by Leah Atwood
The Mail Order Bride’s Quilt
A Short Story By
Leah Atwood
Copyright © 2013 by Leah Atwood
Cover Photo © Hot Damn Design
Cover Design by Ramona coversbyramona.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Jenny Mason sat at the depot, her palms damp from perspiration. Discreetly looking around, she saw no one matching the description of her intended groom. The now worn letter was folded in her reticule and she removed it, rereading the words she had memorized. Of course, the words hadn’t changed. She was still looking for a tall man with blonde hair and green eyes. He wrote that he’d wear a pale blue cotton shirt to distinguish himself. So far, Jenny had yet to see anyone fitting that description fully; some men had blonde hair but were short, while others were tall and wearing a blue shirt but had definitive dark brown hair.
The late afternoon sun was beginning to fade, and anxiety was setting in. Had she come all this way to be forgotten or rejected? Perhaps John Thomas had seen her from a distance and decided that she was not what he wanted nor needed. What would she do if he did not appear? Most of her monies were sitting in her bank back home, waiting for news to be transferred. All she had with her were a few coins that were hidden in one of her trunks, sewn into a quilt. The quilt was the only sentimental thing she had left of Mama. She had left it to her daughter before she passed, sharing the story of how it came to be.
Her best friend, Mabel, and she had made it during the long winters back home in Pennsylvania, during the war while their husbands were off fighting. Both ladies were in the family way at the time, and it kept their minds occupied. Both women were to become war widows, remarrying after a proper mourning period to keep from becoming destitute. Mabel and Jenny’s mother remained the best of friends, until Mabel’s new husband moved them west in hopes of taking advantage of the Homestead Act, promising free land in return for working the earthen soil.
For several years, the two ladies kept in touch, but Mabel’s letters came to an abrupt end. Mama had fretted, wishing she knew what happened to her dear friend. Jenny remembered Mama packing away the quilt, unwilling to let the last vestige of that friendship become worn. Only on the coldest nights did Mama pull it out.
Jenny was sad to think something could have happened to Mrs. Mabel. All her memories of Mama’s best friend were pleasant, and her son had been Jenny’s best friend. Eventually, Mama had come to terms with the loss; whether some ill had begotten Mabel or not, Mama still suffered from the loss of contact.
Their life in Pennsylvania had been good. When Mama remarried the year Mabel moved away, Mr. Mason asked her if she’d mind too terribly calling him Pa. Being a young girl eager to please, she readily agreed. They moved several towns over where Mr. Mason had a fine dairy farm. Two more brothers had come along for Jenny, and life was about as perfect as could be.
Then one day everything changed. It was a balmy Sunday afternoon in late September. After church, Jenny had gone home with her best friend, Abigail Murdock, whose parents ran the local mercantile. It had been an ideal day, trying on the latest dresses that arrived and gossiping over which boy they hoped would come to court them. Late afternoon came, and Mr. Richards, who owned a farm near Jenny’s, arrived at the mercantile with a somber look. He asked to speak with Mr. Murdock. A few minutes later, Mr. Murdock returned giving the grim news to her. There had been a freak wagon accident and her mother, step-father and two brothers all perished.
Jenny couldn’t remember much about the rest of that day. She awakened the next morning in the Murdock’s guest room with red, swollen eyes wishing she was in a nightmare that she could wake up from. Abigail’s parents took her in, and over the next few months everything changed. The farm was sold, leaving Jenny a fair savings to see her through, but the memories were too much.
At only nineteen years old she felt completely alone in the world. Even living with her best friend, she felt no joy in life. She couldn’t seem to find a way out of her melancholy and after seeing an article about mail `order brides, she became curious. And here she was, some months later, a thousand miles from everything she knew.
“Pardon me, ma’am, might you be Miss Jenny Mason?” a strong, deep voice asked, breaking her reverie.
She looked up into eyes of emerald and knew at once this was her intended. Feebly, she nodded her head yes, rapidly wondering if she had taken leave of her senses.
“I was beginning to think you might have changed your mind,” she confessed.
“No ma’am. My deepest apologies, but my wagon broke a wheel on the way to town.” It was then Jenny noticed the filth on his trousers. “This is not how I hoped our first meeting to go, but I didn’t want to take the time to clean up from fixing the wagon and keep you waiting any longer. Forgive my lack of cleanliness.”
Jenny’s heart warmed. Back home, she knew some ladies would be appalled at being greeted by a filthy fiancé, but not she. No, his words confirmed what she had felt through his letters. He was a considerate man, his need to ease her mind trumping the need to make a presentable appearance. That he could fix the wagon himself spoke of his skill and hard work. He would be a man she could depend on. Maybe one day, even love.
“Considering the circumstances, Mr. Thomas, there is no need for forgiveness.” She took hold of the hand Mr. Thomas held out and stood up.
“I’d be obliged if you call me John,” he said. “That is, if you’d still like to be married.”
