by Kit Morgan
“Now what am I supposed to do?” she lamented, studying her surroundings. There wasn’t much to look at – compared to Denver, this place could serve as the dictionary illustration for “one-horse town.” “Maybe he’s simply running late?” she pleaded. But then, what if he wasn’t? What if he wasn’t even in Montana?
Well, there was only one way to find out.
Zadie crossed the train station’s platform and went down a set of wooden steps to the dirt street. This was definitely not Denver. She fought the urge to groan and glanced around again. There was one large brick building, several wooden buildings including a mercantile, and nothing that looked like it might have anyone who could help her locate her fiancée.
Wait – maybe there was one thing. At the sight of the steepled white church, she sighed in relief. If anyone would know of Anson Jones, it would be the town preacher. His letters had indicated Mr. Jones was a good Christian man, and she estimated he had probably arrived in the territory several weeks ago. Surely he’d have spoken with the town clergyman about their upcoming nuptials …?
Zadie studied the dirt at her feet. At least it was dry. With a deep breath she lifted her bags and, determination in her steps, marched toward the church.
Two
When Zadie reached the church, she was still wondering if Mr. Jones had indeed spoken with the preacher. Before she could think about it further, she knocked on the door of what she assumed was the parsonage.
Within moments, it opened. “Good afternoon,” a kindly-looking older woman said. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so. My name is Zadie Barrett and I’m looking for my intended, Anson Jones. He was supposed to meet me at the train station, but he didn’t show up. I thought maybe he’d stopped here first to speak with you about our wedding.”
The woman’s brow puckered in confusion. “Anson Jones? What does he look like?”
“Medium height and build, dark hair, blue eyes?” Zadie told her. “I’m afraid I don’t have a photograph …”
“I don’t recall anyone like that who’s come here recently …”
“He would have arrived in town two to three weeks ago.”
“Hmmm … oh, but where are my manners?” the woman said. “I’m Mrs. Norton, Reverend Norton’s wife. I’m afraid my husband’s not here right now, but he’ll be back shortly. I’m sorry your young man hasn’t shown up yet. Perhaps he’s been delayed? Where does he live?”
“I … don’t know,” Zadie said as her cheeks grew hot. How many mail-order brides knew exactly where their future husbands lived?
“Oh dear. He isn’t from Morgan’s Crossing, is he?”
“Morgan’s Crossing? Where is that?” Zadie asked.
“A good two days’ ride from here. If he is, who knows what might have happened on his way to fetch you? It can be a rough journey at times, depending on the weather.”
Zadie glanced at the bright blue sky. “Has it been like this the last few days?”
Mrs. Norton also looked up. “Long enough for the roads to dry out. I hope nothing serious has delayed him. Why don’t you come in and have a cup of tea while we wait for my husband to return?”
“Thank you, that would be lovely.”
She followed the woman inside and into a small parlor. “Wait here – I won’t be but a moment,” Mrs. Norton instructed.
Zadie watched her leave the room, then studied her surroundings. Her hostess would be back soon and she needed to collect herself. The woman was being very kind inviting her into her home like this, but Zadie suspected she was kind to everyone.
By the time Mrs. Norton reentered the parlor carrying a tea tray, Zadie had calmed somewhat. “I do hope I’m not being a bother.”
“Nonsense, dear. I’m sure that if your intended doesn’t find you at the train station, he’ll come here. They all do.”
“Who?”
“Mail-order brides with their husbands … future husbands, that is. If they don’t make arrangements for the wedding before the train gets in, they always do after. And we’re the only church in town.”
Zadie smiled at the way the woman’s blue eyes twinkled. Or did her snowy white hair, piled like a halo on her head, have anything to do with it? Mrs. Norton reminded her of an angel – something she could use right about now. “Has your husband officiated a lot of weddings with mail-order brides?”
“We’ve done our fair share over the last few years. Sweetwater Springs might not be the biggest town in the Territory, but it’s growing slowly but surely what with all the mail-order brides arriving. And it’s still bigger than Morgan’s Crossing.”
