by Debra Samms
But her mother sat gazing out of the window. "I don't see him anywhere," she said. "And I don't hear him, either."
"Where is his father?"
"Cornelius went down to the henhouse to feed them and heat some water. He's not anywhere close to the barn."
Frowning, Molly took her heavy woolen shawl down from the peg near the door, wrapped the shawl close around her, and walked outside.
It was strange that she didn't hear any other shouts from Ted. He must be lost in his work, which often happened. Heading towards the barn through the knee-high drifts, she looked closely at the aisle through its open doors. All she could see was a little cloud of snow hanging in the air at the entrance, apparently stirred up the wind.
Wait – no – it was not the wind kicking up the cloud of snow. It was actually quite still out here and the light snow from the clouds fell straight down to cover the white drifts.
Molly hurried as much as she could towards the barn door. "Ted," she called, trying to keep her voice steady. "Ted. Ted!"
Then she saw it. The snow hung in the air because something had fallen into the drifts just below it. Something large, and heavy. It was Ted's pulley apparatus, ripped right out of the ceiling and lying where it had fallen on his chest.
Molly ran to her husband, crouching down beside him, and screamed and screamed his name. But Ted's eyes were lifeless behind the gold-rimmed spectacles.
He was gone.
***
Just two days later, on a cold and windy grey day, Molly stood with her mother and with Ted's father, Cornelius, at the cemetery near the churchyard in Chillicothe. Several of the townsfolk were there, too, along with some of the neighboring farmers, for everyone had heard about the sudden accidental death of Ted Bergstrom. They had come to pay their respects and offer what help they could to the family.
But they did not stand beside a grave. Here in Ohio, in the middle of winter, the ground was frozen solid and there was no possibility of a burial for anyone.
Instead, the family and friends and townsfolk had gathered outside a marble receiving vault near the back of the cemetery grounds. Ted's body would wait inside the vault until spring, where the same cold that kept it from resting in the earth now would preserve it until a grave could be properly prepared.
Molly could only stand and watch as the pallbearers carried the plain wooden coffin inside the vault. In a moment the six men walked outside again and the undertaker shut the heavy door. Even as it clanged shut, she turned away and walked towards the line of waiting horses and buckboards and carriages. Her mother and Cornelius followed her, as did the rest of the mourners.
No one said a word.
***
A short time later, Molly, her mother, her father-in-law, and two of the neighboring farmers and their wives sat in the kitchen of the home that she had shared with Ted. They sat quietly together over cups of hot coffee that Louisa had made. On the table was a plate loaded with generous of slices of sweet, rich tea cake that Amanda, one of the farmers' wives, had brought.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," said Amanda quietly. "He was a good man, wasn't he?"
"Yes. Very good," said Molly. "We'd only been married for two years. We hoped to have children." She blinked, and gazed out of the window where she could see the barn up on the small hill. "Of course, there won't be any children now."
It was strange how very calm she felt . . . as though she felt nothing at all. She had wept for so long after the shock of finding her husband dead that perhaps she would never have tears again for anything else in life.
"What will you do now, Molly?" asked Sarah, another of the wives. "Will you stay here on this farm, with your mother and Mr. Bergstrom?"
"It is a very fine farm," said Frederick, Sarah's husband. "Those of us who've been taking a turn at the milking can see that."
"Indeed," said Paul, Amanda's husband. "Perhaps you could hire a man to work for you and continue to operate it."
Slowly, she turned to look at Paul. "I could not think of doing that. This was Ted's farm. No one could take his place here."
"Of course," said Paul. "Well, then, maybe you would rather sell it. Or at least, sell the cows. You would have no trouble doing that."
Molly just nodded, trying to think. "I could do that. Sell the cows. And the calves. And some of the land . . . maybe just keep the house. I don't know."
She looked at Amanda, sitting beside Paul. "Ted hoped to move to Oregon someday. He wanted to buy a larger piece of land and operate a thirty-cow dairy and raise all of our own hay and grain for them."
Frederick nodded. "I've heard about Oregon. They say it's a good place for homesteading. A man can get a lot of land and strike it rich out there, far easier than here."
"If he can get there," said Sarah, shivering a bit. "It's such a dangerous journey. And a dangerous place. I'm content to stay right here, where it's safe." She smiled at her husband and placed her hand on his arm.
"Not always so safe," Molly whispered, and looked out of the window again at the distant barn.
CHAPTER TWO
A silence fell over the little gathering in the farmhouse kitchen. The only sound was the low crackling of the fire in the hearth. No one knew what to say as Molly simply sat and stared out of the window at the place where her husband had died so suddenly.
"I'm sorry, Molly," said Sarah. "I spoke before I thought. I didn’t mean to – " She fell silent again.
Louisa patted her daughter's arm, and smiled at Sarah. "That's all right. There are many decisions that remain. I don't think anything has been decided for certain yet."
"It's only been two days," said Cornelius. Molly turned to look at him. He had barely spoken at all since his son's sudden and horrifying death. "Louisa is right. Nothing has been decided yet."
"Yes, it has." Molly sat up straight and for an instant wondered who had spoken – and then she realized it was her. "Yes, it has," she said again. "I have decided."
