“Take you with me?” he asked.
“Yes!” she shouted, near hysterical at this point.
Emmitt was stunned and confused. He briefly wondered if he was having another feverish dream but abandoned the thought when he saw Rachel shivering.
“You would leave all this behind for me?” he asked.
Rachel took a deep breath and without batting an eye declared, “Yes. My heart belongs to you now.”
Emmitt could feel his heart expanding as though her love was projecting directly to it. Rachel began walking steadily towards Emmitt. A smile was forming on her face as tears rolled down her cheeks. She took another deep breath in effort to steady her voice and said, “Wherever you go I will be with you.” She put her hands to her chest over her heart and said, “My home is with you.”
Emmitt dropped the saddle as he and Rachel rushed toward one another. He could see the tears streaming down her face as he reached his arms out to catch her as she jumped into his arms nearly knocking him backwards into a small stack of hay.
“I love you Emmitt Townshend,” she whispered into his ear. And at the sound of those words Emmitt pulled his head back to look Rachel in the eye before passionately kissing her, as though this act of affection would erase all of the loneliness he had felt since being widowed.
After this kiss concluded Rachel placed her hands on the sides of his face and pleaded, “please be my husband.”
Emmitt was so emotional that he could not speak. He held her tight and nodded his before kissing her again. He then quickly and smoothly swept her up off her feet and into his arms as he began to carry her back to the house.
***
The sounds of laughter began filling the house as Emmitt carried Rachel through the front door. The happy couple went to the living room where the sisters had decorated a small Christmas tree while Emmitt was still ill. Pally was found to be lying happily before the fireplace this Christmas morning. As Emmitt bent down to pet his dear dog Rachel was already in the kitchen preparing the morning tea.
“I am so sorry dear that I don’t have any presents for you this Christmas,” said Emmitt. “As you know I have been a little under the weather.”
“Don’t be silly,” she responded as she placed two steaming cups on the living room coffee table.
Emmitt held his cup for a long silent moment before raising it up and outward, a move that immediately roused the attention of his wife. She was happy to be back inside of the house with Emmitt where it was warm but she was still a little nervous due to his emotional state. He looked calm and at peace for maybe the first time since he had picked her up at the train station. And so, with his cup already raised in the air, he stood up and placed his other hand over his heart.
“I would like to propose a toast,” he began. “To my beautiful wife, Rachel, the most wonderful gift I could receive this Christmas.”
“And I would like to propose a toast as well,” Rachel added. “To my wonderful husband, Emmitt, the man who showed me the meaning of true love. Merry Christmas.”
The happy couple smiled at one another, savoring the fact that the future ahead of them looked bright. Rachel had thought of a gift she would love to share with Emmitt next Christmas. She was fairly confident that he would approve and that it would bring him joy as well. She wondered, is it too soon to bring it up? Of course the answer was no, it was never too soon for Rachel to be honest. She decided that she would bring it up during dinner that night.
“Emmitt,” she said. “I have something I want to tell you and you don’t have to say anything back right now if you are not ready to.”
Emmitt was unsure of how to respond. He nodded for her to go ahead and speak.
“Emmitt, I would love for us to adopt a child next Christmas,” she said. “Perhaps we might find one named Margaret.”
“Nothing could make me happier Rachel,” Emmitt said immediately as he felt tears in his well up in his eyes.
“Are you sure? I didn’t mean to upset you dear.”
“No Rachel, you don’t understand. These are tears of joy,” he exclaimed.
The couple stayed up until midnight by the fire before retiring to bed together. They found that even after all the time they had spent together, building a bond in the last month, they still had so much to learn about one another. They were now ready to share in their lives together, as husband and wife, and to provide a loving home for a child. Some would call this true love, but to Emmitt and Rachel it was their own Christmas miracle.
*****
THE END.
Widowed and Pregnant
Mail Order Bride
CHRISTIAN MICHAEL
Chapter One: Shameful Debris
Virginia, 1844
Sarah Dickerson straightened her black bonnet, pulled on her black wrist length gloves, and tried desperately not to appear as if she might fall over in a stiff wind. She was trapped between needing to exude quiet confidence and falling apart. She didn’t want anyone to offer her assistance, or condolences. She just wanted everyone to leave her alone, to whisper behind their hands and to forget, for five minutes, that she was now a widow. Twenty-three years old and a widow. Even knowing the truth of it didn’t help. She just couldn’t get the two concepts to mesh, despite how life had forced them to.
A month ago, which now seemed like an eternity, she and her husband, Ben, had been elated to discover they were pregnant. She’d been wanting a baby for a while and to learn that they were finally expecting was a blessing. Now her heart squeezed in her chest, just to remind her that Ben, who would have loved their child something fierce, would never know what it was to hold that new life in his hands, to cuddle their sweet baby.
