“I didn’t want your pity.” He spat the word. “I could only be that person you describe because I had you sparring with me, you running alongside me, you matching me barb for barb, word for word, wit for wit. I thought I had lost it when this happened. I didn’t feel like a man at all.”
“You thought me a foolish enough girl that your feet matter to me beyond not wanting you to be hurt? Did you think your feet matter to me more than your mind? Your heart? Well then I guess you never knew me very well, Private Simon.”
He grabbed her arms. “No, it was not you I did not know, Nurse Cora. It was myself. Until you reminded me, until you’ve begun to show me again.”
“If that is so…then may I bathe your feet?” she whispered.
The fight left his face and he dropped into the chair again. “Yes. Yes, you may.”
They were quiet as she prepared the water and set to work. After she had finished cleaning and massaging his injuries, she let his feet to soak. “But why, Simon, why did you send me away after? Father had trained me. You doubted my ability to care for you adequately?” She still felt the pain of rejection these four years later.
He crossed his arms over his chest, but said nothing.
“Why, Private Simon? I want to understand.”
“We weren’t equals anymore. We weren’t the same. You felt sorry for me. You felt pity for me. I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t want you to feel such retched emotions for me. I couldn’t bear that all you would see me as was a cripple.”
Pity? She thought back, tried to remember. Had she? She dropped her hands in her lap. She had not. What had she felt? Fear, a great wide yawning fear like an ocean without a shore that he would die, and that she wouldn’t know how to walk the earth without him. She jumped to her feet. Was that true? Had she felt like that?
“Cora, what’s wrong?” He reached for her, but she stepped away.
“I never felt pity for you.” She whispered. “Never.” She began to gather her things. “I saw far too many truly pitiful things during the war to feel badly for you over your feet.” She hardened her jaw. “And you, Private Simon have pitied yourself far better than I, or anyone else could have done. If you didn’t, you would still be a writer.”
“I should have known better than to confide in you—“
“No, you should have known me better than to send me away out of fear over my pity. You should never have sent me away.” She knew her voice was too loud. She knew she was too emotional. Her father would tell her to check her emotions.
She did not want to. She wanted to let them rage and she wanted them to rage at Simon, all the hurt and humiliation and pain she’d felt and smothered, buried under the next patient and the next. Only Simon had never been a patient to her.
She left the room without another word. There was a thud against the door after she closed it, and she could not help but smile as she imagined Simon throwing something in his anger at her. How her feelings could run so quickly from anger to humor for him was beyond her. Surely Hannah would be able to explain it to her.
Chapter 9
Cora stood at the large picture window downstairs in the lobby watching the children play next to the street, chasing each other. Her mind was muddled and she felt physically drained from sparring with Simon first thing in the morning. They had eaten breakfast and lunch separately which had made her miss him. And missing him had made her angry at herself for caring.
“Cora.”
She closed her eyes, not wanting to turn around.
“Cora. We need to talk. We can’t keep on like this. We’ve always talked.”
She twisted around. “Once, a long time ago, we always talked. But you’ve changed,” she charged.
“And you think you have not?”
Cora felt her mouth open.
“Ah, I see you think not.”
She snapped her mouth shut and turned away, but he grabbed her arm, his grip gentle, and turned her around. “You think I like seeing you like this? Ready to be a “mail order bride” for my brother? The strong, opinionated woman I grew up with, the one who bravely traveled with her father? Saw things that grown men couldn’t stand, grown men would turn away from? This bowing, grateful girl?” he twisted the words until they were an insult.
“What would you have me do?” she whispered. “Papa is not here to make me strong.”
“Your father did not make you strong,” Simon yelled. “He was not there all the time when we were children. You were strong then, simply because you were.” He closed his eyes, breathed out through his nose. “Cora, Nurse Cora, he saw in you what you already had. Strength. Kindness. Intelligence. The strength to use your kindness and intelligence to help others. That is why he taught you. His teaching did not make you strong. “
“No,” she breathed.
“And this, this travesty of which you were--this marrying for security female. Well, I simply don’t recognize you.”
“How dare you?”
“How dare I not? After all we’ve known of each other. And Matthew is my brother. How dare I not?”
“You think your brother does not wed well?”
“I think my brother knows nothing of you. And you of him.” He turned away. “But I think my brother weds very well. He could not do better,” he finished.
Cora’s cheeks warmed and she covered them with her gloved hands. “Then why?”
“I believe you, Cora, can do better.” He walked away then before she could say another word.
She dropped into a chair, exhausted. Was sparring with Simon always so exhausting? Or had the stakes never been so high before? What did it all mean? This churning in her gut? This bleeding of her heart? Simon awakened the emotions that she’d had to shut down during the war. Had to shut down after Papa had died. What was she to do?
Was he right? Had she been strong before Papa had leant her his hand, his ear, his confidence? Had he chosen her to train because he saw that strength Simon spoke of?