Zadie thought a moment. Wasn’t the word “crossing” on the tattered telegram she and Mrs. Pettigrew read? Good heavens, what if she was supposed to take the train to this Morgan’s Crossing instead of Sweetwater Springs?
“What’s the matter, dear?” Mrs. Norton asked. “You don’t look well. Here, drink some tea.” She quickly poured her a cup.
“I was just thinking … maybe I was to take the train into Morgan’s Crossing,” she said and reached for her teacup and saucer. “I received a telegraph message from Mr. Jones before the bridal agency purchased my train tickets, but it was …” … chewed up by a hairball with a mean streak … “… incomplete. Originally I was supposed to go to Oregon to meet him, but then I was re-routed here. At least, I think it was here …”
“Oregon?” Mrs. Norton exclaimed happily. “Oh, you must mean that nice young man with the horses!”
“Horses? Yes, I suppose he would have horses – he is a rancher. But I assumed he mostly had cattle.”
“Sometimes details get left out in letters a man exchanges with his mail-order bride,” Mrs. Norton said with a smile. “Happens all the time, as I understand it. Don’t you worry about a thing, dear, we’ll get this straightened out.”
“Tell me about the man with the horses,” Zadie said, her voice hopeful again.
“I’ve never seen him, but I believe my husband has and of course El Davis.”
“Who is El Davis? Is he a rancher too?”
“No, he’s the postmaster here. He takes mail out to Morgan’s Crossing – which, by the way, has no train station; you’d have had to come here to Sweetwater Springs anyway. Now if your young man is the same one I’m thinking of, then all you need do is write him a note and El Davis will see that he gets it. Then your Mr. Jones can come get you!”
“Provided they are one and the same. But what am I to do until then?”
“There’s a hotel in town, the Livingston,” Mrs. Norton said. “I’m sure you could get a room there. Do you … have any money with you?”
“Yes – enough for a few days.” She peeked at Mrs. Norton over the rim of her teacup and prayed she didn’t look as pitiful as she felt. “But what if Mr. Jones still hasn’t come by then?”
“I’m sure the young man I’m thinking of is your intended. Don’t worry yourself over something until you know you have something to worry about. Right now all we know is that he’s late. If it comes to it, you’re more than welcome to stay with us a few extra days until you figure things out.”
“Mrs. Norton, you’re very kind, but I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered.”
Zadie smiled. “Thank you, but I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Finish your tea and as soon as Mr. Norton gets home, I’ll send him to find our Mr. Davis. Don’t worry, we’ll get this all straightened out.”
Zadie took another sip of her tea and prayed the woman was right.
Two cups of tea later, the Reverend Norton came home. “Hello Mary,” he greeted as he entered the parlor. “Who’s our guest?”
“Her name is Zadie Barrett. She’s here to marry a Mr. Anson Jones.”
“The horse rancher!” the reverend replied. “I met him when he first came through here. Nice fella. So he sent for a mail-order bride, did he?”
“How did you know I was a mail-order bride?” Zadie asked,
curious. For all he knew, she could have been betrothed to Mr. Jones for ages.
“What else could you be? That’s all we get up here lately. So I take it he hasn’t shown up yet?”
“I’m not sure he knows I’m here,” Zadie said with a blush. “To tell you the truth, this is most embarrassing. Your wife was kind enough to invite me in for a cup of tea while I wait. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not! So where do you come from?”
“Denver.”
“You’ll find that Montana’s not so different. Though we haven’t a city the size of Denver – I hear it’s growing by leaps and bounds.”
“I was just telling her how Sweetwater Springs is growing,” his wife interjected. “And Morgan’s Crossing too, once she’s been added.”
“Added?” Zadie said and tried not to grimace. “How many people live in Morgan’s Crossing?”
“Oh, let me see,” the reverend mused. “Eighty to ninety folks about now – wouldn’t you say, Mary?”
“At least that,” Mary agreed with a smile.
