by Indiana Wake
Mercy crossed her arms over her chest. She looked so much taller than she was when she threw her shoulders back. She looked down on her own mother. “Some good man will see through Grace’s scars. Some good man will see the beautiful Grace underneath and fall in love with her. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s Grace, and you have no right to deprive her of that. I’ll stay at home for the rest of my life to protect her from your cruelty, if that’s what it takes.” It pained Mercy to speak to her own mother that way, but her mother’s scathing tongue toward her beloved half-sister was too much to endure.
Cynthia opened her mouth to answer back, but a knock at the door interrupted her. She opened it, and a shriveled old man with a scraggly white beard and cloudy eyes stood on the front porch. “I hope I’m not disturbing anything.”
Cynthia took him by the arm. “Not at all. Come right in. We were just expecting you.” She ushered him into the house and marched him over to Grace. “Now, Grace, you know Ennis Patterson from the mill. He’s not the youngest man in town, but he’s a very eligible bachelor, and beggars can’t be choosers. Now why don’t you two sit down here by the fire and get to know each other?”
Grace stared at the old man through a film of tears. On the other side of the room, Mercy smacked her lips. “Mother, how could you?”
Grace clamped her eyes shut, and the tears streaked down her ruined cheeks. She ran out of the house, down the porch steps, and into the trees at the edge of the park. She ran away from her stepmother, from her whole life—even from Mercy’s kindness. She ran until she found her favorite spot by the stream and collapsed in tears on the mossy bank.
Minutes later and out of breath, Mercy laid her hand on Grace’s shoulder. “Don’t pay any attention to her, Grace. She’s wicked. She should be run out of the house, not you, for acting that way.”
Grace shook the tears out of her eyes. “Your mother’s right, Mercy. I’ll never get married. She’s doing the best thing for me by finding these blind old men to marry me off. No other man would have me.”
“Don’t tell yourself that, Grace,” Mercy insisted. “If I can see past your scars to the beauty and goodness of your heart, then the right man will be able to do the same thing. One of these days, you’ll meet a man who loves you for who you really are, and then you’ll be happier than you can ever imagine. Keep a good thought, believe and pray, and it will happen.”
“You should get married,” Grace told her. “You have your whole life ahead of you, and I’m twenty-four years old. I’m already an old maid. I should give up hoping to get married. I have a good life teaching school at the church, and I have my poetry. This must be the life God wants for me, or He wouldn’t have scarred me like this.”
Mercy clapped her hands. “Nonsense! God didn’t scar you! But He can use those terrible scars for His glory. He will shame the devil and use those scars to make you kinder and gentler and more caring than you already are. His power at work in you will prove how you can rise above these hardships and find even greater happiness for your struggle. Remember, my beloved sister, the Savior was scarred and torn beyond any man, and our Father in Heaven used those stripes to bring healing to the world.”
Grace wiped her eyes and peered at her sister. “You’re too nice to me, Mercy. My life wouldn’t be worth living if I didn’t have you.”
Mercy jumped to her feet. “Stop crying now. I’ve got something wonderful to tell you.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “What?”
Before Mercy could answer, her friend Emma Johnson stepped out of the trees. “I thought I’d find you two here. Let me guess. You’re mother’s been throwing things at Grace again.”
Mercy brushed the soil off her skirt. “We’re not talking about that anymore. I’m just about to break the good news to Grace about.....you know what.”
Emma frowned. “About what?”
Mercy jerked her head to one side. “You know!”
Emma burst into a smile. “Oh, that! Right. Let’s tell her.”
Grace stood up. “Tell me what.”
Mercy took a step closer and laid her hand on Grace’s arm. “Do you remember that newspaper advertisement we saw a few weeks ago for mail order brides? Emma and I wrote away to some of the men wanting brides. We told them about you.”
Grace stiffened. “What did you do that for? I’m sure those men will be just like the bachelors and widowers your mother has been parading in front of me. They’ll be old and worn out and have body parts missing from the war. I don’t want to marry someone like that.”
Mercy shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. A lot of them are young and want women of child-bearing age. They would be perfect for you.”
“If they’re so perfect,” Grace asked, “why can’t they get married?”
“Because they live out on the Frontier,” Mercy replied. “They live on homesteads hundreds of miles from the nearest town, and they work the land for their living. They need hard-working women to come and live and raise their families there. And they don’t care so much what the woman looks like.”
“They’ll care what I look like,” Grace murmured. “When they find out what I really look like, they won’t want to have anything to do with me.”
“They already know what you look like,” Mercy told her. “I sent them each a copy of the painting I made of you.”
Grace gasped. “Mercy! What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I’d find you a husband,” Mercy returned. “Emma and I got so angry at Mother cooking up these ridiculous schemes about marrying you off to some decrepit old gentleman that we decided to take matters into our own hands. We sent out twelve letters to twelve different men, and when we got several responses, we set about eliminating the ones we didn’t like. We narrowed the field down to four, and then I sent them your portrait.”
