2
Early the next morning, Ava awoke and prepared herself for another long day. That was one thing she envied, her schedule. She only really worked when someone passed away. A baker, a butcher or any other profession worked every single day. She only worked when the need arose. But when it did, it was tough, soul-wrenching work. She cried, vomited, became sick and felt cold on the inside. Being an undertaker had changed her and made her envious of how Peter always had a quick smile. Maybe growing up around it had made him immune to death. For her, it physically ached. The pungent smell of embalming fluid? Stitching? The tears and mourning? It all made her feel cold inside. She missed laughter, peace and warmth.
Checking herself in the small mirror, she quickly ran down the stairs and grabbed an apple for her breakfast. Being alone, there was no sense in cooking anything whatsoever. It was easier and less of a mess to clean by avoiding the kitchen that was built at the back of the house. She only really cooked anymore if she was preparing to feed a large grouping at a church picnic.
Rushing out, she quickly walked in the early morning light down North Main Street towards the general store to post the notice. The air was cool and brisk, yet refreshing. She picked up an out-of-town newspaper as well, even if it was a couple of days old, and several sticks of rock candy. This would be her bribe for the children to be her town criers for the day. The paper was for her to read later this evening when she was alone. The kids would run the streets, eating their candy treats and yelling that John Miller had passed away.
Ava planned on stopping at City Hall as well to post the announcement of John Miller’s passing. There wasn’t a newspaper in town, so instead she opted for the boards in the two most frequented locales. Tacking the notification up, she continued towards the bakery. Stopping inside, the warm smell of yeast made her stomach growl. She picked up a basket of muffins, looping it over her arm. She had discovered, over time, that having some sort of food at the viewing seemed to put people at ease.
Down the street was Otis Whittaker again. He’d been a blueberry farmer and his son died in a battle during the war. Now, he was seemingly lost. He drank more than he should and always ended up in the jail to sleep it off. Sheriff Melton must have had a soft spot for him, because she always fed him before she sent him home the next morning. Ava didn’t understand it, other than taking care of another lost soul. Another war victim. Not every wound was visible. She was learning that quickly as time passed.
Leaving City Hall, she crossed South Main Street noticing that it was becoming alive with people. Several children came running up to her, tugging at her skirts. There was only one real reason she was out and about so early in the morning. It was posting a funeral announcement.
“Good morning! Who’s my announcer today?” she asked softly, holding back a grin as they began chiming and dancing around her. Several arms flew up and bobbed around her like buoys in choppy water. “Enough, enough. Calm down please and mind your manners. This is a soldier we will be announcing and it should be respectful, should it not?”
Ava let a smile slip as she saw five arms fling their hands up in rough salute. “Much better and highly appropriate. You have my thanks,” she said softly to the group of rambunctious children, “and all of you may be my criers today. Remember, we want respectful in our calling today. Please, repeat after me. Mr. John Miller of the 24th Battalion has passed, funeral today at noon. Now, let me hear you say it.”
She listened, inordinately pleased as they said it carefully. Even the youngest stumbled over the word “battalion”, but still got it correct. He looked to be no more than five or six years old but he knew that doing what she asked would bring him a reward. Their eyes lit up as she pulled forward several sticks of candy that glistened in the rising sun.
“One more time, if you please?” Nodding as they repeated again, she handed each one a treat, causing them to run off yelling at the top of their lungs. She kept hearing high-pitched voices in the distance yelling of today’s funeral. Putting her shoulders back, she continued along her path to the funeral home that loomed ahead. It was a beautiful building, just not a beautiful moment for her. She despised death and the heartbreak that would surround her today.
Early in the evening, Ava was sincerely glad to see the carriage pulling forward that would take John Miller’s body off to his gravesite. The family had left not long ago and, immediately, she had begun wrapping him in the remainder of his shroud. His medals were removed from his jacket as well as the flag that had covered half his body. These were carefully placed in the basket from earlier in the day to be carried to the new widow.
Waving the workers to the side of the house, she hated to have them haul out a body visible to the street. You never knew if family was still hanging around and it would do no good to see the body moved or tossed about. Ava had to be extremely careful since the funeral home was next to the barbershop where Melissa had taken over. When there was no coffin, Ava had found herself completely aghast at the first time the shrouded body was tossed over the porters’ shoulders. It seemed so disrespectful!
She had protested, but the men had countered that they would shortly be putting him in the dirt and probably would mind it less being carted like a sack of flour. While true, it still made her ill and she had to sit down lest she faint from the reality of what this world had become. The funerals before the war came with grand salutations, flowers, pennants and ceremony. This felt almost callous, and it was accepted and expected. The family said their goodbyes and left in better spirits. They had thanked her for the noble job she had done in making him look regal once again. It seemed “off” and “wrong”… but nowadays, what didn’t?