And Simon, blessed, damnable Simon. What was she to do about him? She knew him right. Knew that marrying his brother was as soulfully wrong as she could possibly be. She did not know him. Did not love him. And more than anything else, she wanted to marry for love.
She caught a glimpse of Simon crossing the street, his limp pronounced. But she could never marry for love when she was quite certain she loved Simon with all the heart she had to give. But did she have the courage to tell Simon the truth? She bowed her head to ask God for strength when she remembered Simon’s words. “You’ve always been strong.”
She had been, hadn’t she? Maybe it was time to prove it, but first, she needed to talk with Elizabeth.
Chapter 10
After talking with Elizabeth, Cora hurried to the post office. She had an important telegram to send.
She had just finished when she met Simon at the door. She drew back in surprise, not expecting to face him so soon. But she remembered her strength and squared her shoulders. “Simon, could I talk with you?” Her voice didn’t sound strong. It sounded insecure and scared.
Simon glanced toward the line inside the Post Office, then back at her. “Yes, I suppose.”
Still angry with her. She sighed as they sat down on one of the benches out front.
He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, his expression unreadable.
“I can’t marry Matthew.”
Simon sat up then, his eyes sharp on her face. “Why not?”
“It wouldn’t be fair to him. I don’t love him, and I don’t believe I ever can. Because…” She closed her eyes and lowered her head. Strength.
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Simon stood up before she could say another word. “There’s no line now. I need to go,” he said. “Stay right here. I’ll be right back.”
He walked away. Disappointment pressed into Cora’s chest. Had he known what she was going to say? Had he known and been repulsed? Of course he had; she had been so obvious. He couldn’t get away fast enou
gh. Her heart breaking, she hurried back to the hotel.
Chapter 11
In her room, she gasped air into her lungs. What had she done? Sent a telegram to Matthew refusing his proposal. Then to Simon, revealed her undying love. She was so foolish!
How could she ever face him again? Now she was truly alone. In St. Louis, far from home, like the unfortunate Mary. She had enough money to see her home, but what then? Return to her brother. No! She could never do that.
But did she want to leave St. Louis? She could perhaps ask for a job at the hospital. Her time spent nursing at her father’s side during the war might count as sufficient experience.
Someone knocked on her door. Cora jumped. Elizabeth?
She pulled open the door. Once again, Simon stood on the other side, this time breathing heavy, his forehead creased in irritation.
“Whatever is the matter? Did you run the entire way?” she asked.
“Yes, yes I did. I ran the entire way because you were supposed to wait for me.” He shook his head. “Why didn’t you wait, Nurse Cora?”
Cora dropped her gaze to his shoes, to the carpeted floor, to the hem of her dress, to anything, anything but his inquisitive blue eyes. Then his fingers were touching her chin—gently—pulling it up so that her eyes met his again.
“Why, Cora?”
She wanted to sink into the floor, her embarrassment was so great. She pulled away from his hand and turned her back on him. “Because you don’t love me. Because I confessed my feelings and you don’t return them.” She whipped back around. “You knew what I was trying to say, but you rushed away as quickly as you could to mail a letter.”
“I never said that. I wasn’t mailing a letter.” He waved the piece of paper. “I was checking for a telegram.” He moved closer until very little space separated them.
“A telegram?”
“Yes, a telegram. I’ve been waiting for it since our arrival in St. Louis. I sent one to my brother last week during one of our train stops.”
She shook her head. What did a telegram have to do with anything? Hannah? She clutched at his arms. “Hannah? Mama O’Leary, they’re okay?”
He smiled. “Oh they are well. Very well and very happy I’m guessing.” He held out the telegram. When she didn’t take it, he nodded encouragingly. “Read it.”
She opened the paper: Cora STOP was STOP always STOP meant STOP for STOP you STOP
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Simon smiled and took her hands, leading her to the sofa where they sat down. “I followed you hear because I couldn’t let you marry my brother unless I was certain you loved him more than you could love me. At her gasp, he smiled. “But the longer I spent with you, the more I knew even if you did love him, I was determined to have you for myself. I sent Matthew a telegram asking him to relinquish you.” He waved the telegram. “This was his reply. Apparently, Mama set this up, hoping we would find our way to each other.”
“I cannot possibly live without you. I must fight and laugh with you all the days of my life. You must put me out of my misery and marry me.”
Cora began to cry.
“No, no, Cora, you may not cry. Not my strong and splendid Nurse Cora.” He swiped the wetness from her face, kissed one cheek and then the other.
“Tell me yes now,” he whispered fiercely,” So I can kiss your beautiful mouth.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
And then she had to wait as shock and happiness battled across his face. He breathed a sigh just before his warm mouth touched hers.
Epilogue
Cora and Simon settled into the stage coach that would carry them most of the way to the Colorado territory. A piece of land awaited them, one adjoining Matthew’s ranch. The next year would be a busy one as Simon divided his time between building their home and editing the local newspaper.
