Annie: A Bride For The Farmhand - A Clean Historical Western Romance (Stewart House Brides Book 3)

by Charity Phillips

  Depositing my cloak and boots by the fire, I rushed into my room and closed the door behind me to afford me some privacy as I browsed the new advertisements. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I hoped it would be clear when I found it. I scanned through several before my eyes fell on one that seemed to attract me. Something about it felt right in a way that I couldn't explain. I confirmed that the man behind it was from Oregon, as I knew Jane's mysterious man to be, and read through it again. The excitement swelled in me again. Perhaps I had found my match.

  ****

  Seeking Partner. Lonely Oregon man seeking a gentle feminine partner to ride through life alongside me. I am eager to seek the bounty of this new world and I want a helpmate to make it possible. In exchange, I can promise security, comfort, and esteem. Please reply promptly.

  The words had a gruff edge to them as though the man behind them had tried to make them seem soft and appealing but didn't know quite how to do it. There was something in them, though, that held a certain level of romance. He didn't speak of love or mention wanting a wife, but that made the advertisement even more intriguing. It was like discovering the gentle beauty of a wild rose encased in thorns. I knew the tenderness was there, it would simply be up to me to bring him to it.

  I used my pen to carefully encircle the advertisement just in case one of my sisters wanted to check the advertisements for herself and felt drawn to the words as I did. The ink soaked through the paper and onto my lap, and for the first time I felt grateful that I had actually listened to Jane and worn my apron over my dress. Ignoring the stain, I crossed the room to my desk and took a piece of paper from the drawer, pondering what I should say.

  I knew of several girls that had chosen this path out of Boston in the last two years, but I had never been privy to their correspondence. Most held these courtships in very close confidence and some exchanged only a few letters before packing their trunks and leaving on the train across the country.

  It seemed such a strange contrast to me. A city that had once buzzed with news of the season's debutante balls and the hopes of courtships and engagements to follow quickly had become one that fairly whispered about these secretive matches and the mystery of the husbands that waited the young ladies in the Frontier.

  It was not that becoming a Frontier wife was shameful, or even out of the ordinary. In fact, it had become so commonplace that I saw one seamstress advertising special dresses for the girls to wear when they met their men in person for the first time. It just seemed to lack the pomp and circumstance of what we had come to expect in our younger years.

  It seemed to take me hours to come up with what I wanted to say, but finally I lifted my pen over the paper on my desk and inscribed the first words I would send to a man I hoped would be my future husband.

  Dear Sir,

  If you are looking for a partner who is both feminine and capable, you will find her in me. I share your dreams of discovering a new life and opportunity in Oregon, and am ready to take my place alongside a man who can accomplish that with my help. I look forward to your response.

  Sincerely,

  Rebecca Adams

  ****

  January, 1866

  Dear Diary,

  It is hard to believe that Christmas is already over. Though it seems the time is going by so quickly, if I am to be honest, I am relieved that the holiday season has come to an end. It was torment to see the parlor without the Christmas tree that always made Father so happy. The little decorations that Rose brought in almost made the room seem sadder, almost like they were trying to cover the emptiness.

  Christmas Eve was a turning point that made me realize even more that I need to get myself and my sisters out of Boston. I sat with Jane after the younger two went the sleep, sipping egg nog and trying to feel festive. It was in that moment that I felt the lack of Father more than I ever had before, and realized that there was nothing any of us could ever do to make that feeling go away.

  I am anxiously awaiting a response from the advertisement. I know that it can take several weeks for a letter to get to Oregon and back. In fact, Jane has still not received a response from her letter well before Christmas, but I am more excited than ever about putting Boston behind me and letting the Frontier be my new beginning as well.

  I realize now that I have used that same phrase – "new beginning" – several times already. It is almost as though my mind keeps bringing it up, using it to convince me that there are good things waiting for me if I just stay patient and strong. I hope that it is right.

  The turn of the New Year feels darker than it ever has before. Simply writing "1866" is difficult. Knowing that there has now been a full year since Father's death makes him feel so far away and sometimes I feel like a frightened little child desperate for my daddy to come home and take care of me. I worry about Jane. She seems only slightly less trapped in herself. I pray that a letter will come for her soon.

  --Rebecca

  It was nearly February when I untied the twine from the bundle of mail for the day and found an envelope addressed to me with unfamiliar handwriting tucked in among the late New Year's greetings and a few letters from friends. I placed the rest of the envelopes on the table in the front hall and hurried to my room so that I could open the letter privately.

  I didn't even bother to take off my boots or cloak. I knew that Rose would scold me for leaving a trail of melted snow and dirt from the road through the house. Even though she was the third of the four sisters, she had always been the most stubborn and headstrong of us, and had taken a leadership role after Father's death. In that moment, though, I didn't care how upset she would get at me for my mess. I was finally holding the letter I had been waiting more than a month to receive.

