by Rose Jenster
As she sewed, her thoughts wandered to the lovely family Jane’s sister had brought for a visit, the two little sons and the tiny new daughter. The little baby, especially, made her feel wistful, her arms longing to cradle a warm sweet infant of her own. She shook her head, reminding herself to be grateful for the work of her hands, the strength of her Lord, the care of her family, and not covet what her neighbors had.
Still, when she pushed the needle’s point into the pad of her thumb, she wasn’t sure if the quick tears that came to her eyes weren’t from self-pity more than pain. Tess tried to fight off feelings of being sad and alone, as well as envy.
Chapter 2
BILLINGS, MONTANA TERRITORY, 1885
Luke Cameron climbed down from the roof and put his tools back in the satchel. He untied his horse and rode on to the next repair job, fixing the church steps. Crouching to see if the wood was warping any from the wet spring they were having that year, Luke couldn’t stop himself from remembering the first time he climbed those steps, proud of his new bride on his arm. Pushing away painful memories, he set to work reinforcing the creaky stairs and checking the sturdy railing for any loose nails.
“Good day, Cameron,” Mr. Gibson, the pastor said as he stepped out of the rectory, “I hadn’t expected you to be by to check on that for days.”
“The needs of the Lord come first,” Luke said.
“Not the Lord himself, only the stairs to his house,” Mr. Gibson said, “but I’m obliged to you for taking a look at them. I don’t want the Widow Edwards turning an ankle after services.”
“She does dress like it’s a cotillion back east and not church services on the frontier,” Luke chuckled thinking of that old lady’s harmless love of fancy dress.
“She turns up for church in her true Sunday best, indeed,” the pastor said charitably.
“We should all be so spry at seventy summers,” Luke added.
“She won’t own to a day above fifty, and don’t you let her hear otherwise!” the pastor joked, “I’ll leave you to your work then, Cameron, unless you need counsel?” His voice grew serious.
“I’m only here about the stairs today, sir,” he said, respectfully rebuffing the older man’s offer of a sympathetic ear.
Luke had buried those feelings deeply and had no interest in churning them up again. After work on the steps was done, he stopped by the inn to say hello to his friend, Henry Rogers, the innkeeper. He expected to find the man in his stables at this time of day but instead saw him standing on the broad porch of his prosperous inn airing his baby daughter—a tiny bald creature with dimples, swathed in thick blankets and sporting a lace-trimmed white bonnet on her head. Luke tipped his hat to his friend and made to compliment the fine, healthy baby girl, her round cheeks rosy from the early spring breeze, but found his voice caught in his throat.
Willa had been expecting their first child when the influenza took her that dark winter, and though he passed a dozen children on the street on any given day, the sight of this infant, so fresh and fair, took his breath with grief for a moment. Clearing his throat, Luke remarked on the weather.
“Pearl here likes the sun. The first time we heard her laugh was when she crept over to a sunny patch on the rug by the window…” Henry said as a proud smile broke across his face. “We call her little Pearl, though her birth name is Helen Kathleen. Leah uses that little nickname because of the slim silver circlet with 3 pearls set in the band of the ring I gave her.”
Formerly so quiet, Henry’s new happiness with his growing family had made him easier, more talkative. Luke was glad that his friend was content, and most days he would never have felt envy toward him, but the baby in his arms, the devoted wife inside the house no doubt mending a shirt or cooking a meal, stirred a hint of jealousy in Luke’s heart, which he swiftly quelled.
“Looks like she’s grown since I’ve seen her,” he remarked, “Pretty little thing.”
“Thank you. I know it must be the foolishness of new fatherhood…Leah says so, anyhow, but to my mind she’s the prettiest baby there ever was.” Henry beamed, “How’s the carpentry business?”
“Keeping me busy. I’m heading back to the farm, tend the stock. I’ve been up at the church fixing the steps.”
“Did Mrs. Gibson try to make you stay for tea and set you up with any comely young widows?”