As they left St. Louis, Simon grasped Cora’s hands and smiled down at her. “You asked me once why I didn’t report on the war. Remember, it was that first night on the train?”
She nodded, trying to concentrate on his words instead of his hands holding hers.
“I had planned on reporting it,” he admitted quietly. “But I came downstairs one evening before supper and heard you talking with Hannah.”
“Always an eavesdropper,” she teased.
He smiled. ‘You said to her, ‘It’s the responsibility of every human being to fight for the rights of the wronged Negro.’ Right then and there, I knew I could not merely report on the war.”
“Simon! I never meant you. Reporting would have been fighting, too. The power of the pen is every bit as strong as the gun.” She frowned and shook her head at him.” You foolish, foolish man.”
Simon ducked his head. “Well I couldn’t let my favorite girl best me, could I? You were headed into the battlefields alongside your father. I felt driven to do my part.”
At the mention of her father, Cora’s eyes watered. “I would have followed him anywhere,” she whispered.
Simon squeezed her hands. His eyes were sad. “I never told you how sorry I was that Dr. Hammond died. He was a good man.”
She nodded, her throat too thick with tears to speak. Her father would be happy with her decisions of late. She smiled. “I’ll follow you anywhere, too, Mr. O’Leary.”
“You have some catching up to do, since I’ve already proven I’ll definitely follow you anywhere, Mrs. O’Leary.”
THE END.
The Christmas Miracle
Mail Order Bride
CHRISTIAN MICHAEL
Nov 16, 1886
The loneliness was what pushed him to do it. He questioned whether it was worthwhile but could think of no reason not to. He had been on his own for a little over a year now and surely no one in town would look down on such a thing given his circumstances. There was little chance that anyone would find out so long as he did not tell a soul. So on a cold November afternoon Emit Townshend responded to an ad for a mail-order bride. The ad that Emmitt responded to was for a woman named Rachel Sutcliffe. What stood out to Emmitt in her ad was the phrase “looking for a man I’ve never met in a place I’ve never been.”
Emmitt never had the desire to travel. The West was where he was born and surely where he would die. More than anything he wanted to be as content with a woman as he was with his surroundings. He had been in love before and hoped desperately that he could find love again.
“This rain could turn to snow at any moment,” Emmitt said aloud as he gazed at the dampened fields beyond his front porch. “This has been the coldest November that I can ever remember. What about you Pally?” The old golden retriever that lay at his feet, whose collar bore the name Pally, did little to respond to Emmitt’s question. Pally rarely left Emmitt’s side since his wife, Margaret, passed away while giving birth. It was a difficult pregnancy leading and it came as quite a shock to Emmitt that the child, a girl, did not survive the birth either.
Emit did his best to continue on living in honor of his late wife and child. He continued to dedicate himself to a life of farming. It was Margaret who made the house a home for the two of them while Emit worked tirelessly outside, tending to the crops. He truly felt that farming was his earthly calling and that he was good at it. Prayer took up most of his free time after a hard day’s work. It was through his relationship with God that he found the strength move on in his life. Despite the brave face he put on when at church or about town, he was truly heart broken and feared that he would succumb to an early death because of it. He had seen this happen to a few of the older members of his church.
Lately his prayers had almost always been the same. The ritual began with his standing at the fireplace and looking at the framed picture of Margaret that graced the mantle. He would like at it for a few minutes, allowing the memories of her laughter and smell to fill his head before speaking to God.
Thank you lord for all of the blessings you have given to me. Most of all thank you for my wife and daughter, both of whom
I miss so very much. In my darkest moments I take comfort knowing that they are at peace and rejoicing with you in the kingdom of Heaven. Lord, I pray that you will give me the strength and guidance to survive this winter and this broken heart. Amen.
***
December 2, 1886
“Have you ever travelled by train before dear?”
Rachel was used to speaking about herself to strangers such as this woman on the train. She prided herself on being an excellent judge of character and saw this woman’s inquiry as nothing more than an innocent attempt to pass the time.
“No, as a matter of fact, this is my first travelling outside of the city, New York City. That is where I am from.”
This interested the woman a great deal. Rachel’s clothes and appearance were a stark contrast to her own which was very much the common style for women in this part of the South.
“Well what brings a city girl like you to this part of the country?”
“I’m looking for something,” Rachel said hesitantly with a nervous smile.
“And what might this something be my dear?”
“I’m looking for a man I’ve never met in a place I’ve never been.”
The woman simply smiled at her, careful not to display any signs of approval or disapproval on her face. This answer did not sit well with her. It seemed very unladylike. Not the sort of thing a girl should be talking about in public or in conversation with a stranger.
“Well I sure hope you find what you’re looking for here. You’ve come an awfully long way from home,” was the politest thing the woman could muster for a response to the young girl travelling for the first time on this train.
Rachel was genuinely excited about this trip. Luckily her excitement outweighed her uncertainty of the whole situation. It was her excitement and the slight amount of nervousness she felt in travelling alone that made her want to confide in the woman.
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