The shock and confusion of the last two days seemed to have lifted. Perhaps it was from the sight and sound of Ted's body being closed up in that receiving vault, or the simple truths she was hearing now from her friends and neighbors. But whatever the reason, Molly knew what she wanted to do.
She stood up and paced slowly around the room, stopping near the hearthfire. "My husband is dead," she said quietly. "I have been nothing else in life besides a schoolteacher and a farm wife. But I cannot work this dairy alone, not even with the help of my mother and my father-in-law. And I do not want to hire another man to work here and do the same tasks that Ted was doing. I – I could not do that."
Molly continued her slow pacing, this time pausing near the window and looking outside at the snowy hill and barn. "Ted dreamed of going out west. Of going to Oregon. It was a dream that both of us shared. He will never go, but I still could. I could go for both of us."
***
Four weeks went by, and they were weeks of great change for Molly and her mother and her father-in-law. She sold the farm very quickly, and very profitably. There were a couple of men from nearby Columbus, Ohio who bid against each other for it, and she was able to put away the tidy sum of $4500.
The three of them moved into Mrs. Parker's boarding house in the town of Chillicothe, with each one taking a separate room. Right away Molly began working alongside Mrs. Parker in the house, both to keep busy and to earn part of their board. Louisa also worked a few mornings a week. Cornelius, though, could most often be found relaxing on the sunny front porch of the boarding house, talking with the other men and sometimes playing checkers or doing a little woodcarving.
It was a calm and peaceful life. As much as she had loved the farm, Molly now found it a relief to be away from the place and its memories of her life with Ted – and of his death.
But she knew that she could not remain here at Mrs. Parker's house forever.
One cold evening after supper, Molly and her mother sat in an assortment of rocking chairs near the warm fireplace
in the boarding house parlor. Louisa poured tea and so did two of her friends that she knew from church – Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Andrews.
"Well, Molly," Mrs. Lincoln began, "it has been a month now since you lost your husband. I am glad to see that you are doing well."
Molly smiled briefly and picked up her tea. The cup was warm in her hands and she held it near her face. "Thank you, Mrs. Lincoln," she said. "I thought I would miss the farm – and I do – but I think it has been easier for me to be away from all of the memories it holds. I'm not sure, but I think it would have been much more difficult for me to ever let go if I had stayed there."
"Understandable," said Mrs. Andrews. "Well, there's no going back now. I have heard that you've sold it."
"Yes. I did. To a man from Columbus. He and a partner want to expand the dairy, so it will still be a working farm." Molly tried to smile. "I think Ted would be pleased about that."
Her mother nodded. "I'm sure he would. He worked very hard to make it the fine place that it was. And now that will continue with its new owners."
"You did the right thing," said Mrs. Andrews. "You are still a young woman. Before long, your own life will have to go on."
Molly nodded. "Yes. I know. And it will. I am still looking into getting to Oregon. I taught school before I was married, and I'm sure they will be in need of teachers as their population increases."
The three older women all looked at one another. "That would be a very long and difficult journey," said Mrs. Lincoln.
"Yes. It is a long journey. But my mother and my late husband's father have also expressed an interest in going to Oregon. The three of us could buy a small homestead out there. We could raise chickens and vegetables together, and I could teach school. I have enough from the sale of the dairy for the three of us to travel there and buy a place, especially with land prices being what they are in the far northwest. "
"That is a fine idea, but surely you can find a husband here in Ohio. Chillicothe is a very small town, but perhaps Columbus?" asked Mrs. Andrews.
"Oh – well – I'm not sure you understand," Molly said, setting down her teacup on a small table. "I mean to go to Oregon simply to start again. Not to get married."
Louisa set down her own cup of tea, and then folded her hands. "Molly," she said to her daughter, "one reason why I asked you here – along with these two ladies – was because there is something I must tell you."
Molly looked up at her. "What is it?"
Louisa sighed, and looked down, and then back at Molly again. "I cannot go with you to Oregon. And neither can Cornelius."
A sinking feeling ran through Molly. "Mother – you mean – you no longer want to go?"
"I'm afraid it's not so much a matter of wanting to go, dearest. Twenty years ago, perhaps – but now."
Molly could only sit and stare at her. "Not now," she repeated. "And – Cornelius – "
"He is well past the age of such a trip," Louisa said gently. "He is nearly seventy and content to live out his life here, where he can enjoy a quiet life and occasionally visit the grave of his only son."
"But surely I cannot go to Oregon alone!" Molly began to feel something like panic rising up within her. "I couldn't live out there on a homestead with no one else. I will have no choice but to stay here – working in this house as I am now – "
But her mother only shook her head. "Molly, dearest girl, you are meant for much more than just polishing silver and peeling potatoes."
"Even if I am, Mother, what can I do? I must live somehow. I do so now by working here at this house for Mrs. Parker, since the town already has enough schoolteachers. The money from the sale of the farm will not last forever." Molly covered her face with her hands, determined not to let the other women see her cry.
"Please," her mother said. "Please – look up at me."