“I haven’t changed my mind, John,” she answered, the familiar address feeling strange but exciting, rolling off her tongue. “And please, call me Jenny.”
“Preacher Jones is expecting us. I had planned on us having time to grab a bite to eat beforehand and become better acquainted, but, unfortunately, the incident with the wagon occurred. If you would feel more comfortable waiting until tomorrow, I can procure you a room for the night at the boardinghouse and return tomorrow.”
Again, Jenny was warmed at the thoughtfulness this man was demonstrating. For the first time since meeting him several minutes ago, she took the time to observe him. He was a truly handsome man, and she couldn’t help but wonder why he could not find a bride without sending away for one. But she knew instinctively that they could have a good life together. For the first time since her family had passed, she felt a glimmer of life return to her.
“There is no need for that. I came here with a purpose, and I intend to fulfil it,” she replied to him. The anxiety she had felt earlier was wearing off. Something about John set her at ease.
They walked over to the parsonage where a kind looking, portly man answered the door.
“I’ve been expecting you, John. And this must be Miss Mason. It’s a pleasure to meet you ma’am. I am Preacher Jones.”
Jenny immediately liked this older man, pleased to see the town had a preacher who did not appear to be the hellfire and brimstone type. Vague recollections of her childhood flashed by her and she remembered a red-faced preacher who would always scream. Sundays terrified her, and she was glad when they moved to a new town with a new preacher.
The preacher brought his wife out and introduced her. Mrs.
Jones was as stout as her husband and had soft, gentle features. The woman took Jenny to a spare side room and helped her dress in her wedding gown. It may be a small wedding, but Jenny very much wanted to wear her mother’s gown. They left for the church next door, and before they arrived at the building, Mrs. Jones stopped in her garden to cut a bouquet of flowers for Jenny.
The vows were recited, and Jenny and John were pronounced man and wife. A peace that she couldn’t understand washed over her. She didn’t feel as though she had married a stranger. Despite knowing this man for approximately an hour, she felt he was a friend.
Chapter 2
John had a difficult time concentrating on his way back to the farm. God had surely blessed him when he sent him Jenny. She was beautiful, with the softest looking golden hair he had ever seen. Although clothed modestly in a simple muslin dress, he could see her trim waist with gentle curves a man could appreciate. He’d never paid much attention to a woman’s body before, trying to be a gentleman, but he knew his wife’s pleased him. But more than the outer beauty, she seemed to possess even more vibrant inner beauty and strength.
By this point, most people in town knew he had ordered a bride. Some joshed with him, but most understood the loneliness of life on the prairie. And goodness knew there weren’t many single ladies in town who piqued his interest. When he sent away his advertisement, he wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d had five responses, but only Jenny’s caught his attention. Something in her letters spoke to his heart, and he’d fallen half in love with her before he ever met her. When he saw her sitting on the bench outside the depot, he fell the other half.
She hadn’t expressed any disdain over his appearance, something about which he was likely doing the most berating. The embarrassment of showing up to meet his intended, covered in dirt would surely bring him humiliating memories for some time, but it was one of those things that just couldn’t be helped. The mild anxiety she had exhibited over marrying a stranger was to be expected, but she was strong and determined. Yes, he certainly was a blessed man today.
Conversation flowed freely between them. They spoke briefly of their families; he did not linger long on the subject for fear of bringing negative memories for his new bride. They spoke of their favorite things, what they enjoyed and even expectations of their future.
Jenny smiled easily, and every time she did, John couldn’t shake the feeling he’d seen that smile before. It completely transformed her face, giving her an ethereal quality that swelled his heart. As they approached his farm, the house came into view. He watched her closely, in hopes of catching her first reaction to her new home.
“That’s our house up yonder,” he said nodding his head in the direction of the house.
“Why, it’s beautiful John. I was half expecting a soddie,” she exclaimed. “I mean, not that I would have been disappointed with a soddie, but this was a pleasant surprise,” she added.
John chuckled as his wife tried to cover up her response. There were quite a few soddies around, outside of town. Lumber here was at a premium, but his father had insisted on a wooden structure for his mother. When they passed away, the house had become his but lacked a woman’s touch after so many years of only men living there.
“To be honest, the inside needs a bit of work. I’m afraid it’s become rather drab, and you are free to spruce it up however you see fit. Since I lost my father, I’ve not done much to it, and even then, it’s been over ten years since a woman has lived there.”
“I’m sure it is just fine, John,” his wife assured him.
For the first time since leaving town, they became silent. Jenny seemed at a loss for words, and he allowed her the space to think. He pulled up in front of the house and quickly jumped out to assist her down. Leading her into the house, he showed her around. The first floor was largely open with a kitchen area, living area and a walled off bedroom to one side. A ladder led to a loft area upstairs that could serve as a second bedroom.
“That was my bedroom as a child,” he told her. “Now it’s fairly empty except for some trunks used as storage.”
