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

by Charity Phillips

  I still think they are the fortunate ones. By surviving just long enough to get to our house they escaped the indignity and horror of being buried right in the field where they fell, left to be forgotten, their families never to know where they were or what happened to them.

  I can hear my mother coughing now from her room. During the time the wounded were here, I gave up my bedroom so that there would be more space for the soldiers and slept on a small pallet by her bed. Soon after discovering her illness, however, she told me that I could no longer sleep in there where I would be in such close proximity. Instead I have returned to my former bedroom. It does not feel the same. It is as if the heartache and pain of the men who had lain there had soaked into the walls and are now pressing in on me every time I am in this room.

  The first month of the year is nearly gone, but I cannot look ahead. Rather than trying to imagine what lies in the rest of the year, I can think only of the next moment. When I attempt to think any further ahead than that, I cannot see my mother with me, and that is something that I simply am not ready to handle. I will look to a moment from now, and when I am there, I will try to see the next, and simply carry on. It is all I can do.

  Betsy

  ****

  "What are you going to do?"

  Valerie placed a teacup and saucer on the table in front of me and lowered herself into the chair across the table. She wrapped her palms around the cup in front of her, leaning slightly forward so that the steam from the cup could touch her face. Usually we would visit in the front parlor or on the veranda of her house, but the weather outside was still bitterly cold, driving us inside the warmth and comfort of the kitchen.

  Now sitting at the table near the heat radiating off of the big wood stove, we sat talking, trying to pretend that this one was like any of the other conversations that we had had throughout our many years of friendship, but knowing that it wasn't. Valerie and I had grown up together, playing in the gardens behind our homes and traipsing back and forth between them as if the two spaces were indeed one large play area designed just for our amusement.

  In all the years that we had been friends, however, and it had now been twenty of them, I had never seen the level of darkness and concern on my dear friend's face that I did now. Even when my father died she remained strong for me and did everything she could to make me laugh and remember the good things rather than the painful ones. She comforted me and reassured me, helping me to see that I was not alone and that everything about my life and my future had not simply disappeared the moment my father closed his eyes for the last time.

  Now, however, she seemed to be staring at me through different eyes. Gone was the sparkle and the optimism that she had held then. Instead, they held heartache and dismay. It was almost as though she could see what lay ahead of me in a way that I couldn't and was already suffering for me.

  "I don't know," I answered, lifting my cup to take a sip but then lowering it again before it touched my lips. "What can I do?"

  "Oh, Betsy," Valerie said. There were tears in her voice and it made my stomach feel even sicker than it already did. "You know I wish I could help you."

  Valerie had coped with her own sadness over the last year, though different from my own. Her home had once nearly overflowed with the sounds of her five brothers and two sisters laughing and playing. Even as they grew into their late teenage years and beyond they were lively and always making the house ring with the sounds of their voices. In the course of just one year, however, she had lost all but two of her siblings to the war and disease. The house was quiet now, the same kind of heavy, pain-filled silence of my house.

  "The doctor says that Mama isn't getting any better," I said, lowering my voice for fear that if I said the words too loudly they may work to make her illness even more severe.

  "Did he say how long she has had it?" Valerie asked carefully.

  I shook my head, finally taking a sip of the tea though the taste of it on my tongue and the feeling of it going down my throat made me shudder. It had been three days since I had eaten and I was beginning to feel the weakness taking over my body.

  "He said that tuberculosis is a disease that can linger in your body for years without showing any signs. It is possible that that sickness she had when she lost her last baby was actually tuberculosis and didn't realize it. It nearly killed her then, but she was younger and was able to pull through. Now that it has returned, though, she might not be able to fight it as she had before."

  "I'm so sorry, Betsy."

  "What am I supposed to do if she dies, Valerie? How am I to go on by myself?"

  My head dropped and I finally felt myself let my tears fall. I had been trying to hold them back for so long, fighting them as hard as I could as I watched my mother fade. I knew that seeing me cry would only hurt my mother and make it more difficult for her to keep going. I wanted her to see how strong I could be, how I was carrying on.

  I felt Valerie's hand cover mine. She didn't say anything, but held my hand as I cried, giving me all of the strength and comfort she could. In that moment, it was all I could have asked from her.

  ****

  March, 1863

  Dear Diary,

  What do I even say?

  The house is even quieter now. I am sitting in the parlor with a carafe of coffee long cold sitting in front of me. I remember the days when I was younger and would hide away in my bedroom to write in you, Diary. I would never have sat out here in the parlor, my pages open to anyone who may pass by to read them. Fearing the boys would catch me writing and read all of the thoughts and dreams I had entrusted to your pages, I would only write in the evening when I was locked securely behind my bedroom door.

  Mama always used to tell me that huddling near the candlelight and using it as the only means of seeing as I wrote would hurt my eyes. I only wish that she would come into the room now so that she could warn me again as the light filtering through the window fades.