Watching a man hop down from the wagon, she stood back as he went in single-handedly to lift the body and carry him out. Placing John Miller down, the worker tipped his hat and climbed back up onto the seat in order to drive away. That was it. This was how life ended, with a slung body and the tip of a hat. Ava sat down hard on a chair that held open the door for him moments ago. She felt defeated and lost, wanting comfort and there was none. She sat there for quite a while until the sun began to lower in the sky causing great streaks of orange on the horizon.
Locking up the funeral home, she once again entered the darkening house heading straight upstairs to lie down. Is this what my life has become? she wondered sadly, feeling bereft as she lay in her bed staring at the moonlight. Hot tears burned on her face, not at the absence of Peter… but at the loss of herself, or so it seemed.
3
Ava awoke lazily the next morning with the sun high in the sky. Stretching, she was glad that she would be able to rest and recuperate. Standing next to the table, washing and prepping took a lot out of her and she had been exhausted yesterday. Physically and mentally. She had been so proud of herself by only becoming sick one time.
Today, she would spend a bit of time for herself unless duty called upon her again. Getting up slowly, she realized that she had not even bothered to undress herself she had been so distraught. It bothered her so much to say goodbye to a soldier because she pictured her own husband. The problem was, she had no idea if he was gone or not. She had grown desperate about a year ago, sending off several letters but receiving none back. She had mailed his commanding officer, the government, several larger cities between here and Virginia simply asking if they had seen a tall, blond Confederate soldier with a German accent by the name of Peter Buchannan. Someone, somewhere, had to know of him or have seen him at some point. She poured over newspapers that had massive lists of casualties from battles out east, never once seeing his name. Ava still checked obituaries and newspapers looking for word, even though the war had been over for quite some time.
This morning was no different. Sitting alone, the faintest sounds of her delicately sipping her hot tea and the stir of the paper in the breeze were the only disruptions inside the house. Outside, you could hear the wagons down the street, chickens and dogs off in the distance. Ava scanned the paper, s
earching and looking once again. Ironically, it wasn’t Peter’s name that caught her eye but an ad.
The paper was well worn and it was obvious it had been folded and refolded. Apparently, a successful ad had been sent out in the east resulting in placing men that had no homes left to go back to, with new opportunities. The large ad in the paper stated:
Ladies of Maypearl, TX seek good men looking for fresh start to send a letter of introduction for prospect of marriage. Desire respectable men of strong moral character who will care, remain true to their brides and work to restore Maypearl’s community.
It seemed absurd, but she could send off a letter and see if Peter had requested a fresh start or a way to get home. On the other hand, maybe she could see if someone could help her in the meantime. She wasn’t truly looking for a husband. She had one!
Ava remembered the meeting months ago. It had struck a nerve in her to see such proud, vibrant women being reduced to populating the town in order to remarry. However, here she was herself desperate for help. She could not physically perform the job Peter left her with. She had managed to make do over the years, but now her body was warning her that she was reaching the ends of her limits. A month ago, she had wrenched a muscle in her side that had ached for several days trying to lift a man twice her size in order to prepare him.
Now, she understood and agreed with the ad. Resisting at first, she had shied away from the idea of a mail-order groom. But she was looking for a friend and companion, that much was true. Ava could be very picky and request medical background or funeral experience… or simply brute strength and a strong stomach, so she didn’t have to make herself sick over the gruesome corpses. Crying women, she could handle. It was the vomiting, the smells, and the putrid sights that were bringing her down.
For the first time, she had a bit of hope bubbling in the pit of her stomach. She would most assuredly write to see if Peter had contacted them regarding the newspaper ad. If not, the idea of having help tempted her like no other! Grabbing a sheet of paper from the small desk, she began her search yet again.
Maypearl, Texas
March 1868
To whom it may concern,
I am searching for Peter Buchannan and I am unsure if he has contacted you. Last word I have had from him was he was in Virginia during the war. If he has reached out, please let me know so I may contact him. If he has not… I know not where else to turn.
Please, please respond to my letter and send word regardless.
Sincerely,
Ava Buchannan
Staring at the letter, her cheeks burned in humiliation. She hated to beg for a response, however, she hadn’t received any yet from her previous letters searching for Peter. How exactly do you give hope to someone looking to start anew, only to take it away? Wouldn’t she be doing that if she began corresponding with or accepted another man? What if her husband showed up and a letter from another man arrived? How horrifying would that be? Her duty was to her husband.
Putting the letter on the counter, she went back to reading the paper determined not to rush into anything. Think on it for a week, she thought, or go talk to Trudy. The paper is almost a week old. It would not hurt to wait to mail a letter. Trudy and her husband, the preacher, had performed their ceremony when they were married. Perhaps she could take the paper and just ask for advice, not necessarily a new husband.
Folding the newspaper, she gathered up a variety of items to donate to some of the needy families. A few items she had picked up here or there, or had received in exchange for helping a family. She currently received more eggs daily than one person could possibly eat, but there was nothing wrong with spreading the abundance of food. Glancing over her shoulder, she reached down and put the letter in the basket as well. If she was going to ask for advice, she would not mince about.
