by Jill Maguire
Chapter Two
Philip Cohen awoke to same sound that had been invading his dreams for the past two years – the distressed, inconsolable wailing of his young daughter Annie. He tossed the warm covers from his body and quickly pulled on his trousers.
The lantern illuminated the cabin enough for Philip to climb the ladder to the loft where Annie sat in bed, her tear streaked face red with fear. Philip scooped his daughter into his arms and held her close. “Another nightmare?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes Pa,” she cried. “Another one about Ma.”
“It’s alright sweetheart. Shhhhh, hush now,” he whispered as the child buried her face in his chest.
Philip closed his eyes and raised his chin to the roof, listening as the heavy rain pelted the wood shingles outside. A silent prayer ran through his mind, the same prayer he had recited a hundred times before. Please Lord. Please bring her peace. The poor child has suffered an unspeakable loss, please bring her comfort.
He stroked his daughter’s curly blond hair as her trembling began to subside. He wished more than anything for these nightmares to stop haunting Annie. Doc McGrath said she just needed more time, but with each passing night, Philip wondered how much time it would take. Her Ma had been gone for two years, three months and 12 days and still the child was suffering.
“Pa?” the child whimpered.
“Yes.”
“Will you stay here until I fall asleep?”
“I’ll sit for a few more minutes,” he reassured his daughter.
With that, Annie crawled back under her covers and pulled them tight around her chin. Her puffy tired eyes slowly fell closed and Philip watched as she drifted off to sleep. He clasped his hands together and prayed once more for his child to no longer be crippled by the memories of her mother’s death.
****
The pounding rain of nightfall had given way to a beautiful summer morning and Philip opened the shutters to let the warm sun invade the cabin. He stirred a large pot of oatmeal and plopped a few generous spoonfuls into two bowls. He knew Annie would not be pleased with having oatmeal for breakfast again, but it was one of the few things he knew how to cook.
“Annie?” he called up the ladder to the loft. “Breakfast is on the table.”
Annie bounded down the ladder, seemingly unaffected by the terror that had overtaken her in the night. “Morning, Pa,” she chirped with a gap-toothed smile. But her smile instantly turned to a frown when she saw the glob of overcooked oats in her bowl. “Not oatmeal again,” she sighed.
“I’m hoping to get over to the General Store today for some supplies and food,” her father explained.
“Maybe some penny candy too? I would give my left arm to try one of those giant lollipops Mr. Jones put in the window last week.”
Philip laughed at his child. “Your left arm? Really? Not sure you’d be able to play ball in the yard without it.”
“Sure I could Pa. I could beat those boys with no arms. Yesterday, Jonny Harris struck out all six times when I was pitching the ball.”
“That’s not surprising. His Pa wasn’t any better when we were lads.” Philip chuckled as he slurped the thick oatmeal from his spoon. Annie simply wrinkled her nose and scooped hers up unfavorably and slapped it back down in her bowl.
“Are you not going to eat your breakfast?”
Annie didn’t answer and Philip could tell she was working up the courage to say something. “Cat got your tongue girl?”
“No sir. It’s just…….”
“Just what? Spit it out for land’s sakes.”
“It’s just…..I know you really miss Ma and all, but do you think you’ll ever get married again?”
Philip was caught completely off guard by his daughter’s question and coughed into his handkerchief, almost choking on his oatmeal. “Well, I’m not sure Annie. Why do you ask?”
“It’s nothing Pa. I’m sorry I spoke out of turn.”
Annie collected her bowl from the table and gently placed it in the sink. Philip watched as she pulled her tattered school bag from the hook by the door and ran a comb through her soft curls. Her dress was dirty from the day before and although he had promised to wash it for her, he had fallen asleep without thinking of it.
Watching his little girl walk away from the house, filthy and forlorn on her way to school was almost unbearable for a proud man like Philip Cohen. How could this have happened? Only two short years ago he had everything a man could ask for -- a beautiful wife, an angelic child and a barn full of healthy livestock.