“But those paintings you made don’t show my scars,” Grace pointed out. “You painted what I would look like without them. You tried to circulate them around Boston, but when the men saw what I really look like, they all turned their backs on me. Don’t you remember how Jacob Hornsby said living with me under the same roof would give him nightmares for the rest of his life?”
“I made one painting of you the way you are,” Mercy told her. “I didn’t tell you about it because I knew you’d never let me make it if you knew. I sent it to the four most suitable men.”
“I’m sure they changed their minds when they saw what I really look like,” Grace muttered.
“Three of them did,” Mercy replied, “but one of them didn’t. His name is Jackson Pikes, and he’s a farmer and rancher in Cheyenne, Wyoming. He said he thinks he can see beyond your scars and he can still love you. He sent you one hundred dollars toward the train fare to come out to Cheyenne and marry him. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Grace stared at her sister. “He sent you one hundred dollars?”
Mercy glanced at Emma. “Well, actually, he sent you one hundred dollars. He thinks he’s been corresponding with you all this time.”
Grace’s mouth fell open. “Mercy! What have you done?” She spun away and hurried through the trees.
Mercy ran to catch up with her, and Emma followed. “I only did this for you, Grace. I did it to make you happy.”
Grace rounded on her. “How could you do this? How could you correspond with a man you’ve never met and arrange for me to travel across the country to marry him? What will Papa say?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Mercy returned. “Maybe he’ll be happy for you. He’s always wanted you to be happily married and out from under my mother’s thumb.”
Grace pursed her lips. “I didn’t know you could be so devious, Mercy. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Mercy set her fists on her hips. “Well, what was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to just stand around and watch my mother throw boots and buckets at your head, day in and day out? You’ve got to get out of here, Grace, before she loses her temper and really hurts you. The onl
y way that’s going to happen is if you get married, and none of the men in Boston will come near you.”
“You should have stayed out of my business,” Grace shot back. “This has nothing to do with you—or Emma. Get yourself married and leave me alone.”
Mercy ran after her again. “You know I can’t do that, Grace. I love you more than anyone in the world, and I can’t stand to see you unhappy. Give this Jackson Pikes character a chance. He knows what you look like and he wants to marry you anyway. This could be the chance at happiness you’ve been waiting for.”
Grace glared at her sister with her mouth sealed shut.
“He has a brother in Cheyenne, too,” Mercy went on. “Thomas Pikes is a preacher at the local Baptist church, and he supports his brother’s plan to get a mail order bride. He could marry you and Jackson as soon as you get off the train.”
Grace faced her sister with flashing eyes. “You lied to me, Mercy, and you lied to all those men by telling them you were me. God only knows what kind of nonsense you told them in my place. You had no business doing any of this. You’ll have to send the money back to Jackson Pikes and explain everything.”
“But why won’t you at least give it a try?” Mercy asked. “This could be your only chance at happiness.”
“I’m not going to be anybody’s mail order bride,” Grace snapped, “not now, not ever. I don’t want to hear another word about it. I would rather take a beating from your mother every day for the rest of my life than to marry a man I don’t even know.”
She turned on her heel and walked away, back to the house.
CHAPTER TWO
Grace's Decision
GRACE AND MERCY sat on their stools by the kitchen fire. Their father, George Oakes, and his wife Cynthia sat in their rocking chairs nearby. Cynthia worked at her embroidery, and Mercy darned a sock. As her father smoked his pipe and stared into the fire, Grace began to read one of her poems from a slip of paper.
And downward from Heaven touched His rare hand
And painted a streak of gold through the hearts of Man.
She put the paper aside and took up her sewing. George sighed. “You look just like your mother when you read your poetry. You don’t know what it does to me to see her in you, and you’re just as beautiful as she ever was.”
Cynthia dropped her embroidery into her lap with a gasp. “You shouldn’t encourage her, George. You know how idle and pointless all this poetry is. Grace should concentrate on the practical aspects of life instead of wasting her time with romantic notions.”
“Grace has enough grasp of the practical aspects of life,” her father returned. “She can cook and clean and mend and sew as well as you and Mercy, if not better. She’s earned the right to a romantic notion now and then.”
“You know as well as I do she’ll never have any use for romantic notions,” Cynthia snapped. “She’ll never be anything but a drudge.”
“Hogwash,” George growled. “She’s the most beautiful woman in the world to me.”
“She can’t hold a candle to Mercy,” Cynthia shot back. “Just look at her, with her flowing dark hair. She looks like an angel.”
“Grace will always be my angel,” George returned. “No one can convince me otherwise.”
Grace gave her father a grateful smile, but Cynthia shook her head over her embroidery. “We have to find a husband for her before it’s too late.”
“Leave her alone,” George told her. “The only men you can find are interested in the dowry my Mary left her. She’s not marrying one of them as long as I can prevent it.”
“Your stubborn ways will cost her the only chance she has to make a good match,” Cynthia told him. “You’ll cost Mercy her chance, too, if we don’t act fast. I’ll have Grace married off by the end of the year if it’s the last thing I do.”