Walking through town, the idea of searching for her husband or a new husband burned in her mind. She was glad that the bonnet she had put on covered her face, simply because she couldn’t imagine being any more embarrassed or her cheeks getting any redder than they already were. How in the world did you ask about a mail-order groom when you were already married? Even if you hadn’t seen him in seven years! Did that matter? She wanted help with the business, but she also wanted companionship and maybe a family in the future. Was that so wrong?
Seeing Trudy in the soon-to-be garden sowing seeds, she raised her hand in welcome. “Mrs. Trudy! Do you have a moment to talk?” Ava called out openly with a smile. She adored Trudy. Her dark brown eyes and dark hair reminded her of her own. Very timid and soft spoken, she was everything you could ask for in a friend. Gertrude seemed so stuffy, the woman was sweet as could be and the name Trudy fit her so much better. She never judged and was wise beyond her years. She reminded Ava of her own mother who had passed away some time ago.
Giving a shiver, she thought, horrified, how it would have been to have to prepare her own mother for burial. This brought tears to her eyes and she knew that she was just as broken as the sign for the town at this point. It had fallen several months ago from the small marker post. The death day in and day out, combined with the loneliness was simply too much to bear. She felt like she was ready to burst with sadness. The feeling of depression was becoming greater than the sense of embarrassment in asking for advice.
“Of course. The preacher is just inside.” Trudy invited her inside with a warm hug.
“Thank you,” she said politely, looking away from the dark eyes that seemed to see everything.
“Is everything all right?”
“Oh, yes,” Ava said quickly. “I could just use someone to talk to.”
“You know we are always here for you.”
“I know, and I have never abused that fact,” Ava replied warmly with a smile, following the older lady inside the house.
“Which is why you are welcomed at any time.”
As her eyes got used to the dim interior, she saw Preacher Smith reading his bible at the table. “Mrs. Buchannan! What a surprise!” he cried, looking up from the pages. “What may we be of help with?”
Ava had to fight the immediate need to run at hearing her name. Mrs. Buchannan. She was married for better or for worse. Duty! Remember? echoed in her head. She should be ashamed at even considering taking on help or questioning whether or not she was still married if Peter was missing. She felt like such a horrible wife even having the doubts! Feeling mortified, she steadied herself as she realized her mistake by even coming by to discuss it. The letter she had in her basket and the newspaper felt like hot coals nearby causing her to want to shy away from them.
“Nothing. I thought I needed to talk but maybe I just needed to get out of the house instead. It’s nothing,” Ava said quickly, brushing it off. Just then, Trudy gave a slight nudge that nearly toppled her shaking knees, causing her to take a seat.
“It’s not nothing if you are ready to drop, child. What is bothering you?” Trudy asked sagely with a knowing look.
Staring at their open, kind faces, she felt like she wanted to cry at the friendship she saw there. They were so wonderful to her and here she was about to turn it completely around. This was such a mistake on her part.
“What is wrong, Ava?”
“I think I need advice,” she whispered. The words left her mouth before even realizing it as she stared at them. She slapped her hands indelicately over her traitorous mouth as she realized the cat was out of the bag now.
“Advice with what, dear?”
“Nothing. I shouldn’t be asking at all,” she muttered, looking away again and putting her hands demurely in her lap like a lady should. “I brought eggs and some other items for you.”
“Thank you,” Trudy said with a grin while the preacher just stared at her, analyzing her every move. Both were keen judges of character, which is why she held them in such esteem.
“Advice on what?”
“On what I should grow in my garden this fall,” Ava said, her eyes guiltily darting away again.
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br /> “Don’t lie, Ava. It doesn’t become you,” the preacher said sternly, causing her to flush again. “You want to ask something that bothers you, don’t you?”
“I hate to even think it,” Ava uttered, feeling tears well up. She was tired, lonely and wanted more in her life than what she had.
“Then talk to us,” he murmured as Trudy reached out to hug her shoulders. “Our door has always been open to any soul that needs comforting.”
Swallowing hard and pulling a handkerchief from her basket, she handed him the newspaper. Wiping her eyes, she waited for his response as he read the ad. Trudy looked over his shoulder and looked away, waiting.
“You want a husband,” he said simply, with no expression on his face.
“No! Yes, I want my husband,” she said earnestly, as the tears rolled down her face unabashedly. “I want him to come home. I’m tired of filling in as the undertaker until he returns – and what happens if he doesn’t? Am I breaking my vows to him by even considering…” she hesitated, swallowing hard. “What happens if Peter never comes back? What if he died and I never know? How long do I go on without him? Am I not entitled to be happy… or have children?”
At that horrifying realization, she stopped talking and put her face in her hands mortified, crying pitifully. Children had never really dawned on her until now. She had always assumed he was coming back. But now it had been seven years. She could have given birth to one of the boys that took a treat from her, but instead her own arms were empty. And would be for some time, it seemed.
“There, there! We know you cared for your husband,” Trudy said gently, rubbing her back as she cried. Ava turned, hugging the older woman as she wept. It was like her heart was breaking all over again. Was it so wrong to want to be happy?
Hopefully Matched Page 2