Zadie fought against a shudder. That was it? “My, my. And Sweetwater Springs is bigger, you say?”
“Yes, a couple of hundred easily,” Mrs. Norton said, her smile still in place.
“Why don’t I get you something to write with, and you can send a note to your betrothed?” Rev. Norton suggested.
“I told her the same thing – El Davis can take it. In the mean time, Miss Barrett can get a room at the Livingston. I told her that if she needs to stay in town longer than what she intends, she can come here for a few days.”
Reverend Norton gave his wife a knowing look. “Understood. I’ll be right back.”
He left the room and it was all Zadie could do not to throw her face into her hands. “What a mess,” escaped her lips before she could stop it.
“Dear, I’m sure everything will be fine – you’ll see. My husband will get your note to Mr. Davis, then he’ll head out in the morning with the mail. In a couple of days your Mr. Jones will have it.”
“A couple of days,” Zadie echoed.
“Yes, that’s how long it takes to get to Morgan’s Crossing from here. Then it will take Mr. Jones just as long to come to Sweetwater Springs.”
Zadie quickly did a few calculations in her head. If she spent what money she had on the hotel and food, she doubted she’d have enough left over for train fare should the need arise. Then again, where would she go even if she had the money? All she knew was that her bad luck had followed her here.
* * *
Dear Mr. Jones,
I have arrived in Sweetwater Springs and was surprised when you didn’t meet me at the station. Unfortunately things happen, especially when you yourself have only just arrived. I was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of the Rev. Norton and his wife. They have been most helpful in getting word to you of my arrival. I am staying at the Hotel. I hope to see you in a few days.
Zadie tapped the pen against her chin a few times and thought a moment. “Blast,” she muttered to herself and crumpled up the note. After a second cup of tea with the kindly Reverend and his wife, her initial shock had subsided. Now she was angry. She took a fresh sheet of paper and quickly penned another note.
When she was done, she folded it and handed it to the Rev. Norton. “I’ve explained my situation and am sure he’ll come to rectify it as soon as possible.”
“Glad to hear it – I’ll give this to El Davis right away,” he assured her. “In the meantime, let’s get you checked into the hotel, shall we?”
“I can manage that on my own, but thank you. What I do need is to find someone at the train station or hotel to bring me my trunks.”
“The hotel would be your best bet,” Mrs. Norton informed her. “I’m guessing your wedding dress is in one of them?”
Zadie’s nerves jangled at the question. If Mrs. Norton was so certain she’d be marrying Mr. Jones, then why wasn’t she? “Yes. Once I have a room at the hotel I’ll hang it up and let it air for a few days.”
“A good idea,” Mrs. Norton agreed.
“I’ll escort you to the hotel, anyway,” the Reverend offered. “Who knows, we might run into El Davis along the way and we can give him your note.”
Zadie smiled. “If you insist. I can’t thank the two of you enough for your kindness.”
Mrs. Norton stood. “You’re very welcome, dear. We’re glad to help.”
Zadie stood and reached for her satchel. “I’ll see you soon. Probably on my wedding day.”
“I’m counting on it. Feel free to come say hello between now and then.”
Zadie smiled as she said goodbye, then followed the Reverend outside to the street. He chatted about the town and its residents and the different mail-order brides that had come there. By the time they reached the hotel she’d gathered quite a bit of information. “Thank you for escorting me.”
“Don’t mind a bit. Now I’ll go find Mr. Davis and give him your note. Take care, Miss Barrett.”
“I will,” she said and went inside.
The hotel was small, simple – nothing like the grand hotels in Denver, let alone those in Boston where she grew up. But it was a roof over her head and a bed, and for now that was all that mattered. If she was really lucky, there’d be a bathtub in her room, but she somehow doubted it.
After checking in and discovering there was indeed no tub (blast it all!) Zadie made arrangements for someone to bring her trunks from the train station. That done, she returned to her room, exhausted, and lay down to close her eyes for a moment, only to have to get up minutes later to let two men haul her trunks into the room.
