New Beginnings Spring 20 Book Box Set

by Hope Sinclair

  Agnes looked from the couple’s surprised faces to the floor. The food had splattered all the way to the edge of the couple’s table. The woman’s dress and stockings were speckled with drops of egg yolk, and a piece of buttered bread had landed right on the tip of the man’s shoe.

  “What’s going on out here?” the cook shouted, running from the kitchen. He looked over to the far end of the room, and Agnes stared back at him with a forlorn, shattered look on her face.

  “I asked what’s going on out here, Alice,” the cook said sternly. He looked down at the broken dishes and wasted food, then shook his head reprovingly and looked back up at Agnes.

  “I’m… I’m… I’m so sorry,” Agnes repeated. “My hand started shaking, and I just lost hold of the plates.” Agnes waved her hands in the air, in a demonstrative fashion.

  Just then, the woman from the table behind her gasped. “Good gracious!” she exclaimed. “Look at her hands! They’re covered in blood!”

  Despite the great pain she’d felt, Agnes hadn’t known that her fingers were actually bleeding, and she was thoroughly shocked when she looked down and saw the stains.

  “Did you cut yourself?” the cook asked, eyeing Agnes’s bloody hands curiously. “Was one of the plates chipped?”

  Agnes couldn’t stop staring at her hands, and she couldn’t come up with an answer.

  “What’s going on?” the cook roared.

  “We’d better get out of here, Jonathon,” the woman at the table said to her husband. Agnes glanced back at them, then looked over at the cook.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said for the third time. She wiped her bloody hands on her apron, pulled it off of her body, and tossed it into the trash can as she stormed out of the restaurant in tears.

  The cook ran over to the door behind her. “Don’t bother coming back here,” he shouted out as Agnes continued to run. “You’re fired! And I’m taking the money from your last paycheck to pay for the plates, food, and apron you ruined.”

  Agnes kept running until she was back at her house. Once she was inside, she ran straight to the couch with the intention of hurling herself on it and crying her eyes out. But as soon as she saw the couch, she realized that she couldn’t lay down it for over the past few days, she’d come not to use it as something to recline on but rather, as a work station.

  Agnes was determined to pay off the bank and keep her house. In order to do so, she’d taken on a second job. In addition to working at the restaurant, she also worked at home, mending clothing during the nighttime hours. That’s where the bruises on her fingers came from and that’s why she couldn’t lay down on her couch at this particular moment. Her sewing projects and sewing box were taking up the space on it.

  For the past few nights, she had slept on the floor. So that’s where she wound up again. She lay there, curled up on her blanket, and lamented her predicament.

  She’d taken on a second job to supplement her income. But that second job had caused her to falter and lose her primary job. She needed two sources of income if there was any hope of her meeting her debt to the bank. Now she only had one and sure enough, it was the one that paid less.

  Agnes knew there was no way she could find another job and save up enough to pay off the bank in what limited time she had left. She had less than three weeks until the bank would pursue foreclosure. She was doomed.

  She closed her eyes. I’m sorry, she said, speaking to her parents in heaven. I’ve failed you. I’m going to lose our family home.

  A cold breeze unexpectedly swept through the room, and Agnes opened her eyes and bolted upright to make sure the windows and door were not open—and as she looked for the source of the draft, she took in her surroundings. Her house was nearly empty. There was very little of practical use left in it, and nothing of sentimental or personal value. It was nothing more than a building, a structure. It was just a house, not a home.

  It was then that Agnes realized something important. Her “house” no longer had any real meaning to her, and it had become a financial burden she was not able to carry. So why keep trying to carry it? she thought to herself.

  Agnes realized that she’d tried to keep her house because she wanted to keep the memory of her late parents alive, and she wanted to “honor” them. But the house was empty now. There was nothing of them left in it. She realized for the first time that she didn’t need a house to keep her parents’ memory alive. All she needed were the memories themselves—and, no bank could ever take those from her.

  She lay back down on her blanket and closed her eyes again. Her face was dry, and she was no longer crying. She felt an uncanny calmness and sense of comfort and just as unexpectedly as the cold breeze had swept through the room earlier, a warm one swept through it now.

  Agnes smiled and nuzzled her head against her blanket. As Mr. Spencer had advised, she started to be more realistic and inadvertently, she’d become more optimistic, too. Now she was free from the burden that was holding her back, and all she had to do was figure out where to go from here. Indeed she already had a good idea about the path she wanted to take.

  THREE

  “I’m going to get married and start a family!” Agnes exclaimed as she approached the front counter of the general store. There was no one in the place except for her and the clerk, Emma Thomas.

  “You don’t say?” Emma smiled. “How wonderful. Who’s the lucky man?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Agnes answered.

  Emma looked at her curiously. “You don’t know yet?”

  “Right,” Agnes confirmed. “That’s why I’m here. I need to buy a copy of the Matrimonial Times.”

  Emma arched her eyebrows, and her eyes widened. “You’re going to find your husband in the Matrimonial Times?”

  “I hope to,” Agnes replied with a grin. “But you’re going to have to sell me one first. They’re right there on the shelf behind you.”