  Just as I was about to open the envelope, however, I paused. Worry suddenly washed over me. What if the picture I had included hadn't appealed him and he wrote only to tell me that I was unsuitable for him? What if he had included a picture and I found him unattractive? What if another woman had also read the advertisement and her letter to him had come before mine? It had not until that moment occurred to me that this may not work out as I had planned and that I might be cast into uncertainty again.

  I took a breath and slowly opened the envelope, waiting as long as I could to unfold the letter. As soon as I did, a smile came to my lips.

  Dear Miss Adams,

  I am very pleased to have heard from you. Your picture is quite lovely and I feel blessed to have a woman like you contact me. I have been in Oregon for a few years now, but I have always felt that there was something missing in my journey. I hope you do not find it too forward if I say that perhaps you are that missing element.

  Please write back soon.

  Sincerely,

  Ezra Bolton

  ****

  The letter almost left me breathless. I don't know what I expected to hear from him in the first correspondence, but I was surprised at his openness. I sat on my bed staring at the letter for several minutes, going back over the words and trying to visualize the man behind them. He hadn't included a picture as I had included for him, but that did not seem strange to me. Many men rarely, if ever, took the time to get their picture taken, especially those without wives to appease, so it was possible he simply didn't have one to send me.

  I found myself smiling more as I read the letter again and realized that I didn't find his words forward. Instead, they were emotional and optimistic, exactly how I felt when I thought about leaving Boston for Oregon. I didn't even want to wait another day to send him another letter. I immediately took out a piece of paper and started a letter back to him.

  Dear Mr. Bolton,

  I am delighted to hear back from you. I am flattered by your compliment and only wish I had the opportunity to see a picture of you. Perhaps we have been what is missing in each other's lives and it took your advertisement to realize it. I hope that your holidays were wonderful and that I hear from you again soon.

  Sincerely,
>
  Rebecca Adams

  I read through my letter again after writing it and felt a bit of hesitation flicker through me. This was a man who I didn’t know, yet I was writing to him as though we were already close. I didn't want to seem too forward or improper, but I also realized that both of us had come to the same decision about how we would find a partner, and it put us in the position of more forwardness than a formal courtship.

  Folding the letter as quickly as I could, I put it into an envelope before one of my sisters could come in and read it. I knew what they would think, especially Rose, from whom I would likely never hear the end of my scolding. She had no patience for frivolity and romance, and I knew she would think that I was becoming mindless about this entire situation. As long as I kept the letter to myself, I could continue to enjoy my excitement on my own.

  ****

  February, 1866

  Dear Diary,

  I am so thrilled! Just a few days after I received my response from Mr. Bolton, Jane finally heard back from her gentleman. I know she was so worried about it because she wrote him so long ago and both Lucy and I had received answers already, even though we had written after her. None of us know if Rose has chosen a match to correspond with yet. Part of me worries that she will hold out until the very end and may stay in Boston after all of us have left. It makes me sad even thinking about it.

  I know that my letter still has not reached Oregon yet, but I am still already looking forward to receiving a response. I wonder how long it will take for him to ask me to come to meet him. Is it proper for me to already be waiting for that? Of course, I can only feel that it is. Again, this is not a normal courtship. We both know why we began this arrangement. It is only a matter of time before we make the decision that I should go out there.

  I hope that I am not the only one traveling when the time does come. I have traveled alone before, but never so far from home, and especially not with the intention of staying. I pray that one of the others receives a request around the same time so that we can plan to travel together.

  --Rebecca

  My life suddenly became a game of waiting. I had been too young to entertain suitors before the War started, and then by the time I was old enough, the eligible bachelors were fighting, so I never had the experience of sitting in the parlor waiting for callers, or on the front porch for a sweetheart to happen by and ask me to take a walk. Now I felt like I was in that position, waiting primly for the post so that I could see if I received my response.

  We exchanged only two more letters when I received the message I had been longing to read.

  Dear Miss Adams,

  I feel that I have known you for far longer than the span of our few letters. I do not wish to wait any longer to have you here with me. If it is agreeable to you, I would like very much to plan for your passage to Oregon as soon as possible. There is a question that I would be honored to ask you once we meet face to face.

  Affectionately,

  Ezra Bolton

  I could scarcely contain my excitement. I didn't know which I wanted to do first, tell my sisters the wonderful news, or write back and accept his offer. I read the letter again, and even when I closed my eyes I could see the words writing themselves across my mind. The edge of gruffness was still there, but he was so sweet and my heart fluttered at the thought of the question he wanted to ask me. I knew many women received their proposals right through their letters, but he wanted to ask me to be his when I could see his eyes and feel his hand holding mine. The thought was enough to bring a tear to my eye.

  I decided to write back to him before sharing my news with my sisters. After all, this man was to be my husband. I would have to become accustomed to honoring him first.

