I try to imagine what you look like. Each time I come up with something different, she continued to read. It’s a shame that you don’t have any photographs, but I understand why that isn’t possible.
Amelia sighed. She would have loved to send him a picture. He had sent one to her after they started writing to one another. She looked at it every day. She kept it hidden behind a loose board in the hayloft of the barn. Her father never did anything that could resemble work so it was safe there. He had no reason to go into the barn at all except to get a saddle, and even in that, he would leave the responsibility to her. It was a much better hiding place than her room.
What does your laugh sound like?
The question made Amelia smile. How could she describe her laugh to him? He often asked questions that provoked her to think. Oliver liked her to describe herself, the things she liked, her dreams. Since becoming acquainted with him, she had discovered there was so much more she wanted in life, more than she had ever considered before. He made her turn her dreams from ideas in her head to words on paper. Once written down, they seemed even more real and possible.
I want to see you, she continued to read the letter. My imagination is not enough. I know you are even more beautiful than I can fathom. I know that might seem silly to you, but I know, from what you’ve written to me, that you have the kindest heart of any person I’ve ever met. Even with your father. He treats you poorly, but you still love him and try to do what’s right by him. Not many could do that. That alone makes you a beautiful woman.
Amelia thought of her conduct with her father. She wished she was as good as Oliver thought her to be, but she wasn’t always that way. Sometimes her father’s treatment got the better of her and she lashed out. She always regretted it after, but the man had a way of provoking her. She loved him. She always had loved him. He just didn’t love her back and no matter how hard she tried, it didn’t seem that he ever would.
That night, Amelia fell into a peaceful sleep, the thoughts of Oliver and his kind words repeating in her mind. She also thought of the letter she wanted to write back to him. She would visit Mrs. Puck the next day and put it on paper.
Amelia twisted her golden hair into a tight bun at the base of her neck. She wore a smile on her slender face as she looked into the small piece of mirror nailed to her wall. There once had been a proper mirror, but her father had broken it in a fit of rage years ago and it had yet to be replaced.
Her brown eyes seemed bright as she checked her appearance. Amelia was not a tall woman, in fact, she was rather short at just over five feet tall. She was slender, but well-shaped, with delicate curves.
She walked out of her room and out the front door. She pulled on her leather gloves as she stepped down from the porch and walked toward the barn. She was wearing a simple white blouse and long brown trousers that she’d sown herself, after getting a pattern from the local seamstress. It was a style growing in popularity, and which made work around the ranch a lot easier.
“Where do you think you’re goin’?” her father questioned as he stepped out the door behind her. He remained on the porch as Amelia turned to answer him.
“I’m going into town,” she replied with a smile. “Do you need anything?”
He squinted in her direction. “You’ve been goin’ into town a lot lately. What’re you up to?”
“Nothing,” Amelia replied as she turned with a smile.
“I know you’re up to somethin’!” her father bellowed after her. “You best not bring shame to my house or my name!” he continued to yell at her. “A woman whose actin’ like you are has to be up to no good. You mark my words, girl! You better not shame me!”
She refused to turn around or to answer her father, despite his provocation. She didn’t care what he thought of her or what he said. The only words she cared about were Oliver’s.
Amelia swung her leg over the back of her white stallion and walked him out of the barn. Her father was still on the porch when she passed by. He glared at her and then spit in her direction. “You look like a tart with your hair done up like that.”
An urge to respond rose up in her chest, but Amelia beat it back. She would not allow her father to spoil her mood. “I left breakfast in the oven for you. You can eat it if you like or throw it out if you don’t want it. It doesn’t really matter. I’ll be in town all day so you’ll have to manage on your own for lunch and maybe for dinner, as well.”
He shook his head at her. “And where in town might you be, and what might you be doin’? It ain’t your day to work at the mayor’s house.”
She smiled. “Goodbye, Father.”
Amelia kicked her heels into the horse’s sides and immediately the strong beast took off at a run. She leaned forward against the wind and kept her eyes on the sky ahead of her. She could hear her father’s angry yells behind her but she could not decipher them. All she wanted to hear were the words that repeated in her head, the things she wanted to tell Oliver Gyles.
She arrived at Mrs. Puck’s house less than an hour later. She tied her horse to the tree outside the one-story house and walked briskly to the door. She knocked twice and a few minutes later was still standing there. She was about to leave, thinking Mrs. Puck had left home, when the lady answered the door.
Her former teacher welcomed her with a smile, a hug and an apology for making her wait so long. Her once dark hair was now completely grey, but that was a process that had started early in Mrs. Puck’s life. She had a head of salt and pepper by the time she was forty, and now at fifty, it was silver.