But the fire took all of that and left him hardened and scarred.
Once Annie was out of his sight, Philip slumped back into the cabin and snatched the crisply folded newsletter from beneath his pillow. He had hidden it there so Annie wouldn’t stumble upon it accidentally.
The headline on the tea-stained paper read ‘Brides for Sale’ and had been given to him by Mrs. June Filbert over at the post office. She had laid it out on the counter in front of him while he collected his mail and pointed eagerly to one ad in particular. She said she could ‘just tell’ that the woman in the ad was the one for him. He ignored her for the most part, but when she circled the woman’s photograph with her prying finger, he couldn’t help but look.
Philip laid the newsletter on the table and stared at the advertisement. Beside the young woman’s photograph, it read: attractive woman, early 20’s with many gifts to offer. Good cook, good housekeeper and able to bear children.
Philip scoffed, crumpling the paper into a tiny ball and tossing it into the crackling fire beneath the mantle. There was only one woman for him, and she wasn’t selling herself in a newspaper ad. She was resting peacefully under the big oak tree at the back of their property.
“Impossible,” he muttered to himself and set off for town.
Chapter Three
Nora tucked herself next to the piano and looked out at the few patrons seated around the restaurant. It was customary for her to sing every Saturday night in exchange for room and board and normally she loved entertaining the townsfolk at the end of a busy week. But tonight was different. Tonight all she could think about was the envelope Clara had given her the morning before.
The piano player tapped on the ivory key to let Nora know it was time to begin. She gave him a reluctant nod and cleared her throat. To Nora’s surprise, when she opened her mouth, her voice filled the room with the same silky softness it always had. She had expected it to be crackled and out of tune due to her somber mood.
As she sang the words to When Johnny Comes Marching Home, Nora saw widow Meredith dab at her eyes with a tissue. She had lost her only son to the war and Nora shared her grief. They both had experienced the pain of unthinkable loss.
When the song finished, Nora announced she wasn’t feeling well and would not be continuing to sing. The small crowd accepted her explanation and offered a few quiet claps to show their appreciation. Nora gave a quick curtsey and a forced smile before walking out of the room.
“Nora, dear?” a strained, tired voice called from behind her. Nora turned and saw widow Meredith hunched over her cane, hat tilted sideways, shuffling toward her.
“Mrs. Meredith,” Nora said, rushing to the old woman’s side, bracing her with a loving hand under her elbow. “Can I help you along?”
“No dear. You can help me by singing that song again; the one about the war.”
“But I thought it upset you. I saw you crying while I sang it.” Nora sounded confused.
The old woman let a muffled snort escape her lips at Nora’s suggestion. “I was not crying because of the song,” she snarled. “I have a dreary cold that makes my eyes water. You must think I’m quite a wounded dove to let a simple song bring a tear to my eye.”
Nora blushed at her embarrassing assumption. “I’m sorry Mrs. Meredith. I just assumed……”
“You assumed because I lost my son in the war that I am weak. That I am gripped by such unspeakable grief that
I have given up, stopped living.” Nora helped the aged woman into a seat in the corner of the restaurant, utterly stunned by what the old woman was telling her. “The truth is I am thankful for the time I had with my son. He was far too special to mourn. I choose to celebrate him by continuing to be happy.” Mrs. Meredith hooked her cane on the back of the chair and motioned for the server to bring her a cup of tea. “Now, how ‘bout that song? An encore just for me?”
Nora couldn’t refuse and began softly singing to the widowed woman seated across the table from her. Mrs. Meredith closed her eyes and looked quite pleased as Nora performed a private rendition of the song.
“Your voice is what the angels will sound like when they call me home,” Mrs. Meredith told Nora without opening her eyes. “You have a true gift.”
“Thank you Mrs. Meredith, but I really must retire to my room now, if you’ll please excuse me.”