Turning, Sarah walked away from the spot where Ben Dickerson’s body now lay. She prayed silently that he rested in peace, as everyone was want to say. As for her, she knew rest, the kind that rejuvenates the soul, would likely never be found for her again. As if going through the first trimester of pregnancy wasn’t enough, she somehow had to grieve for her husband, the man who’d been her best friend. Tears welled in her eyes as memories flooded her mind.
Sarah and Ben had met during a summer harvest festival when their families attended the same events together. There’d been an instant chemistry between them and before long, Ben had asked her father’s permission to court Sarah. The next year they’d married, just after her nineteenth birthday. They’d both wanted to start a family, but after the first year together, when no pregnancy occurred, she’d become despondent. Ben had done everything in his power to help her see that they’d have a baby when they were meant to. Tears fell harder when Sarah remembered how bitter she’d been toward him. He’d only wanted her happiness and she’d made it seem as if only a baby would help. She’d had the whole world in that man and she’d taken him for granted.
“Please forgive me,” Sarah whispered as she walked toward the path that would lead her home. She’d walked to the funeral for Ben. It’d done little to clear her head as she’d hoped, but maybe the walk back would help.
For Sarah the next few days dragged as she barely mustered up enough energy to crawl out of bed to feed herself. If the nausea from her pregnancy wasn’t enough, trying to settle her stomach sort of topped off the existence of her days. When Ben’s sister stopped by, Sarah couldn’t even bring herself to apologize for the state of her home, nor for her appearance.
“I brought you some coffee,” Stacey said, handing a cup to her.
“Thank you,” she said, not adding a smile as she would have in the past. She knew she looked as if death had swarmed over and frankly she didn’t care.
“I also brought you a newspaper. I know you liked to read them,” Stacey said, her own brown eyes tortured with grief. It was when she sat the paper down, came over to sit by her and wrapped her in a hug that Sarah fell apart. That simple understanding opened the floodgates and Sarah’s body heaved as the sobs tore from her soul. Gut wrenching sobs that were full of mourning for a man she’d lo
ved with her entire being. Forty-five minutes later, Sarah was able to compose herself enough to enjoy the coffee Stacey had brought.
“I still can’t believe it,” she said, her voice hoarse from crying. “I expect him to be here and every time I turn around, he isn’t.”
“Me too,” Stacey said, a sad smile creasing her lips. She busied herself in the kitchen before she turned around. “I’m going to leave the coffee. I want you to enjoy it. Then curl up in bed, crawl under the covers, and read the newspaper. Maybe something marvelous happened that will perk up my day. I’ll come back and check on you later tonight.”
“Thank you Stacey, for everything.”
“Anytime, sweetie.”
Sarah did as Stacey had said. She’d enjoyed her first cup of coffee and then crawled into bed with her second cup, taking the newspaper with her. She read about Florida joining the United States as the twenty-seventh state and of course, the growing tension in Texas as President Tyler sought to annex Texas into the Union. Obviously there were those in the country that didn’t want to lose their power to the idea of statehood.
Flipping the page, Sarah read through the editor’s notes and responses before she landed on an open letter that seemed quite amusing. It read:
February 1844
To All Eligible Women on the Eastern Coast,
My name is Bernd Blindow and I am just move to Texas from my native Germany. I find myself nearly overwhelmed by the rough terrain of this beautiful country. It is, however, a bit of a surprise to me that there are not more women in Texas. Being so new here, I find myself terribly lonely and in a bind that I can’t seem to fix.
I would love to converse with women who would at least consider journeying here on the basis of friendship and the hopes that this may become something more. I am already awaiting replies.
Thoughtfully,
Bernd
Sarah put the paper down and sighed. It was already growing cold outside as frost began to cover the edges of her windows. She crawled from her bed to turn the heat up in her apartment, grabbed herself another cup of coffee, and then snuggled back under the covers; shivering slightly from the chill in the air. Finally, after another round of body racking sobs, Sarah fell asleep to the energy sucking silence.
The next few mornings blurred into each other as Sarah’s mind sank into the fog of depression. Shen needed human contact, but the idea of reaching out to friends and family, without Ben, was exhausting. Somewhere in the back on her mind she recalled the stranger who’d written an open letter, looking for a friend. She needed a friend, desperately. Could she be a friend in turn, especially when she’d just lost her best friend?
Deciding that writing Mr. Blindow couldn’t hurt, Sarah sat down at her kitchen table and penned a letter to the man.
February 1844
Dear Mr. Blindow,
My name is Sarah Dickerson. I just recently lost my husband to consumption and this after recently finding out that I’m expecting our first child. I have no idea if I can be the friend you’re looking for, but I am desperate to escape the home and town where we lived. The memories are too raw and painful for me to feel comfortable even leaving my home.
I know that this probably isn’t the response you’re looking for, but I’m a firm believer in honesty and being completely upfront. My hope is that I can feel normal again, before my baby comes. I’d like to like that we can build a friendship in the meantime and see where things go from there. All I ask is that if you decide to reply, that you’d agree to give my child your name. I can’t bear the thought of him going through life without a father. There’s no coming back from that sort of shame.