“Amelia,” Mrs. Puck said as she embraced her. “You’re here earlier than I thought. I was just finishing up some things when I heard you know. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
“I’m sorry I interrupted. I can come back later if you’d like. You know what? I better come tomorrow. I’m very sorry for troubling you all the time. I sort of took it for granted that you’d always be available.” Amelia continued to apologize as she turned toward her horse.
“Don’t be silly. Come on in. I have everything ready for you.” Mrs. Puck took her by then shoulders and promptly turned her about.
Amelia walked into the house. Mrs. Puck had always lived alone. Her husband died before she came to Thinvale and she had never remarried. Her home was nicely decorated with ornaments that couldn’t be found in town. Mrs. Puck was a woman from the east who had come to Idaho to teach. Amelia used to listen to her stories of New York and Chicago, and dream about the places the other woman had seen.
The writing desk was set beside a window that looked out onto the mountains. It was made of mahogany and was highly polished. Mrs. Puck took great care with her things. The paper and ink were already laid out for her. The fountain pen was in the drawer.
“I’ll go fix us some tea. I made some scones yesterday. I can bring you some,” Mrs. Puck suggested.
“Thank you,” Amelia said with a smile as she sat at the desk. “I’d like that.”
She retrieved the pen from its place and set about writing.
My dearest Oliver,
I was so pleased to read your letter. I fell asleep thinking of what I would write to you today. Now, it seems that there is too much to put on paper.
I wish I could see the sunset you described. I don’t get to enjoy it here. I’m always at work and there is always something to do. I don’t get to take pleasure in many things. I’m glad you do.
I can’t describe my laugh to you. I tried to think of the words but they just didn’t seem right. I suppose it’s because I don’t hear my own laughter very often. I have few things to laugh about, but since meeting you, I do have more to be happy about.
Oliver, is this real? We write each other all the time, and I feel as if you really know me, but I’m not sure how much I know about you. Your words have birthed a delight in me that I never imagined I might enjoy, but there is still so much I feel I don’t know. Who are your people? What was your mother’s name? You avoid the questions. Why
? Is it something painful? Am I wrong to be asking you these questions? I hope you will be honest with me and tell me if I am. I know what it is to have subjects you would much rather forget, and if these are some of them, then I won’t press you. I do hope though, that you might one day tell me all about it.
I think about you so much. You are the single joy I have in each day. I try to imagine what your voice sounds like when I read your letters aloud. I try to make it as if you were talking to me. I long to have a real conversation with you. I long to meet you in person and see if you are everything I imagine. I hope you wouldn’t be disappointed with who you find.
Yours faithfully,
Amelia
She traced her fingers over the letter when it was finished, and folded it. She tucked it into an envelope. She would mail it that day before she went to the saloon. Mrs. Puck sat nearby enjoying her tea. She hadn’t disturbed her when she returned, but now that Amelia was finished her letter, she spoke.
“Come, sit by me,” she instructed as she patted the seat beside her. “Tell me more about your Mr. Gyles.”
Amelia smiled. Mrs. Puck was in every way the mother she never had. She walked over, sat beside her, and began to read Oliver’s letter to her. Mrs. Puck looked at her with a smile as she read.
“He sounds like a fine young man,” she stated when Amelia finished reading. She touched her cheek lightly. “I hope he is all he appears to be in his letters and more. You deserve it.”
Amelia didn’t comment. She smiled and rested her head on Mrs. Puck’s shoulder as the woman squeezed her hand gently. “Things are turning around for you, Amelia Donnel. I know it.”
Chapter Three
Thinvale never looked as good as it did that day. Amelia walked down the dusty street with a bright smile on her face. There wasn’t much to the town. There was the station, where telegraphs were received and where the coaches came in to pick up and deliver passengers. They were too small a place for a train, so those who wished to come to their town were forced to ride half a day by coach from the nearest train station in Colverton.
The rest of the town was made up of the sheriff’s station, the boarding house, the saloon, the blacksmith’s, a few homes and the mayor’s office. The church marked the entrance of the town to the north. McClintock’s, the general store where everyone came to get their food, clothing material, or sell their goods, was to the south. It was a one-stop-shop for everything and because of it, the McClintocks were the wealthiest people in town. Amelia did laundry for them, as well.
Amelia’s enthusiasm that day was sparked from Oliver’s last letter. Yes, it was some time since she last heard from him, but the memories of what he shared were enough to lift her spirits. She was sure she’d hear from him soon.
There is no woman I think more highly of. You are a treasure, Amelia Donnel, one that any man would be happy to call his wife. In fact, men would call him lucky to have you.
She felt her cheeks grow warm at Oliver’s sentiments. Could it be that he truly was considering her for his bride? She did not fool herself to think that she was the only one he might be writing to. He wanted a wife, he had to be sure that he was getting the right woman. That meant comparing sometimes. Still, she hoped that she was the only one that he was still corresponding with after all these months. That she was the one he thought was truly special—the one for him.