  “I know where they are,” Emma laughed, turning around to face the periodical rack behind her. “I’m just surprised that you want one. You’re beautiful, smart, and kind to everyone you encounter—and you’re just 20 years old. I thought periodicals like this were meant for ugly, fat girls or spinsters.”

  Emma set a crisp copy of the Matrimonial Times down on the counter, and Agnes handed her the appropriate amount of money

  “It’s not all like you make it sound,” Agnes said, glancing down at the newspaper. “I may be these things that you said. But my options here are limited. Since the war, most of the eligible men have left this part of the country and those that are left here have very high expectations, which my poor financial reputation would surely offend.

  “Plus, even if I were to find someone I wanted to marry here, I’m not sure I want to live here anymore. Annapolis is full of painful memories. I lost my parents, and I’m about to lose my house. I don’t want to be reminded of that loss every day. I don’t want to walk from whatever job I have to whatever apartment I wind up in and pass my old house along the way. I don’t want to be haunted by the life I once lived.

  “I want to start new, somewhere else—somewhere warm and sunny, where I’ll never have to worry about having enough coal for the winter. I want to live somewhere where people don’t know my sad life story and don’t whisper behind my back about my dead parents, their financial failures, or mine. I want to start a family, to have babies and bring new life into this world rather than dwell on the lives that have left it. I want to be happy and grow—and I hope to find someone in this periodical who’ll be my partner.”

  Emma took a deep breath and took the money from the counter. She put it into her cash drawer, then looked back to Agnes.

  “But aren’t you scared?” Emma inquired. “The men who place these ads are strangers, and you know nothing of their character. They could be liars or scoundrels. They might say something dishonest in their advertisements to misrepresent themselves or their interests. They might try to deceive you, take advantage of you or … worse.” />
  “I guess there is a bit of risk involved in searching for a husband this way,” Agnes admitted. “But I believe it’s a risk worth taking… While some men who place ads in these types of newspapers may be dishonest and misrepresent themselves, I don’t think most men do. These periodicals came to be because men out West need wives, and women over here need husbands.

  “From what I’ve heard, these periodicals have served that need well. Did you know that two women from our church found their husbands this way? And they weren’t ugly spinsters.”

  Emma’s wide eyes were now narrow, and she bowed her head. “I didn’t know such papers were so … reliable,” she said a bit bashfully. “I’m sorry if I sounded judgmental. I wasn’t trying to be. I was just—”

  Agnes reached out and took the Matrimonial Times into her hands. “There’s no need to apologize,” she assured her friend. “I understand you have your reservations. But trust in this because there are genuine, sincere, honest advertisements in this newspaper—and I’m going to find one and respond to it.”

  “Good luck,” Emma said, smiling at Agnes.

  “Thank you,” Agnes said, smiling back.

  Agnes took her newspaper to a nearby bench, sat down, and started reading. It was mid-October now, and it was very cold out. But alas, Agnes reckoned it would be colder in her house. At least the bench she was sitting on was by the bakery, and there was a lot of heat coming out from the ovens.

  Ten minutes or so had passed, and Agnes had carefully read every advertisement on the first five pages. But not one of them appealed to her. A good number were from widowers who already had children and although Agnes wanted to start a family, she wasn’t keen on the idea of starting that family by raising children that weren’t hers—plus, a good many of these “children” were nearly as old as her!

  A good number of other ads came from men who were seeking wives who had certain skills or talents. Several men were looking for women who had familiarity with farm work and livestock, which Agnes did not have; several were looking for women with bookkeeping and business knowledge that Agnes simply didn’t possess; and a few were looking for wives to double as nursemaids, and Agnes cringed at the sight of her own blood, let alone at the sight of another’s. Then there was a handful or so of men who stated they didn’t want children, which didn’t interest Agnes.

  As she turned to the sixth and final page of the newspaper, her heart felt heavy. She thought the chances of finding a likely candidate on this page were slim. But then, lo and behold, she saw something that made her heart swell.

  Hardworking, 25-year-old rancher from the Blue Stream settlement in Coloma, California seeks a woman to be my wife and life partner, the advertisement read. I would like to have children and start a family soon, and want a woman who will be a dedicated mother. I enjoy the outdoors and prefer someone who isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and has an adventurous spirit.

  Agnes read over the advertisement again. She simply couldn’t believe it; it was as if it had been written for her. She liked the fact that this man said he was looking for a “partner,” and that he wanted to have children and start a family soon. She liked that he enjoyed the outdoors and wanted someone who wasn’t afraid to get their hands dirty and had an adventurous spirit. And she liked the fact that he lived out West, in sunny California.

  This man—whose name was listed as “Simon Clark”—sounded perfect for Agnes, and she hoped, she would be perfect for him.

  Agnes stopped reading the newspaper, folded it, and put it under her arm. Then she stood up, left town, and headed home.

  Once she was back in her house, Agnes went and sat beneath the living room window with a pen, inkwell, and several sheets of paper in hand. She used what was left of the daylight to write a long, detailed letter to Simon Clark. She then folded it, put it in an envelope, and placed the envelope in her satchel.

  She’d go to town and mail it the next day—but only after doing something else first.

