded eyes. She was still twenty feet away from him when a handsome man in a ridiculous floppy hat approached her.
“Excuse me, Miss. Your name isn’t Seraphina, is it?” He asked in a deep, gravelly voice that made her pulse bump.
“Yes, it is, are you Mr. Calhoun, then?” She replied in her sweet lilting voice. He only smiled in response and reached for her luggage.
“There’s no need for you to be carrying those anymore, I’ll show you to the wagon. She happily shared her burden with Zeke and let him lead the way out of the station. As they walked, he pointed out the more important landmarks in town, the dry goods store, the jail, the Rushville Hotel. Of course, being the gentleman he was, he offered to pay for her to stay at the hotel as long as she wanted, but as his parents were both at the house and they wouldn’t be alone, she preferred to stay with him, and find out if she was any good at growing vegetables on such a large scale.
“My grandfather and father were both artisan woodworkers.” She explained. “We had a farm, but it was my mother who tended to it, and we mostly raised sheep for the wool, so my mother could spin it out and weave cloth.” She ducked her head shyly and took a deep breath. “I feel that I have been less forthright with you than you have with me. There is a part of my life that I failed to disclose, mostly because it has ill served me to be honest about it up to this.” She bit her lip and glanced at him again, but he merely watched the road, and when he noticed her watching him, smiled and nodded.
“Go on, I’m certain that it is only practical that some of our disclosures be in person, do you not agree?” He pointed out. She nodded in agreement and continued.
“Where my family is from, the women of my kind are called Cailleach. It means, ‘wise-woman’ or the natives here call theirs ‘medicine women’.” She paused, looking for words that would not have her on the next train home. “We know how to heal using plants, and we listen to our inner voices, the ones that tell us when trouble is coming, or when a storm may visit, even though the skies are clear.” Zeke perked up a little, but said nothing, only nodded that he understood.
“For example. On the platform, when I couldn’t find you, I got a sense of foreboding.” She offered. “At first, I thought it was my nervousness. Then I saw a very suspicious-looking man, and I’m thinking it may have something to do with him.” Zeke pulled back on the reigns and stopped the wagon. H
e twisted in his seat and gave his very serious, full attention. Seraphina wrung her hands, she was getting her words out wrong and she’d upset him.
“I only mean, that if tomorrow we were in town and saw a wanted poster with his likeness on it, I wouldn’t be surprised.” She continued. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“No, you never need to apologize for telling me what you see or feel, Seraphina.” He chastened her. “My own mother has always had an uncanny understanding of what people are thinking, no matter what they are saying. I won’t be nay-saying what your feelings tell you.” He flashed her a quick grin and added, “Unless they tell you that I’m no good and you have to leave. Then I have to say that your feelings would be mistaken.” Seraphina giggled in spite of herself and Zeke’s grin spread across his face as he urged his ponies to continue on.
Despite the excitement of finding Ezekiel very agreeable and the relief of believing he found her the same, Seraphina couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had accosted her on the train platform. She chewed the inside of her lip while she thought, and it didn’t take much of a guess for Zeke to find himself on the same mental path. Someone or something had shaken her badly enough for him to see it in her face when he first approached her. It was up to him to make certain that she was safe while in his care.
4.
Seraphina was on the farm for minutes before Zeke’s mother (whose name really was Sister, to Seraphina’s amazement), to decide that her son and the curvaceous girl with eyes like a clear day and blood-red hair were a perfect match. Zeke whispered to Seraphina that his mother had waited a very long time for a wedding, and not to take it personally.
Zeke’s father had not said much, though his wife more than made up for his shy reticence to speak. He did however, take her hand and ask her quietly and in a courtly fashion, if it was all right to call her Sera. She affirmed that it was indeed the name that everyone who cared for her called her, and encouraged the Calhoun family to do the same.
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