“No. I dodged that danger, thanks. I know the Widow Smith is struggling with her homestead, but she is not for me,”
“She makes sheep’s eyes at you in church, Luke,” Henry teased.
“Be that as it may, it’s wasted on me. I go to church to learn about God’s word, not to exchange glances with a flirt,” he said harshly.
Many was the time that he had looked up from his Bible in services to find that the widowed Mrs. Smith was craning her neck to bat her eyes at him. Once, she had winked at him during a particularly long sermon of Mr. Gibson’s, and Luke had thought her irreverent and forward—what would have been called "fast" when he was a boy.
His own mother would surely box his ears if he ever looked twice at that brash widow. Luke’s mother was a gentle, pious woman, but she had raised him with iron principles—backed up with a swift wooden spoon to the backside if he were disrespectful. The thought of introducing his modest, scrupulous mother to that widow made his mouth quirk up at the corners with amusement.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking how it would be to introduce my mother to the Widow Smith.”
“That would be a slaughter. The widow would not stand a chance. She’d leave with a new understanding of morals and a penitent heart. Or a sore backside.”
“You grew up out east, city boy. What would you know about the wooden spoon?” Luke said.
“She’s a legend. People do talk, you know. And I know better than to put a foot wrong in her presence,” Henry said, tucking the blanket more securely around Pearl, “Give your parents my regards at dinner.”
“Talk does get around at that stable of yours, Henry. I do go to dinner at my sister’s house on Fridays, but I’ve not advertised the fact,”
“Just think, if I can figure out your comings and goings with very little effort how informed the Widow Smith might be!” Henry said with a laugh, and Luke shook his head.
His sister Aileen’s house was bustling with activity. Sounds of laughter and squealing children greeted Luke’s ears as he walked in the backdoor without knocking. His mother and sister were at work in the kitchen and he greeted them before joining his brother-in-law Charles in the front room with his nephews. The boys were crawling on the furniture and hiding beneath it, laughing and cowering as their father, on all fours, pretended to be a bear chasing them.
“Save us, Uncle Luke!” squealed five-year-old James while his brother Carl hid behind his legs.
“I would help you, boy, but you don’t ask a wolf for help!” He dropped to his knees and growled fiercely, to the boys’ delight.
They romped around the front room until Carl bumped the table and the lamp wobbled. Charles caught the lamp but disbanded the game due to possible furniture damage.
“Aileen will have my hide if I let them break anything,” he confided cheerfully, settling the boys to draw on a slate they shared. “I heard you were up at the church earlier,”
“Yes, I was working on the steps. I’m curious as to how word travels so fast in Billings,” he mused.
“Nothing much else to talk about here, brother,” Charles said kindly, “How’s your stock?”
“Hens are laying good. I sold some extra eggs at the mercantile. My cow Mary’s been poorly since she had her calf, but I’ve given her some mash with her feed to build her back up,” Luke said.
“Is she giving milk?”
“Only enough for the calf so far,”
“Hmmm,” Charles said considering the remark.
“I’m going to head out for some fresh air,” Luke said, going to the porch.
Settling on the step, he took o
ut his knife and a stick of wood and set to work whittling. Lost in the rhythm of his work, he whistled an old Irish air his mother used to sing as he sliced smoothly through the wood. Soon he had carved a cunning little figure of a man that he presented to James and Carl to play with. They were overjoyed and exclaimed over their uncle’s cleverness as they argued over a name for the toy.
At dinner, he felt the queer catch in his chest again, the same as he’d felt when he came upon Henry with his infant daughter earlier that day. This time, it was when Charles covered Aileen’s hand with his own at dinner and they exchanged a look that spoke of closeness and contentment, a deep connection he could only guess at. The longing had come upon him, the secret wish for a family. His mother bustled around with the children, fussing when they didn’t eat properly.