Nora lifted herself from the table and gathered her pale beige skirt. “I hope you begin to feel better soon,” she offered before disappearing up the stairs to her room.
****
Nora collapsed on the bed and pulled the covers over her without undressing. She lay motionless on the pillow while Mrs. Meredith’s words rang in her ear. Far too special to mourn. Celebrate him by being happy. All of the things she hadn’t been doing for Thomas. All she had done was mourn and being happy was something she thought was no longer her right.
Nora yanked open the drawer beside her bed and pulled out Thomas’ photograph along with the envelope Clara had given her. She clutched her late husband’s picture in one hand and opened the letter with the other, both hands trembling as she unfolded it.
It was still unfathomable to her that Clara had put an advertisement in a western newsletter offering her as a bride for sale. And perhaps even more profound was that some strange man had responded with an offer of marriage – all without even laying eyes on her.
Nora shook her head in disbelief, but did not release the letter. Could she even consider it? Did she have any choice? Clara told her she had three days to decide before her room would be rented to another. Move on, or move out – that’s what Clara had said.
Nora held both photographs within inches of her face, her beloved Thomas on the left and the stranger who had requested her hand on the right. She studied the faces of both men and in that moment, she realized Clara and Mrs. Meredith were right. Thomas was gone and she needed to move on with her life. Maybe going west to start over was the answer. Maybe someday she could be happy again – or at least feel more alive.
Tomorrow she would tell Clara of her decision, but tonight she allowed herself one last sleep with Thomas’ picture tucked next to her cheek on the pillow. A tear dripped between them as Nora closed her eyes and dreamt of her past – and contemplated her future.
****
The stage coach rattled and rumbled into the station, kicking up enough dust to put out a fire. The pint-sized driver hopped down from his seat to adjust a wheel hitch and tighten a strap as Nora said her goodbyes.
“I got you a going away gift,” Clara sniffled as she handed Nora a small white box. Nora was surprised that Clara was so emotional about her departure. After all, she had basically kicked Nora out of the boarding house.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Nora told her, taking the box and opening it quickly before the stage driver was ready to pull out. Inside was a tiny glass bottle filled with Nora’s favorite scent. “Lemon Verbena? Oh, Clara. You really shouldn’t have.”
“Now, enough of that talk,” Clara said sternly. “No bride should meet her intended without smelling like a fresh slice of lemon pie.” The plump woman snatched the bottle from Nora’s hand and dabbed a tiny amount on her fingers. She placed a small swipe of perfume behind each of Nora’s ears and squeezed her tight. “I’ll miss you dearly,” Clara whispered in her ear. “Go and be happy.”
“Thank you Clara, for everything. I’m going to mi…..”
“Enough child!” Clara barked, flapping her hands to dismiss Nora’s sentiment. “You’re going to miss the stage with all this yammerin’. Now go on.” Clara shoved Nora toward the stage and turned away. Nora wasn’t sure, but as the horses bucked forward and the screech of the wooden wheels echoed in her ear, she thought she saw a tiny tear fall down Clara’s cheek.
“I’ll miss you,” Nora hollered out the window. She didn’t take her eyes off Clara until the woman’s deep purple dress was nothing more than a speck on the horizon. Another person she loved was fading into her past. Nora clasped her hands in her lap and prayed she had made the right decision.
Chapter Four
Philip threaded the last few buttons of his shirt through the frayed holes and snapped his trousers into place. He grunted at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was six inches longer than he’d ever worn it when Sara was alive and the bristly shadow of a beard hid the dimples she adored. He snorted to himself – he certainly didn’t look polished enough to be meeting a woman – especially not one who was expecting to become his bride.
Philip walked to the small window of the cabin and peeked out at Annie who was finishing up her morning chores. She laughed and talked to the chickens as she sprinkled their feed atop the dirt, and tapped Ernest the horse on the nose when he tried to pluck the firm red apple right out of her pocket.
I’m not sure I can go through with this, he thought to himself. No man in his right mind would order a bride from a newspaper. Simply preposterous.
