by Emma Ashwood
Cassidy cocked a brow, indicating her disagreement. “How about Marjorie?”
“Marjorie Tailor? The new girl that just moved to town with the parents from Missouri? Her father is about as Southern as they come. He won’t let his little girl go around with the likes of us.”
“You’re right.” Cassidy let out a sigh. “This is useless, Bonnie. We shouldn’t even have started this to begin with. Carson has to choose his own wife.”
Bonnie shook her head fervently. “Haven’t we just confirmed that there isn’t a single suitable wife in San Antonio? How on earth are we going to abide by Ma’s deathbed wish if we can’t find him a wife? We have to persevere. Do you remember how you nursed that pup after the rattler got him? That was perseverance.”
Cassidy shook her head. “That was dumb luck and a lot of prayer. That dog should’ve died.”
“And yet, he’s still chasin’ chickens to this day. We’ll find Carson a wife; we just shouldn’t lose hope.”
Just then the balcony doors opened, and two women took their seats beside the Evans sisters. Cassidy and Bonnie shared a look before their faced bloomed into broad smiles. “Priscilla, Annabelle, how nice to see you again.”
The women in question turned with smiles ready. “Cassidy, Bonnie, how good to see you again,” Priscilla said with a broad smile. Priscilla was the mayor’s daughter and had just become engaged to the sheriff, but her friend Annabelle was right pretty and still available.
Annabelle greeted them in earnest before she asked, “Are you in town alone today?”
“Yes, we uh…” Cassidy stumbled over the lie.
“We came to do some shopping. Sugar, flour, you know. Thought we might treat ourselves to some tea before headin’ back to the ranch,” Bonnie quickly covered. “How is your brother?”
It was no secret that Bonnie had liked Steven Johnson since their first meeting.
“Very well. That’s why we’re in town. Steven’s getting married tomorrow, thought we might get some new frocks,” Annabelle announced excitedly.
Bonnie frowned, not even trying to hide her disappointment. “To who?”
“A girl from up north. Steven’s been thinkin’ about marriage for a while now. Seems he couldn’t find what he was lookin’ for in San Antonio and went and got himself a mail order bride. She arrives in the morning. Wealthy family, matrimonially inclined and all that. She and Steven simply got on like a house on fire through their letters,” Annabelle said with a broad grin.
Priscilla nodded. “Still can’t believe men order wives from mail catalogues these days. But it’s not the first time I hear of it. I bet Steven is so excited, he can’t help himself.”
Bonnie nodded, clearly disappointed that Steven didn’t look in her direction. “I wish them both well.” She stood up, gathered her list and turned to Cassidy. “We’d best get on.”
Cassidy quickly followed her sister out of the hotel, but when they reached the thorough fare she stopped Bonnie. “Wait, didn’t you hear what Annabelle said?”
“Yep. Steven’s getting married ‘cause he couldn’t find what he was lookin’ for here. Clearly he didn’t look very far,” Bonnie said with a pout.
Cassidy shook her head. “Get over ‘yerself for a minute, would you. We should get one of those for Carson. We place an advert in the matrimonial times and then we can choose which one we’d like to come to San Antonio. It’s like picking the perfect girl from a catalogue.”
Bonnie frowned before her eyes widened and a smile burst through the disappointment. “Cassidy, you’re a genius.”
Before Cassidy could agree, Bonnie rushed across the street to the telegram office. Cassidy followed her with a smile. Apparently they were going to place an advert in the matrimonial times. She checked the change in her purse and decided flour would have to wait. Sending a telegram to Matrimonial Times was more important that baking biscuits.
Chapter 4
14 January 1882, Boston, Massachusetts
Annie rushed up the stairs, her dress caught on the banister, but she kept running regardless of the sound of fabric ripping. Her heart was racing in her chest a mile a minute, but she didn’t stop.
“You come down here, you little brat. You owe me some affection. I’ve cared for you as my own since the day you were born; it’s time you repaid my kindness,” Damien yelled as he stumbled up the stairs in a drunken stupor.
Annie stopped for a moment to glance down the staircase, struggling to believe this was really happening. But Damien’s red face and bulging as eyes were as real as the stench of drink that had followed him to the house earlier that evening.
Tears streamed down her face. “You’re my stepfather!”
“We ain’t family, Annie-girl. Nothing stopping us from being together in the lovin’ way, except for your miserable conscience. Your mother told me to take care of you, whaddya think I’m tryin’ to do?”
He stumbled on the stairs and Annie brushed the tears from her face, shaking her head. “You’re drunk, Damien. Go to bed!”
“I ain’t drunk!” Damien slurred his retort. He shoved himself up and began crawling up the stairs, more determination in his purpose than ever before.
Annie rushed to her room and slammed the door shut. She knew if Damien got through that door tonight he would compromise her, he would her hurt her and she would never be able to look herself in the mirror again. She glanced at the bureau beside the door and moved towards it with determination. She shoved it with all her strength, but it barely moved an inch. Knowing it was her only chance to keep Damien out she tried again. It barely shifted. When she heard Damien’s heavy footsteps fall in the hallway outside her room, adrenalin rushed through her veins drowning all the fear. She planted her feet firmly on the ground, put both hands on either side of the bureau and drew in a deep breath before she shoved the bureau with all her might. It moved almost six inches, just reaching the door when Damien began banging on the outside.