Desperate in Virginia,
Sarah Elaine Dickerson
***
Bernd Blindow pulled the leather straps over his shoulder, clicked his tongue at the oxen and tried to hold the plow steady as the plow dug into the soil. He’d stepped foot in Texas for the first time ever, nearly two months ago and still he felt undone by the terrain. He’d managed three passes of the same field that day and it still didn’t look right for planting. Then there was the injured fence to deal with. He needed all new gates, which were on order. He’d also put in an order for new fencing, which would barely get him up and running. He had to finish all of that before he could purchase the fifteen head of cattle he wanted to start with. The delay also had him wasting precious time figuring out which horses he wanted to breed. He’d seen about ten different breeds and none of them showcased the qualities he’d been looking for. He was half tempted to try his hand at creating a new breed, one that had the characteristics of both a work horse and a show champion. None of that even began to touch the housework that seemed to multiply exponentially every day. Just thinking about it made him tired.
He hoped that today’s mail run would prove beneficial to his circumstances. After breakfast, Bern rode his personal horse, Jocko, to town and tied him loosely to a hitch outside the post office. He was pleasantly surprised by the amount of mail he had collected since placing the advertisement a month prior. There must have been at least a hundred letters to read through. The task both exhilarated and worried him. How would he choose between the women? What qualifications, besides being good at domestic work, was he looking for? He obviously wanted someone who was honest and had some integrity and self-respect. He wanted someone who could hold an intelligent conversation. A woman who could joke around and would enjoy his company no matter what they were doing.
With the amount of work he needed to do on his farm and to even keep up with the house, it took Bernd nearly four days to read through all the letters. He found several that went into a “second read” pile. From there he narrowed them down even further, finally settling on the one that tugged the deepest at his heart. Somewhere on the east coast, a woman named Sarah Dickerson was grieving over the loss of her husband, a love Bernd was sure must have been wonderful. Having just found out she was expecting, Bernd couldn’t imagine the joy and pain she must be feeling. He wondered, hoped that she was happy for her soon to be arriving, baby, despite the love she lost.
His reply was swift as he sent a telegram the very next morning and received a reply by early evening. Sarah Dickerson and the babe she carried, were on their way to Texas. Thrilled, well beyond what he’d expected, Bern slept like a baby for the first time since setting foot in the sought after country of Texas. The next week flew by as Bernd awaited the wagon train that would deliver Sarah to the tiny town of San Antonio. Finally, the morning of March third came and Bernd paced an area in front of the welcoming station where travelers often departed from the wagon train that would move on after a good nights’ sleep and a hot meal.
Bernd scanned face after face, realizing that he would know much about Sarah Dickerson except that she was expecting. After watching several couples, some with children, move past the station and into San Antonio, Bernd saw a black clad woman standing on the platform, looking as if someone had left her destitute. Approaching her slowly, Bern finally spoke up.
“Would you be Mrs. Dickerson?” he asked. Beautiful pale green eyes turned his way and Bern caught his breath. His first thought was that Sarah Dickerson was far too beautiful to be a widow and the second was that he’d never seen such a sorrowful look on anyone’s face before.
“I am. Are you Mr. Blindow?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bernd said, removing his cap. He ran his hand haphazardly through his hair to tame it before he smiled and offered his arm to her. “I hope the trip wasn’t too exhausting. I know traveling by wagon train can be more on the uncomfortable side.”
“The couple I traveled with were very generous. They let me ride inside the wagon with their two children. I slept most of the trip away, a side effect of being pregnant I suppose.”
“How is the babe?”
“As well as can be expected I suppose. I haven’t been to a doctor to confirm the pregnancy yet.”
“Then that’s the first thing we’ll see to, after you’ve had so
me time to rest. I took the liberty of acquiring you a room at our local inn, if that’s alright with you? I’ve also been assured that there are no men on the floor where your room is. The innkeeper said that he schedules men and women on different floors, unless of course, they’re married.”
“Thank you, so much.”
“You’re very welcome. So, tell me more about Virginia.”
“Right now there is still snow on the ground, although that’s quickly going to change. April showers bring May flowers and all that. Spring is beautiful as green sweeps over the Appalachian Mountains. As in most places, flowers spring up, trees bloom, and birds and insects return from their vacations in the south. I’ll tell you though, there’s nothing like a Virginia sunrise.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Bernd smiled. He helped Sarah up into his buggy and climbed up next to her, clucking to the two horses he’d hitched to the front. “I want you to know upfront that I’m very sorry for your husband’s loss. It’s a shame that he was taken so young.”
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes losing some of their luster as he was sure she thought of him. He was ashamed when it pricked his pride. He’d never wanted a woman to think of him so why did Sarah thinking of her husband irritate him? Taking a deep breath, Bernd headed for the inn where he helped Sarah get her things to her room.
“If you’re up to it, I can show you my ranch. If you’d rather rest, I completely understand.”
“I do think a rest would be beneficial. Nowadays I’m easily worn down by noon.”
[2016] Widowed and Pregnant Page 32