Luke was glad she lived with Aileen’s family since his father had passed away. He didn’t like to think how lonely she would have been otherwise. As lonely as he was, Luke imagined. He excused himself early and went to check his livestock.
The homestead was a short ride from town. He’d laid claim to it with a view to farming like his father before him but found he had a knack with animals. His flock of sheep was burgeoning, his wool fetching good prices at market. He kept a horse for riding, some chickens and a cow for eggs and milk, respectively. When spring was in full force, he’d lay in a big garden. Squash, potatoes, beans, peppers, and onions enough to put by for winter, and he’d a mind to add some strawberries to go with his rhubarb this year.
Luke took pride in his self-sufficiency, getting his land to provide all he needed and more. He tried not to think of a wife making preserves and jam, a little child toddling along the vines of his garden peering at the bean plants or patting a growing pumpkin curiously with a fat little hand like Carl’s.
Luke tended to his stock and went inside to mend Wilford’s gun. The man owned a dry goods store, but his skill lay in business, not at working with his hands even to clean and repair his own gun. Luke had skilled, strong hands and often offered to mend things for his neighbors. It calmed his restless energy, occupied his mind, and kept him from being lonely.
Willa had moved to Montana Territory to keep house for her brother after their parents died. He had met her at a church social and soon courted her, smitten with her pretty blue eyes, her lively giggles. The influenza had taken her before they were married a year. Her face had been gray and sweaty, tangled hair fanned out across the pillow as she begged him for water that she could not drink—that was the memory of Willa that haunted him.
It was not their wedding day, the daffodils in her hand and her sunny smile, not the way she had persuaded him to stuff cloves into oranges at Christmas that year to give as gifts…but the horror of her miserable death, the loss of their baby and the whole life they had planned. The same illness had taken his father’s life, the same week in fact, and Luke had wondered how he would carry on.
Little by little, he had taken to fixing things, repairing people’s roofs and fences, adding a lean-to on a house for a busy farmer or fixing the steps, doing extra jobs to fill the hours even though he didn’t need the money. His carpentry work prospered, his flock of sheep prospered, but his own life, his own heart seemed to shrink and wither. A man needed a wife, he thought sternly, to give him comfort and a family and keep his mind from tending toward despair
He thought of the Widow Smith who had set her cap for him, with her lace and ribbons on her mourning gown, flirting after her husband was only eight weeks in the ground. Then he considered the other single women in Billings—most were too young, girls in their teens, barely out of short dresses and braids. The rest were saloon girls, with painted faces and knowing smiles, cynical and flattering.
There were simply not enough women out West, he thought, recalling that his father had moved out here with a wife in tow and raised his family. Most of the married men he knew that had moved to Montana Territory and brought their wives.
His sister Aileen had chosen Charles from a sea of eager suitors. When they went through school, there were only two girls besides his sister, both of whom had married early. Sighing, he thought of his friend Henry Rogers who had found his wife Leah through a matrimonial advertisement. It was the practical solution, to advertise for a woman when women were scarce out West, but it seemed so impersonal to Luke. He hesitated but kept coming back to the idea.
Before going to bed, he wrote and marked out several sentences about what he was looking for in a wife. Crumpling the paper in frustration, he decided to sleep on it and work up the nerve to ask Henry’s advice in the morning.
Chapter 3
ALBANY, NEW YORK, 1885
Tess handed Jane the small seed cake she’d brought to tea and settled herself diffidently beside May at the table. The two small boys sat on the floor and looked at a picture Bible that had been their Aunt Jane’s as a child, cooing over the bright drawings of Noah’s ark while little Walter crawled around pulling on their shoes and trying to get their attention. Seated in the warm kitchen with the noise of happy children underfoot, Tess couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so content. This was the sort of life she yearned for.
“So my sister says you’re a seamstress,” May began, “did you make that pretty frock she wore yesterday?”
“I assembled it. My employer Mrs. Winthrop chose the fabric and the design,” she said carefully.