  In the last two weeks, the sound of her gasping was so horrible, there were moments that I pled for it to stop, if only for a few moments, so that I could get some rest. Now that the hallways are silent and the rooms empty, I find my heart crying out for that sound, for any sound that would tell me that my mother was still there, right around the corner, just beyond a door.

  In the same breath, I am grateful for the silence. With each moment that passes without the horrible gasps and coughs that echoed from the walls and made my body shudder, I am reminded that she is at peace now and the pain is no longer tormenting her. She is with my father and the rest of her babies, her dear parents and her siblings. I know that she is truly the fortunate one, and that I should not grieve for her, for she is happy, but for myself, for I am without her.

  Betsy

  ****

  The spring breeze brushed across my skin, warming my cheeks as if trying to bring the life back into them. I could feel the glider moving beneath me, but I didn’t know whether I was actually pushing it or if it was just reacting to my weight. I didn’t know how long I had been staring out into the street, but when Valerie came out to sit beside me, pressing a glass of lemonade into my hand, I could feel her intense concern.

  "Are you sure this is what you want, Betsy?" Valerie asked softly.

  "Yes," I said, nodding. "I cannot stay here any longer. It is just too painful to walk through the house alone."

  "Have you thought about opening the boarding house again?"

  Valerie slowly stirred her own glass, seeming to want to have something to do with her hands more than needing to blend the drink. I shook my head.

  "I can't. I'm too young to run it myself. It wouldn't be proper. Besides, I can't bear to think of those boys coming again. It would just be too much of a reminder. I can't even bring myself to open most of the rooms. The dark memories there have far outweighed the good ones and I just want to be away from them all."

  "Where are you going to go?" she asked.

  I began to answer that I didn't kn
ow when I heard a giggle and looked up to see Valerie's brother Laurence coming down the street toward the house, a tiny blond woman in an elaborate pink dress clinging to his arm as she giggled into a small white glove. I felt my heart tighten and I looked away before my eyes could well with tears.

  "Oh, Betsy," Valerie said, resting her hand on my arm, "don't you pay him any mind. I love my brother, but you are far too good for him. You leave him to Missy Jenkins and let them make each other miserable."

  I tried to manage a weak smile, but her words did little to soothe the pain. Laurence was yet another of the brutal casualties of the year before. After so much time watching the young men with their sweethearts and knowing that one day it would happen for me, I finally thought that I had found love in the sweet boy who grew up next door.

  Too soon, though, I realized that he was nothing more than a dream concocted from the images I had drawn for myself and the pain that I was suffering. I nearly let the whimsical illusions take over and guide me away from my sensibilities. I would never forget the words that he said to me that last night that I spoke to him. That last time I had been looking at him through tears that were filled with betrayal and agony. Now the tears that stung in my eyes were from emptiness.

  I knew that Laurence was saying something as he and Missy passed us, but I couldn't register the words. I waited until I heard the door behind me close, indicating that he had brought Missy inside to visit in the parlor with his mother, to turn back to Valerie.

  "What if I found a husband?"

  "What?" Valerie asked, her face registering the same shock that her voice held.

  "What other way would I have to get away from here and find a new life?"

  "You will have plenty of money from your inheritance and the sale of the house."

  "Money is one thing. It will ensure that I can live comfortably wherever I end up and not have to rely on anyone to take care of me. If I was a widow it would be just fine for me to hire a companion and set out to reestablish myself somewhere. As a young, unmarried woman, though, I just don't have that option. You know that most of the wagon trains won't even let a single woman travel on them."

  "The eligible men here…" Valerie began but I stopped her with a shake of my head.

  "I don't want any of the men around here. If I married into one of these families, I would never leave. I would be stuck here, just living some semblance of the life that I was meant to, but will never be able to. No. The man I marry must be from somewhere else. He is transportation and name, nothing else."

  "I cannot believe you are talking like this, Betsy. Do you remember when we were just little girls and we used to dream of our weddings?"

  "Of course, I do."

  "Then you remember how excited we were and all of the wonderful plans that we had. We would talk about all of the beautiful flowers that we would have surrounding us and the gorgeous dresses that our mothers would make for us. We said that we would have all of our favorite hymns and would be each other's bridesmaids."

  "Wearing pink," I said with a soft laugh, reminiscing on the conversations that we had had, held down to conspiratorial whispers as we sat amongst the wild flowers in the grass or played with our dolls in our bedrooms.

  "Yes. We even drew those little pictures of what we wanted our cakes to look like. We had so many wonderful ideas. The most important thing that we thought about, though, was the groom who would be waiting for us at the end of the aisle. We dreamed of our papas walking us down the aisle and giving us over to a handsome man who would love us and care for us. We just knew that he would be kind and sweet, and we would spend our entire lives happy because of those dear men."

  "I do not have a father to walk me down the aisle," I said.