And yet, it was exactly what he had done.
Two days after he had used the newsletter as fire starter, Annie came home with the very same one. She told her father that Mrs. Filbert thought he should have it. Philip chuckled, knowing the nosey woman assumed he would throw away the first copy and sent another. He told Annie that Mrs. Filbert should mind her own business.
But later that night, after Annie suffered another gut-wrenching nightmare, his emotions got the better of him and he hastily answered the ad. He sent a photo of himself, money for the stage and a request for the young woman’s hand and heart.
Philip pulled the yellowed lace curtain over the window and reminded himself he was doing all of this for Annie. His daughter needed a companion around the homestead, someone to teach her things about becoming a woman. At the young age of seven, Annie was already asking questions that Philip couldn’t answer. And besides, having someone to cook and clean would take some of the workload off of his shoulders.
But Annie could never know that he was buying a bride. Philip Cohen was far too proud to ever admit that – even to a young child. As far as he was concerned, all Annie needed to know was that he had hired someone to help out around the farm in exchange for a place to stay.
“We’ll probably never get married anyway,” he grumbled under his breath. “If the woman and Annie don’t get on, then all bets are off.” He knew he was already looking for a way out.
“Annie!” Philip hollered toward the barn. “Time to go darlin’!”
“Yes, Pa. Coming…..I just have to give Sasha some water.”
“Sasha will be fine until we get home. She’s a pig not a person. We need to leave right now or we’ll miss the stage.”
Annie came bounding across the yard, the swirl of dry dirt following her like a shadow. Her blond curls were pulled into a long thick braid and it whipped back and forth as she ran. It reminded Philip of a horse tail and he chuckled when the child tripped and fell nose first into the ground.
“Y’alright Annie?”
“I’m fine Pa,” she answered, spitting the dirt from her tongue and straightening her dress.
The girl climbed into the wagon, still trying to shake the dust from her skirt. “Sorry Pa, I know you just washed this for me last night. I didn’t mean to get it dirty before we meet the lady helper today.”
“That’s quite alright. If she doesn’t like us the way we are, then she’s not worth bringin’ to the farm.” He winked at his daughter and snapped the reigns across the
horse’s back urging the animal to pull the wagon forward.
“I can’t wait to meet her Pa. What did you say her name was?”
“Her name is Nora.”
Philip didn’t really want to discuss this any further with his daughter. She was a naturally inquisitive child and if he answered one question, he’d have to answer a hundred. The last thing he wanted was for Annie to find out that Nora was a mail order bride – or that Nora knew nothing about Annie.
As Philip steered the wagon down the bumpy dirt road, he thought about why he hadn’t mentioned his daughter when he replied to the ad. Was he afraid the woman wouldn’t accept his offer if she knew he had a child? Or was it because he never expected her to answer at all? Whatever the reason, it was going to make for a very awkward meeting later that day.
****
The station was packed with people when Philip and Annie arrived. The townsfolk had nicknamed it “Elation Station” because of all the women who were coming west and arriving on the stage seemingly every day. A row of men stood shoulder to shoulder holding signs with their intended’s name scribbled on the front. They were jovial and excited but Philip found it all very odd and uncomfortable.
“Pa, did you bring a sign with her name on it?” Annie asked innocently.
“No, but I’m sure we’ll find her.”
Annie watched wide-eyed as beautiful women filed off the stage coach, adorned in fetching gowns and eagerly searching the crowd for their suitor. She didn’t quite understand what was going on, but she liked how happy the men and women looked when they finally found each other.
As she continued to watch the parade of women stepping from the stage, Annie’s eyes landed on a young woman who didn’t look quite like the others. She wasn’t as fancily dressed and didn’t look as happy. Annie followed the woman’s every move – noticing how she looked mostly at the ground when she walked, how her red curly hair was pulled back with just a few loose tendrils framing her face, and how her eyes looked worried, scared or even a little sad.