Molly drew a deep breath, wiped a tear from one eye, and did as her mother asked. She held her head up and looked at all three women – and then frowned when she saw that they were all sitting very straight and watching her very closely. "What is it?" she finally asked.
"You are meant for far more than this," Louisa said again. "We think – " She paused, and then plunged ahead. "We think you should consider marrying again."
"Consider – what?" Molly sat back in her chair. "You think I should – marry again?"
The three older women all looked at each other. "Yes. We do. And the sooner, the better."
Molly could scarcely believe what she was hearing. "My husband has hardly been dead for a month," she whispered. "He has not even had a decent burial yet because he had the great misfortune to die in the middle of the winter. His body still lies in that awful vault. I will have to suffer through yet another funeral for him in the spring, when he finally does go to a proper grave."
She stood up. "And you – all of you – want me to marry again? 'The sooner, the better,' you said? I cannot comprehend what I am hearing! And I won't do it. The last thing I want to think of is marrying again. The last thing!"
CHAPTER THREE
Molly stood beside the hearth fire in the candlelit darkness of the parlor. Her breath caught in her throat as she fought back her tears and stood staring intently into the fire, pulling at the edges of the apron she wore.
"We understand your loyalty to your late husband," said Mrs. Lincoln. "We all agree that he was a very fine man and you were a good wife to him."
"But he is gone now," stated Mrs. Andrews, and took a sip of her tea. "You must think of your own future. We are glad to see that you have indeed begun to do so. Yet as a young woman, that future must certainly include marriage and children."
Molly tried to keep calm. She reached for her own cup of tea and took a long sip of it. "I am sorry," she said, "but I simply do not understand how you can all be so cold regarding love and marriage. I thought one should wait at least a decent interval – a year or more – before even thinking of marrying again. Shouldn't one?"
Louisa smiled. "You are right, Molly. But eligible men are few out here, in a small farming town."
"Oh, it's all right, Mother. I know what you truly mean. I am twenty-four years old and a widow. The few men looking for a wife out here will look first to girls who are both young and never married." She set her jaw, and looked away. "I am not ashamed of being a widow."
"Nor should you be," said Mrs. Lincoln, in a firm voice. "But you are correct that being a widow presents its own difficulties in a situation like this one."
"And we do not believe you should shy away those difficulties," said Mrs. Andrews. "Best to face them head on."
"All right," said Molly, folding her hands in her lap and taking a deep breath. "Just what is it that you three ladies believe I should do?"
The three older women all looked at each other, and then Louisa got up and walked to a small bookshelf near the doorway to the parlor. She came back and handed Molly what looked like a folded newspaper.
"What's this?"
None of them would answer. Molly opened up the paper into something like a booklet and read the title across the front. "Matrimonial Times," she murmured. Then she looked up at her mother. "Matrimonial Times! Is this the newspaper where men advertise for brides? Mail-order brides?"
Louisa sighed. "It is a publication to which gentlemen send letters describing themselves and explaining their desire to find a wife, in hopes that a suitable lady will correspond."
"That's correct, Molly," said Mrs. Andrews. "It is perfectly respectable. I have two nieces who answered letters there last summer, and they both received proposals very quickly. They are preparing to go to the gold country of the Dakota Territory as soon as the snow melts."
Molly just stared at all three of them. "The Dakota Territory," she said. "I don't want to go to the Dakota Territory. I want to go to Oregon. And I want to go without getting married! To anyone!" She tossed the paper down onto the table in front of them.
"Molly Howard Bergstrom!" her mother said, finally becoming exasperated.
"Sit down. We are not finished speaking to you yet."
Still torn between anger and despair, Molly slowly sat down. "All right. I'll listen. But I will not marry a strange man that I found in the pages of a newspaper!"
The other three women ignored her protests. "That's better," said Mrs. Lincoln. "We want you to understand that we are sorry for your loss. We know your situation is a precarious one. But that is why we are trying to help you."
"That is correct," said Mrs. Andrews, nodding. Then she smiled, as though trying to soften her words a little. "Life must go on, Molly," she continued. "You are, as you said, twenty-four years of age. You have no children and you cannot wait forever to have them."
"Molly, my dearest," her mother said, "There is no shame in continuing to live your own life now that your husband is gone. I know it is difficult – but surely Ted would not want you to be buried, too. He would want you to go on living."
"Indeed," said Mrs. Lincoln, nodding. "And to be perfectly frank – isn't that what Ted would have done, if he had lost you?"
Molly looked down, and closed her eyes. "I suppose you are right," she said.
"Of course we are," said Mrs. Andrews. "There is nothing dishonorable in the remarriage of a young widow. Far from it."
Her mother reached over and patted Molly's hand. "That is why we brought you the Matrimonial Times, dear. It will be an excellent way for you to see what – opportunities await you."
Molly closed her eyes again, but knew it was a losing battle. "All right," she said. "I will look at it. Though I still feel it is making a mockery of marriage to search through the advertisements for a man, in the same way I might look for a few yards of dress goods. Marriage should be for couples who truly love one another and want to raise a family, as it was with Ted and me!"
But Louisa only looked down at her lap and would not meet her daughter'sgaze.
"What is it?" Molly asked. "What – "