  FOUR

  “I need to see Mr. Harold Spencer,” Agnes said.

  The clerk at the front desk of the bank was fairly young, not much older than Agnes. Still, he looked her over as if he were her elder.

  “And who shall I say is calling on him?” the young man asked.

  “My name is Agnes Thompson,” Agnes answered. “I need to talk to him about my—”

  “Ah, Miss Agnes!” Mr. Spencer sang out, stepping from around the corner behind the young clerk’s desk. “Top of the morning to you, my child. What brings you here today?”

  “You do,” Agnes replied. “I need to talk to you about my … situation.”

  “Very well,” Mr. Spencer said. He reached out his arm and gestured for Agnes to follow him.

  Mr. Spencer led Agnes to his desk and invited her to sit in the seat across from his. Once she did, he sat down as well.

  “So,” he said, pulling in his chair, “have you brought me your late payments?”

  “No,” Agnes answered. Much to Mr. Spencer’s surprise, she was smiling.

  “I’ve come here to tell you that I’ve taken your advice,” Agnes went on, still smiling. “I became realistic. I looked at the situation and saw it for what it really was, and I’ve finally come to realize what’s in my best interest.”

  Mr. Spencer leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, waiting for Agnes to continue.

  “There’s no need for me to try so hard to hang onto my house,” Agnes explained. “It’s no longer the family home it was, and it no longer serves me. I’m better to be done with it and to move on with my life.”

  “I think you’re being very responsible and mature here,” Mr. Spencer smiled. “Your parents would be very proud of you.”

  “Thank you,” Agnes said. She appreciated Mr. Spencer’s kind comment, but she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by it.

  “I’m surrendering my house to the bank in fulfillment of my outstanding obligations to it,” Agnes picked up, getting back on track. “But I do have a favor to ask of you. I know that you’ve already done a great deal for me. Yet I implore you to extend one more courtesy to me. I’ve decided that what’s ultimately in my best interest is to become an arranged bride and move out West to start life anew.”

  Agnes paused for a moment and reached into her satchel. “I’ve already written one letter to a man in Coloma, California,” she said. “And I’m about to go to the post office to mail it to him. My only problem is that I don’t have a return address to include on the envelope. By the time he gets this and has a chance to reply, the bank will have already begun its foreclosure, and I’ll have been evicted.”

  Agnes set the letter down on Mr. Spencer’s desk and pushed it toward him in case he wanted to read it and verify what she’d just said.

  Mr. Spencer put his hand out and rested it atop the letter. “So, you’re saying you want me to allow you to stay on at your house while you’re waiting for this man from Coloma to propose to you?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “Yes,” Agnes replied, matter-of-factly.

  “And what if he doesn’t write back to you – or writes back that he’s not interested?” Mr. Spencer asked, tapping his fingers over the letter.

  Agnes glanced down at the letter beneath Mr. Spencer’s hand and smiled. “I’m confident that this man will write back and will be interested,” she said. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll find another man to write to, and I’ll take up residence in a boarding house until I hear back from him.”

  Mr. Spencer pushed the letter back toward Agnes, then he slowly turned his head from side to side to survey the room around him. “This isn’t some type of trick, is it?” he asked in a hushed tone.

  “Of course not,” Agnes giggled. “Such mischief is not in my nature. And you should know, I’m determined to get married and start a family. I’m looking to better my life, not make it any worse. I just need a little more time to do so.”

  Mr. Spencer surveyed the room again. Then he leaned over hi
s desk and stared at Agnes intently. “Fine,” he whispered. “You can stay on until you get your proposal from this man from Coloma, or until you find someone else to write to. Just don’t stretch out your stay any longer than you have to.”

  “Thank you so much,” Agnes smiled. Her face was beaming, and Mr. Spencer couldn’t help but smile back at her.

  Agnes stood up, shook Mr. Spencer’s hand, and left the bank. She’d really put herself out on a limb by going to Mr. Spencer and requesting a favor like she did, and there was a great likelihood that he’d shoot her down. But Agnes had been honest with the old banker, and her honesty had paid off. He was sympathetic, and he gave her the time she needed.

  After Agnes left the bank, she made her way to the post office. She pulled the letter she’d written to Simon Clark out of her satchel, and she asked the postmaster to borrow his pen and inkwell so that she could address it. She put Simon’s address in the center of the envelope and proudly put her family home’s address in the upper left-hand corner. She blew on the ink a bit to help it dry, then handed the envelope to the postmaster.

  FIVE

  It had been just over a month since Agnes had met with Mr. Spencer and mailed her letter to Simon Clark—and in that time, she hadn’t heard anything, good or bad, from either one of them.

  When she did hear back from one of them, it was not the man she wanted, or expected, to hear from.

  “My superiors at the bank are starting to put pressure on me,” Mr. Spencer said when he showed up at Agnes’s house one afternoon. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this going.”

  She hadn’t even let Mr. Spencer in the house yet, but he was so flustered that he kept talking anyway.

  “I don’t know when, but I know they’re going to push for a foreclosure sale soon,” he went on. “And you’ve got to be gone before they do. As far as they know, you’ve already left the property. But if the send an inspector out to appraise it—”