When she lay down again, she didn’t get up until morning.
Meanwhile, outside of Morgan’s Crossing …
“There, that ought to do it,” Anson told the big black stallion. He patted him on the neck a few times. “Nothing like a good rubdown, eh, Julius?”
Julius Caesar nickered in response before he started to munch on the carrot Anson offered. He didn’t give the horse many treats, but after the long journey the animal had taken to get there, Anson figured he deserved it. He’d had the horses transported by train. Julius, being a stallion, got a car just for himself and one of the Jones’ ranch hands, who got him to his destination and left quickly to go back to Oregon.
News of the fine horse was already spreading, and Anson had already procured his first stud fee. Half of the stock he’d brought with him, he was keeping at a stockyard west of Sweetwater Springs. Mr. Reiner, who owned the yard, agreed to board them in exchange for a small percentage of their sale.
All in all, Anson’s plans were unfolding nicely. He’d even come across a quarter-square of land for sale, complete with a tiny cabin and a small barn, and purchased it. Even if he went back to Clear Creek, his family could use it whenever they intended to do business in the area. It was a bit out of the way for his tastes, but would suffice well enough. He could reach Morgan’s Crossing within a couple of hours and that’s what mattered. Keeping an eye out …
He’d also be able to get supplies and his mail there. Unfortunately, if he needed to send a telegraph he’d have to go to Sweetwater Springs, but he didn’t mind. Since it took a couple of days to get there, there were a few small cabins along the way for folks to spend the night. Anson just needed to make sure he took enough supplies to see him through a round trip.
The empty shelters were an excellent idea – he’d made a mental note to write his father and uncle about them. It would be nice to have a few random cabins along the trails in Oregon and Washington. Until the railroads finally caught up, the only decent stopover between Clear Creek and Oregon City was the Whites’ place. Mrs. White and her three sons – Oscar, Henry and Anson (whom he was named after) – took on weary travelers, gave them a good supper, a place to sleep, breakfast in the morning, then sent them on their way. Mrs. White didn’t charge folks for her hospitality, though they often paid her anyway.
Anson gave Jul
ius one last pat on the neck and left the barn. The rest of the horses were in a corral next to it. Part of the land was fenced, but some spots needed mending. He’d have to get some help if he wanted that done quickly. Michael Morgan of Morgan’s Crossing had told him of a handyman named Freddy Chance who could probably do the job. The next time he went to town, he’d inquire about him …
He turned to the cabin and mentally added a few items to his growing list of things to do. The animals taken care of, he’d head into town and see if he could knock a few items off the list.
Nails – he’d only had enough to fix the cabin’s roof, so if he was going to start on the fencing, he’d need more. He was out of cornmeal, so he’d better pick up another sack. Lard, dried or canned fruit, some chalk for the horses’ fodder … another salt lick would probably be a good idea too.
And he could do with a hot bath and a shave – Morgan’s Crossing, while tiny, had a little thermal spring and a bathhouse that took advantage of it. There was a creek that ran through his new land, but he’d heard it often dried up in summer. Besides, he didn’t want the headache of having to purchase a tub for bathing, hauling all that water to it and heating it once or twice a week. He’d much rather go to Morgan’s Crossing and take care of it there.
Besides, he liked the townspeople. They were a close-knit little community, not unlike Clear Creek. Michael Morgan was a reasonable man and had been very helpful when Anson had first arrived. The food at the boarding house wasn’t bad, and the one meal he’d shared with Mr. Morgan and his wife Prudence was downright delightful. They’d invited him to supper when they discovered he was new in the area and looking for a place to start a horse ranch. He liked it here so much that he was wondering if he’d ever want to leave. The thought put a smile on his lips.
But the smile quickly faded as he thought of his mail-order bride-to-be. “Poor thing,” he said to himself. “I hope she wasn’t too disappointed by my message.” He glanced at the sparse furnishings of the cabin. During his journey here, he’d convinced himself he’d made the best choice telling her to stay put in Denver.