Her hair was laced in a tight braid with a red ribbon on the end. She felt like dressing special today, so she was wearing her dark red skirt with her white blouse. She didn’t have work in town today but had promised Mrs. Puck to get her telegrams from the station for her before she went to the saloon to work that evening.
“Good day, Mr. Van Dyke,” she said as she greeted the stationmaster. He was standing behind the counter with a letter in his hand. He wore a newsboy cap to hide the bald patch on the top of his head. His hair was otherwise thick and was black just like his beard and moustache.
“Good day, Miss Amelia. What brings you in today?” he questioned as he lobbed a smile in her direction and set aside his letter.
“I came to collect Mrs. Pucks’ telegrams. She told me she was expecting some news today,” she informed him as she smiled back at him.
Mr. Van Dyke adjusted his spectacles on his nose and looked over at the message board. He scanned the notes with a thin finger before plucking three thin strips of paper from one of the pins. “Here you go,” he said as he handed them to her. Mr. Van Dyke didn’t like waste and refused to use up half a sheet of paper for one message.
“Thank you,” Amelia replied as she took them. She stuffed the small notes into her pocket and turned to leave. “Have a nice day!”
“Wait,” Mr. Van Dyke called after her. “There’s one here for you as well.”
Amelia paused. A telegraph for her? She wasn’t expecting any. She looked at him for several seconds before walking back to the desk. “For me? Are you sure?”
The older man nodded. “Yes, right here. One for you,” he said, placing another thin note in her hand. He smiled at her. “I think you’ll be very pleased with what you read.”
Her eyes left the stationmaster’s face and gazed down at the note cradled in her palm. She began to read.
Amelia’s heart threatened to jump out of her chest the more her eyes took in the words before her. It was too good to be true. She had to be dreaming. She looked up to find the stationmaster staring at her with an amused look.
“I told you that you’d be pleased,” he commented, as he tried to subdue his grin.
Amelia looked at the words once more.
Amelia. Cannot wait any longer. Come to Rattleridge. Be my wife. Paid your passage. My man will be at the station when you arrive. Wear green dress you told me about. Oliver.
“Is this true, Mr. Van Dyke?” she questioned. She looked at the stationmaster in astonishment.
“All paid for,” he confirmed with a grin. “The funds arrived a few days ago with instructions. The telegram came before, but you didn’t come into town.”
Amelia blinked rapidly. She couldn’t believe this. It was more wonderful than a dream. “I can leave whenever I want?” she questioned.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Mr. Van Dyke confirmed. “You just tell me when you want to travel and I’ll punch your ticket.”
“Tomorrow.”
The stationmaster looked at her wide-eyed. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes. Tomorrow,” she repeated. “I want to leave for Rattleridge tomorrow.”
“Eager, aren’t you?” he said with a smile. He turned to prepare the ticket.
“Keep it here for me?” she asked quickly.
She didn’t dare bring it home with her. If her father found it, he was sure to take it. She wouldn’t risk that. Oliver had done so much in paying her way to join him in a new life. She would not let her father spoil it.
“If that’s what you want,” Mr. Van Dyke replied. “I’ll wait to punch it tomorrow then. The coach leaves town at seven for Colverton. You’ll get the train from there to Rattleridge.”
“Thank you, Mr. Van Dyke,” Amelia said with a large grin. “Would you send a telegram back telling him that I will be there tomorrow?”
The stationmaster smiled. “Of course.”
“Thank you so much,” Amelia said again as gratitude filled her heart. It felt as if everything was suddenly coming into place and she was nothing but grateful for it.
“My pleasure,” he replied with a nod.
“Have a good day,” she said to bid him farewell. She turned from the station, her steps lighter, her smile even brighter and her heart ready to take flight. She was leaving Thinvale. She was finally going to have a better life.
There was so much to do, but she had to be smart about it. She couldn’t afford for word to get back to her father. She rushed back to the station.
“Mr. Van Dyke,” she called as she entered.
“That was quick,” the stationmaster mused. “Something else I can help you with? You want to l
eave today instead?”
“No,” Amelia chuckled. “Not that. I wanted to be sure that you keep my leaving just between the two of us. You understand, don’t you?”
The stationmaster’s expression became more serious. “Yes. I understand perfectly. If I were you, I’d want to keep such tidings to myself. It wouldn’t be wise if certain people got ahold of it. They might try to prevent you from going.”
Her father’s ways were no secret to anyone in town. They all knew how he treated her, and some looked on her with pity because of it, others with admiration at how hard she persevered despite it.
For the Love of a Wounded Cowboy: A Historical Western Romance Book Page 3