  "I know, but that doesn't mean that you cannot still want the wonderful groom waiting for you down that aisle. What happened to all those dreams, Betsy? How did you stray so far away from everything that you have ever wanted?"

  "Because everything that I have gone through has made me realize that everything that I have ever wanted is unrealistic. I dreamed dreams during my childhood. They were just fantasies, Valerie. They were not what life is really like. As lovely as those dreams were, and as wonderful as it would be if I was able to one day make those dreams into a reality, it simply is not a possibility. It is not how the world works."

  ****

  May 1863

  Dear Diary,

  I have been thinking about my conversation with Valerie since I left her porch two weeks ago. She has been away tending to an ill aunt since just a few days after so I have not had a chance to speak to her since then. When I returned home from our visit I sat in the empty parlor and thought over what she said until the sun had gotten so low that I was no longer able to see clearly and then made my way into my bedroom, where I prepared for bed and then lay under my blankets and thought more.

  I remember those days when were little girls talking about our future weddings and the husbands that we would have. When a friend of ours from our school days married two years ago, it was quite the dividing experience among those in our town. Some of the adults whispered and made those secretive looks to one another that only people their age understand, and I suppose looking back it did seem strange for her to marry so suddenly and quite young, but to us, it was just another opportunity to dream.

  Valerie and I were not close enough friends of hers to be invited into the bridal party, but we attended with our families as guests. To us, that was even more magical. It gave us the opportunity to watch the celebrations and compare them to what we envisioned for ourselves. I think back on it now and cannot help but cringe slightly at how naïve I was. I sat there in my prim dress, judging the color of the bouquets, the bride's waistline and the length of her train, the food that they served at the reception, and the music that they played, thinking of all of the ways that my wedding would be more impressive and more beautiful.

  How could I have ever had a mind that simplistic?

  Now that I have learned about the true ways of the world I feel like that was a different person. Though not what I would have planned for myself at the time, and something that I could not even fathom now, I thought that that day was the peak experience for any woman. That single day was everything. It was the day when she was her most beautiful, her most special. I truly believed that she would go on to live a charmed and enchanted life filled with love, children, and everything as perfect as life could be.

  I soon discovered that no matter how lovely the wedding, it did not guarantee you the life that you desired. That blissful bride went on to be an ignored and neglected wife who more often than not browses alone through the shops in town while the nurse at home cares for her children, two already, the second born just one month ago.

  So, I ask you, Diary, what is the purpose of focusing so heavily on the wedding, and even the groom, when after you are actually in the marriage you are just as alone as you were before you wed? I might even argue that you are actually more alone than you would be had you stayed unwed simply because as a wife you are held to so many more restrictions than if you are not married. You can no longer engage with the young men in town, no matter how long you have known them, or gallivant through town and to the homes of your friends without meaning unless you have your husband with you or are visiting another wife.

  That is not the life that I want, Diary. I watched my mother and father have such a beautiful love, yet he was stolen from her much too soon. What is the point in trying so hard to find the right man if the most likely outcome is that I will have a life of loneliness and misery, whether it comes from being ignored during my husband's life or abandoned at his death? I would rather focus my life on myself, and if I must have a husband I will have one whose life runs alongside mine, but not with.

  I have not decided how I will accomplish it, but that is now my goal. The sooner I am able to find a man to marry, the sooner I will be able to leave this city, and all of the memories that it holds, behin
d.

  Betsy

  ****

  "And you are absolutely sure that this is what you want?"

  "Valerie, you have asked me that several times now. Yes, I am absolutely sure that this is what I want."

  Valerie sighed and reached for the corner of the sheet. She was helping me move through the house replacing all of the linens. Though no one had touched any of the rooms but my own since the final soldiers left and my mother died, I had finally decided that it was time I air out the entire home to prepare it for sale.

  "One of my cousins recently married a man from California," she offered, her tone sounding like she was not thrilled to even be giving that information.

  Despite Valerie's dark tone, I felt a hint of hope.

  "Where did she meet him?" I asked.

  "Through an advertisement in the newspaper."

  "A mail order bride?" I asked.

  Valerie gave me a strange look.

  "You sound quite judgmental for someone who admits that the only reason you want to find a husband at all is so that you can leave this city and travel somewhere else."

  "No," I said, adjusting the pillow in the center of the bed and smoothing down the blanket, "I don't mean to sound judgmental. As I said, I really do not care much about who I marry, so long as I am able to get away and live the life that I want to live. A correspondence relationship is just not something that I had thought about. I will have to look at the advertisements in this week's newspaper. Thank you."

  Valerie nodded, her mouth a tight line across her pretty face. I knew that she was feeling hurt and upset about my plan to leave, but I couldn't think about that. I had to do what was right for me, and right then I decided that when the newspaper came out later that week I would finally take a step forward in finding the right man for my needs.