Tears were rushing down her cheeks now, but Annie didn’t even notice as she kept pushing the bureau. All that mattered now was making sure Damien didn’t find his way into her room. Once she had secured the bureau, she collapsed in front of it breathless.
All she could think of was how foolish she had been. Ever since her eighteenth birthday Damien had turned down every suitor that knocked at their door. His compliments had become more and more inappropriate, but Annie had always convinced herself that she was imagining things.
When her mother had taken sick she had been certain his affection was merely borne of fear that her mother wouldn’t recover. But on the eve of her mother’s death Damien had said something that had made the hair on the back of Annie’s neck rise. At least I’ll have a younger wife when she goes.
At the time Annie had been certain he had someone in mind. She never for a moment considered it could be her. A few hours after her mother’s death, Damien had already changed. Suddenly he looked at her in a way that made her uncomfortable. Random comments to the lawyer about keeping Annie’s inheritance close because she wouldn’t be leaving. It had been barely a week since her mother’s funeral and already Damien had made it clear that if she wanted a roof over her head, she was to marry him.
Marry her step-father?
The idea was as revolting as boarding a slave ship. Annie had tried to make him see reason, but Damien’s drinking was now more out of hand than ever before. Where he had usually indulged in drink a few times a week before retiring to his room to sleep it off, he now indulged every day, all day. The stench off alcohol hung in their home and what was more concerning were the expensive pieces of furniture he removed every day.
Annie wasn’t sure what Damien was up to, but she knew that she wouldn’t become his wife. She didn’t know how she could withstand a man of his social standing without causing harm to herself, but she had to find a way.
“Annie-girl. Open the door, now. I just want to talk. I miss your mother, that’s all it is. I’m sorry if I scared you. Please
open the door so we can talk,” Damien slurred outside her door.
A few weeks ago Annie would have believed him, but Damien had lost that privilege the first time he tried to kiss her on her mouth at her mother’s funeral. Thinking back now, Annie knew she should have escaped his tyranny that day. But she’d been overwhelmed with grief.
Running away was her only option now, Annie decided. She moved to her wardrobe where she kept the jewelry box she had inherited that held her mother’s brooch and pearl necklace. It was her legacy, all she had left of her mother and the heritage of the McGregor’s, but it could be her ticket to a new life far from Damien and his obscene affections.
She opened the wardrobe door and a frown creased her brow. One by one she began pulling out her dresses and her undergarments until there was nothing left in the wardrobe, not even the jewelry box. Her throat closed with fear as she realized that Damien had taken it.
A tear slipped over her cheek as she sat down on her bed. Not only was her step-father trying to force her into marriage, but he had taken her only chance of standing up against him.
Annie cried herself to sleep as Damien kept banging on the door, pleading and shouting in turn.
Chapter 5
20 January 1882, Boston, Massachusetts
For the next week Annie spent every waking moment trying to figure out what was happening around her whilst trying to find a way to escape Damien and his horrible plan of marrying her as soon as the appropriate period of time had passed.
The more she thought about it the easier it was to admit she had never truly loved or liked Damien as a daughter should her father. Damien had always made her skin crawl, and the more she thought about it the more she realized her mother had shielded her from him in many ways.
After that horrid night a week ago Annie now retired to her room at five in the afternoon and pushed and secured the bureau in place to make sure Damien couldn’t reach her in his drunken stupor. Every night she prayed for God to send her an answer, a way to leave Damien. A way to find the love her mother had spoken about.
Although Damien had been there on the day of her birth, Annie would always remember the stories her mother had told her about her real father. The Irishman that had stolen her mother’s heart and had given her more happiness and love that any woman could ever ask for. That was the kind of love Annie wanted. Not the drunken affections of a lascivious, incestuous step-father.
Annie didn’t know what she was going to do, but even the house staff had started noticing that life within the home wasn’t as normal. Not only was the house becoming emptier every day, but Damien spent less and less time at home. Annie remembered a long time ago how her mother and Damien had argued about his gambling. The only conclusion she could come to was that Damien had taken up gambling again and their home was paying the debt.
The drinking didn’t help either, as he spent his nights in taverns and came home causing a ruckus every night. Although Annie felt safe in her room, she knew it was only a matter of time before the accepted period of six months’ mourning would have passed and Damien would force her to marry him.
She sat by her writing table wishing she had someone to tell about her troubles. Wishing she had someone who would understand, someone who would help her find her way out of the impossible position she found herself in, but Damien had made sure she and her mother didn’t associate with the people of the ton. Was it because he feared they would learn too much, that they would learn about his drinking, gambling and fornicating? Unknowingly, they had been kept in a prison of Damien’s making all their lives. Of course Annie had the best tutors, clothes and servants that money could buy, but she had no friends. When she heard the front door slam below her, she knew Damien was home.