“You did all the work and she received all the credit of it, then. Sounds typical. I worked in a shop once myself and would still be there if my naughty sister hadn’t answered an ad for a bride in my name!” May chuckled.
Shocked, Tess didn’t know what to reply.
“Oh, she did indeed. I wanted to skin her alive when I got that letter. It’s a good thing I didn’t because my James is all the world to me now, but she was a cheeky thing who ought to have minded her own business!”
“If I had, you would still be moping around that hat shop making sheep’s eyes at every delivery boy who said ‘good day’ to you!” Jane countered mischievously.
“An advertisement?” Tess managed.
“Now you’ve gone and scandalized my little friend here,” Jane accused May playfully.
“Yes, Tessie, there’s a matrimonial newspaper full of listings. Men who want wives, out West. Have you never heard of it?”
“My goodness, no,” Tess said, her cheeks flushing at the thought.
Some clandestine part of her wished she could look at such a newspaper in secret, find the key to her future. She lowered her eyes, thinking of how desperate that seemed, how shameful, to go looking for a stranger to solve her loneliness and give her purpose. She felt sure that Jane and May could see her hidden longing written plainly on her face as she looked up.
“I bought the latest edition to celebrate your visit,” Jane told May.
“Did you think I was looking for another husband? I quite like the first one you found for me, thank you very much,” May said playfully.
“I had such a fun time looking at ads with Leah, and you know how that turned out. I just couldn’t resist getting a copy to look at. I thought since you’ve been out West you could tell me what those ads really mean. Like, does ‘spry widowed farmer’ mean toothless old goat?” Jane said.
“Oh, I suppose we could give it a look. Boys, you shoo on outside and play,” May said, looking conspiratorially at Jane, “We could look for a husband for this girl here. What do you say, Tess?”
“I—I—“ Tess stammered, horrified.
“She’s only teasing,” Jane assured her, “Us married women like to have a laugh when we’re away from the menfolk. You’re just not used to the way we talk. May’s not going to play matchmaker for real. She’s just playing at it.”
“Unlike you, who answered an advertisement in my name, which was not done in good fun.”
“No, it was done in the spirit of getting rid of my moping older sister who wanted a husband of her own!” Jane said boisterously, and the two sisters expl
oded with hearty laughter.
Tess sat back, cheeks blazing, wondering if this sort of saucy banter was common among sisters. She and Rebecca had certainly never been irreverent with one another or enjoyed such seeming closeness. She was appalled and strangely envious at the same time. If she had that sort of friendship with her sister, maybe she would not feel so alone, at home only with her books or her needle and thread.
Jane spread out a newspaper before them.
“See, here we are. May, you take Idaho. I’ll have Wyoming territory—“
“I hear bad things about the way them coal miners live up there, Jane,” May said seriously, “It’s been in the papers. I wouldn’t even send anyone there in a pretend matchmaking game. You can have Wyoming territory, sister,”
“Then Tess can have Montana. Montana’s lucky, you know. Walter’s sister Leah found an advertisement for a man in Billings, and they’re happy as lovebirds. Just had a little baby girl last winter, too.”
“I know,” Tess said.
Tess had written to Leah to congratulate her on her marriage and the new bride had written back full of joy on her union, but she’d never known it was all thanks to an advertisement like the ones laid out before her. Leah was her friend, quiet and bookish as well, and Tess missed her sorely at times. It was the reason she sat with Jane at Bible study now—Leah, her old friend, had gone away to marry. If Leah had found a man who suited her, sweet, clever, plain Leah—then might she herself not find a husband? She scanned the Montana page, eyes darting across advertisements, taking in the age and occupation of the prospective groom, the startlingly specific requirements listed.
Good upstanding farmer seeks young wife, healthy and strong, good with chickens, to be a helpmeet and cook tasty wholesome food three times a day.
Tess had nothing against chickens, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to meet the man’s dining requirements—she was a dab hand with stew or soup, but her menu ran to the plain and simple with an emphasis on economizing.