  Dear Mr. Bolton,

  I feel the same for you. It is as though we were always meant to find each other. I would also very much like to plan my passage from Boston. I will look forward to hearing your question until then.

  Fondly,

  Rebecca Adams

  ****

  The train took my breath away when I stepped inside. Behind me, I could hear Jane entering and her breath catching in her throat as she took in the beautiful car. I couldn't have been happier when I heard that Jane's gentleman had asked her to join him and that we were able to plan our journeys for the same time and travel together. Having her presence made it much easier as I kissed Lucy and Rose goodbye and stepped out of my childhood home.

  That is how I truly saw it in that moment. It had always just been "home" to me, but as I allowed the carriage driver to pick up my trunks and help me down off of the step, I felt like he was guiding me through some unseen gate from childhood into adulthood. I paused briefly to have a silent moment with my memories of Father just before I climbed up onto the carriage. I knew that in leaving his house, I was in a way leaving him. I hoped that he was looking down at me proudly and was glad that I was happy.

  I held my train ticket tightly beneath the cuff of my glove so that I wouldn't lose it. The fare had been terribly expensive, but we used some of the money that Father left us, knowing he would want us to take such a long trip with as much comfort as we could. It had been more difficult to convince Jane, but I told her that purchasing passage in a private car was only proper considering we were two young women traveling alone on our way to get married. It would be unseemly to travel and sleep out in the public cars.

  There was something both luxurious and wild about sleeping on the unique beds that folded out of our seats at night. It was like the perfect balance between our lives in Boston and the future that lay before us. We were both comfortable and cozy on the velvet seats, but it felt strange and unexpected to undress and sleep in a moving car.

  The movement made me sick for the first few days and I know that Jane suffered right along with me. We spent much of the time in our beds, refusing to allow the attendant to return them to their normal positions during the day because neither of us could bear the thought of sitting up for more than a few minutes.

  It made me wonder what other strange and unknown things awaited me in Oregon. Mr. Bolton had talked of his adventures and the wildness he had come to adore in his years on the Frontier. Having been raised in the city, I knew nothing of the struggles that I might face as I tried to step into my role as a hardy helpmate.

  ****

  Dear Rose,

  I wish that you were here with me to see this amazing train and the beautiful country that zips past us as we forge ahead to our new beginning. You would love this magnificent machine and all of the wonders it has shown us. Every day we see new things and meet new people. I have heard the most incredible stories, thoughts, and ideas. It is a wonder to me sometimes that we are in the same country as we were when we left. It is all so different.

  Jane still seems so sad and withdrawn. I have not seen her smile since we first got on the train and she is nearly as quiet as she was at home. She finally revealed to me that the man who is waiting for her has a young daughter. It seems our sister will become an instant mother when she marries. I hope that we have the opportunity to spoil our little niece.

  Have you chosen a man to correspond with, yet? I know Darling Lucy is only days away from planning her own passage to Oregon and it pains me to think of her traveling alone and of you staying in that house without us. Please choose one soon, Sister. I need for us all to be together.

  By the time you get this letter, I will have been in Oregon for several weeks. I will miss summertime in Boston, but I fear that I will miss the fall even more. Do you know if they have trees like the ones that we do at home that change color with the seasons? It is a sad thought that I will never again see the glory of the red and orange leaves in October. If you are still in Boston in October, which I pray you will not be, please press me a leaf and send it to me so that I may have a piece of home there with me.

  Give my love to Lucy. Enjoy the preserves that I left for you. I hope that you can manage making bread on your own.

  Lo
ve,

  Rebecca

  Jane had written a letter, too, and we both held them protectively as the train finally pulled into the station at the end of our journey. I could feel such excitement inside me, I thought I might burst. This was everything I had been waiting for. I would step from the train and be in my new life, away from the heartache and the stagnation of Boston.

  I had always dreamed of my wedding, but now I knew that things would not be anything like what I had imagined. Instead of elaborate lace, I would wear a simple gown with the shawl that Mama had left me. Instead of flower girls, I would marry with the prairie grass at my feet.

  It was all worth it, though, to know that I would be with a man who would protect me and honor me.

  Jane stepped off of the train before me and there was a moment when we both stood still on the platform, locked in the postures of our old lives while our future moved around us at such speed it was nearly breathtaking. Suddenly I heard my name called from across the platform and the two existences melded. I glanced only briefly at Jane, and then took a step toward the man who had spoken, finally blending my past and my future into my reality.

  ****

  "Mr. Bolton?" I said hopefully as I approached the handsome young man smiling at me.

  "No, Miss, I'm James Turner. Mr. Bolton requested I meet you. He has been delayed preparing the home for your arrival."

  The momentary flicker of disappointment I had felt when I heard he was not my Mr. Bolton disappeared and was replaced by a thrill at the thought of him working so hard to get his home—what would soon be our home—ready for me. I allowed Mr. Turner to pick up my trunks and followed him through the station toward a waiting carriage.