Fear clutched at her throat knowing he would be banging and shouting at her door at any moment now. Like a little girl Annie rushed to her bed, hoping the covers would provide safety against the terrors of the night. Only the terrors weren’t shadows as they were when she was a little girl, the terror was now the man who had promised to take care of her.
Instead he had stolen her inheritance and had become a daily nightmare that Annie didn’t know how to deal with. As she slipped beneath the covers something scrunched beneath her. She jumped out of bed with such a fright that she didn’t even hear the first banging of fists on her door. A frown creased her brow as she moved towards the bed and noticed the newspaper spread out on her sheets.
The only person with access to her room was her lady’s maid. Why would she have placed a newspaper in her bed? Annie picked up the newspaper and a gasp escaped her even as Damien made a ruckus outside her door.
“July, Annie-girl. July will come and no pastor in town will think it wrong for me to take my step-daughter as my wife.” His evil laughter beyond the secured door made Annie cringe even as she read the advertisements over the top of the newspaper.
The Matrimonial Times.
Annie had heard of it before, she and her mother had discussed it once. Women heading west to marry men they had only corresponded with through the mail. A frown creased her brow as she climbed back into bed and took up reading the newspaper.
Was this the answer she had been praying for? Did her lady’s maid realize how dire her situation was? Had she consequently secured a copy of the Matrimonial Times as a means of escape for Annie? Annie wasn’t sure, but curiosity caused her to open the paper and she began reading even as Damien ran out of steam outside her door.
One advert in specific caught her attention more than all the others.
Rancher Carson Evans seeking wife to share his life.
Eight foot two tall, yellow hair and blue eyes, Carson Evans is a true rancher in every way. With ample means to provide for a wife, this rancher is seeking someone matrimonially inclined with whom to enter into correspondence. A gentle giant with a heart of gold and a penchant for cattle and the finer things in life, he can offer a wife a home on a beautiful ranch as well as a quiet life. Carson dreams of being a father and a beloved husband. His generous and kind personality have not only served him well as a rancher, but also as a brother and a son. He shares the ranch with his sisters and his mother and is looking for someone to fill the void in his heart. If you are kind, between the ages of twenty and twenty five, matrimonially inclined, pleasant in features and of able means, Carson hopes to hear from you. Carson is seeking a soul mate to love, a wife to cherish and a mother for his future children. If this gentle giant has drawn your attention, write to him today through the matrimonial times and begin to secure your happily ever after.
Annie read the advertisement over again and couldn’t help but admit that the gentle giant had caught her attention. She wasn’t sure if she’d like a ranch or a rancher, but right now it was her only real option. She debated until midnight before she finally slipped out of bed and moved to her writing desk. She would write to the rancher and if he wrote back she would decide whether or not becoming a mail order bride would be in her future.
Chapter 6
10 February 1882, San Antonio, Texas
Bonnie and Cassidy raced to their bedroom as soon as they arrived home from town. If Carson thought it strange that his sisters had taken to going to town at least once a week, he didn’t mention it. Instead he simply asked them to collect whatever he needed from town while they were there.
Bonnie glanced at Cassidy, excitement shining in her gaze. “Five! We got five letters!”
Cassidy nodded. “I know. Just calm down, they might be spinsters and widows. Let’s first read them before we get excited.”
Bonnie shook her head. “She’s in here, I just know she is.”
Cassidy laughed. “Come on, let’s have the first letter.”
They read for the next hour, commenting on spelling and grammar as their mother had insisted all her children were well learned in both. When they had read all the letters, they both looked at each other and reached for the same letter.
“This one,” Cassidy said with
smile.
“I’ll start writing,” Bonnie said eagerly.
Cassidy laughed. “Just make sure you sound like Carson. I’m going to go check on Ma.”
Just like that an exchange of letters began with the sisters eagerly awaiting the mail every other week whilst back in Boston Annie eagerly did the same.
20 January 1882
Dear Mr. Evans
I hope this letter finds you in good health. My name is Anna-Sophia Mason and I am twenty two years of age. I am of Irish descent and according to my mother I have the black hair and blue eyes to prove it. I was born in Boston and have lived here all my life. Raised in a home of privilege with private tutors and servants, I now find myself at a crossroads.
My mother passed at the start of this year. My step-father, who was meant to protect me after her passing, has turned into someone I don’t recognize. I’m not telling you this to in any way garner your sympathy, but for you to understand why I have decided to write to you. I’m not unattractive, overweight or incapable of keeping a home. I am quite adept at sewing and have always dreamed of having a family of my own. Although I’m not certain if it is possible to find love through the mail, I believe your advertisement spoke to me.
I have never been on a ranch or in Texas, but I am curious as to the climate. I’m sure you’d be interested to know that although I was raised privileged I’ve never depended on it. I can prepare my own meals and make a bed despite having a servant to do it for me. I enjoy reading, sewing and as your advertisement stipulated, I am matrimonially inclined.
I apologize if this letter comes across as a little flustered, let it be no reflection on me as a person as it is merely indicating how nervous I am to be writing to a gentleman I do not know.