He saw her blush at the mention of a bedroom. They hadn’t yet discussed those arrangements and he wasn’t keen on starting that conversation right at this moment.
“I’m going to take care of the horses, and then I’ll bring your trunks in.”
“Thank you. I will see about starting a meal for us to eat.”
He briefly told her where she could find all the supplies and then went outside. The comfort they had rapidly developed seemed to dissolve as easily as it had formed. His thoughts were on the awkward and sensitive subject of sleeping arrangements. He had no intentions of forcing her into something she wasn’t yet ready for. Only, he wasn’t sure how to broach that subject without making her more uncomfortable.
Finishing his tasks outside, he unloaded her trunks, carrying them individually to the house. For now, he set them in the living area, against the wall of the bedroom. The smell of bacon reached his nose and the sizzle was music to his years. He’d never mastered the art of cooking and had been eating burnt or undercooked food for far too long. Just the thought of a home-cooked meal brought another smile to his face. He’d been doing lots of that this afternoon.
They ate their meal, and Jenny asked him if he’d mind her beginning to unpack.
“Go right ahead, Jenny. This is your home now also, and I want you to feel you belong here.”
He lit another candle to provide extra light. She opened the first trunk and took out carefully wrapped plates and cups.
“Can I help?” he asked her.
“These were a wedding present from my best friend, Abigail, and her parents,” she explained, unwrapping another one.
“They’re very pretty. Would you like to put them out with my others, or keep them in a special spot?” he asked, remembering his mother kept her fancy settings packed away for special occasions.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to keep them out. They’re a reminder of my dear friends.”
“Of course,” he answered.
She looked sad for a minute, and he wished he knew a way to erase it. He kneeled beside her, taking out a wrapped bowl and undoing the packaging. They worked together until the final piece was undone. Then he helped her carry them to the shelves nailed up in the kitchen area.
“Next time I’m in town, I’ll see about getting some lumber to build you a nice cabinet for them,” he offered.
“That’s very kind, but you don’t have to go through that trouble,” she told him.
“It’s no trouble.”
They fell into silence again until it was time to start on the second trunk.
“This one, uh, goes into the bedroom,” she explained to him, blushing again.
He figured this would probably be the opportune time to have that discussion.
“I’ll move it in now. You can have this bedroom, and I’ll sleep in the loft for now,” he said.
Her face was a full crimson now, and he couldn’t help thinking she was adorable. “There’s no need for that,” she choked out. “I am aware of what happens in a marriage bed, and I am your wife now.”
She turned quickly before John could see the look on her face. Not that he wouldn’t love to share his bed with her, but only when she was comfortable with him. He walked to her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“When you are ready, Jenny. I want us to have a good marriage, and there are lots of things that go into that besides the bedroom.” He turned and left the room, sensing her need to be alone and compose her thoughts.
Sitting down in his rocking chair, he read the newspaper he had picked up in town. It was several weeks outdated, but often they were by the time they trickled down from the big city. About an hour had passed when he heard the bedroom door open.
“John?” he heard Jenny’s soft voice question.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he answered, testing out the endearment and deciding he liked it.
; “I don’t mean to be offensive, but I noticed that your quilt was rather worn. Would you mind if we use a quilt that I brought?”
“That’s a grand idea. I’ve meant to find someone to patch up that old quilt, but never got around to it.”
“I can fix it for you, and then we’ll put it back on. The quilt I have is special, and Mama didn’t use it often, but I’d like to have it out for now.”
John yawned before he could stop it from escaping. Jenny giggled, and he felt some of the tension easing back into a comfort they’d found earlier.
“It’s been a long day; shall we go to bed, Mrs. Thomas?” he asked.
“I’m rather tired myself,” she answered.
They walked back into the bedroom, where the new quilt was still folded on the bed. Jenny went to spread it over the bed, and John grabbed a side to help. When it was fully opened, he gasped. It couldn’t be. He saw Jenny staring at him as he lifted the corner for confirmation.
Chapter 3
“John, what is it?” Jenny asked her new husband, confused by his sudden behavior.
Had he guessed she’d had money sewn up in it and meant to take it? She didn’t figure him for that type, but one never could tell for sure. And she’d already removed the money before going out to him. She hadn’t mentioned anything about her funds yet. Her plan was to wait until she knew she could trust him. It wasn’t in her nature to keep secrets, but she figured this was self-preservation in case her judgment about him was off.
“Where did you get this quilt?” he demanded, but not unkindly. In fact, he actually sounded rather excited.
“It belonged to my mother. She made it with her best friend, along with an almost identical one when their husbands were at war. It became a symbol of their friendship.”
“Wait here a minute, Jenny. I just can’t believe this. It’s too big of a coincidence.”
She watched him run out of the room and heard his feet climb the ladder to the loft. Several minutes later he returned with a quilt in his arms that looked eerily similar to the one Jenny had unpacked.