“All you care about is climbing the social ladder,” George argued. “My income is never enough for you. And as for Mercy, you just want her to marry a rich husband who will keep you and buy you fancy dresses and send you to fancy parties. It isn’t going to happen. She’s just as practical and good-hearted as Grace. Neither of them will marry any man for any reason other than love. You wait and see.”
A knock sounded on the door. Cynthia jumped up from her seat. “Just in time!”
George turned around in his chair. “Not another one.”
Cynthia was already opening the door. “Do come in, Jeremiah Peters. You know my husband George and my daughter Mercy. And this is Grace, the one I told you about.”
The man teetered on his feet, and his weather worn hand shook when he extended it to George. He barely opened his eyes to look at the girls. Grace sat bolt upright on her stool.
“Come on, Grace,” Cynthia urged. “Jeremiah says he would love to marry you, and he has enough money to make you very happy.”
Grace rose from her seat and surveyed the room. She met her father’s eyes with cold determination. “I’m not going to marry Jeremiah. I’m going out to Cheyenne, Wyoming, to be a mail order bride.”
Mercy’s eyes flew open, and she cried out in surprise.
George and Cynthia stared at Grace. “When did you decide that?”
Grace squared her shoulders. The more she talked, the more determined she became to carry the plan to its conclusion. “I’ve been corresponding with a man there. You know those advertisements we saw in the paper? I wrote to several men, and I sent them one of Mercy’s pictures of me. One of them wrote back and wants to marry me. He sent me one hundred dollars toward the train fare.”
Cynthia glanced at George, but George could only stare at his daughter. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
Grace nodded toward Jeremiah Peters. “With respect, sir, I think my Mother has made a mistake. I am spoken for already. Jackson Pikes is a young man with his own ranch. We will have children together, and I’ll have a bright future I can look forward to. I don’t want to stay here a moment longer.”
George tapped out his pipe. “My dear, this is quite a surprise. Are you certain that this is the path you want to take?” His eyes flashed with concern for his daughter’s safety.
Grace fell on her knees at her father’s feet and clasped his hands. “Oh, Papa! You know I would never leave you if I had a choice. I only stayed on here for your sake—and Mercy’s. Please forgive me and give me your blessing before I go.”
Tears sprang into George’s old eyes. “I know you haven’t been happy here, and I only ever wanted you to be happy. But what if it doesn’t work out? What if he changes his mind when he sees you?”
“If it doesn’t work out, I can always get a job as a schoolteacher.” Grace stole a glance at her stepmother. “Even if I have to live the rest of my life as a spinster on the Frontier, it will be better than staying here.”
“I don’t like the idea,” George told her. “What ever happened to asking the father of the bride for his daughter’s hand in marriage? What kind of a man skips that?”
Cynthia crossed her arms and glared down at Grace. “This is the best thing that could happen to any of us. All our lives will be better when you go.”
Grace rallied all her courage and faced her father. “I’ve given this a lot of thought, Papa, and this is what I really want to do. It’s not only the mail order marriage I want. I want to see the Frontier. I want to push myself to build something I can call my own. I want to stand under the clear blue sky and know I built my life with my own two hands. Won’t you give me your blessing to do that?”
“If you can be happy with this Pikes fellow,” George replied, “then you have my heartfelt blessing. I only hate to lose you.”
Grace pressed his hand to her cheek. “I don’t want to leave you, either, but I can’t be happy here. This could be my only chance.”
George nodded and sniffed back his tears. “Well, then, you better go pack your things if you’re going. I’ll take you to the train station in the morning.”
A sudden cry brought all their attention to M
ercy. She buried her face in her hands and wept. Cynthia rounded on her. “What’s the matter now?”
“I can’t stand losing Grace,” Mercy sobbed. “I don’t know if I can stand it.”
Cynthia turned away. “I just don’t know what this world is coming to. Just when we get everything arranged, you have to fall apart. This is the happiest day of our lives, and you sit there crying.”
“I don’t know if I can live here without Grace,” Mercy moaned.
Grace stared at her sister, but she didn’t dare argue. Whatever was she doing? How could she tell her father and stepmother the mail order bride idea was Mercy’s idea all along? What would they say if they knew Grace never corresponded with Jackson Pikes at all, that it was Mercy who corresponded with him and arranged the marriage?
Mercy ran out of the room, and her sobs echoed through her open bedroom door. Grace looked around at her father. “I better go pack.”
CHAPTER THREE
Westward Bound
THE NEXT DAY, the family stood on the railway platform. The whistle screeched through the station, and people rushed from one corner to the other. Grace struggled to keep her excitement under control. “This is my train. I better get going.”
She hugged her father one last time, but she didn’t dare look him in the eye. “Write to me. Maybe you could come and visit me over the summer.”
He nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat, but he didn’t answer. He only pressed her to his heart and let her go. Cynthia shook Grace’s hand with stiff formality. No one could mistake the triumph in her eyes. “Good luck out there, Grace. I hope you have a good life.”
“Thank you.” Grace turned away.
Mercy sobbed into her handkerchief, but when Grace put out her arms to embrace her, Mercy held back and gave Grace a wink. Grace’s heart skipped a beat. What did that mean? Then Mercy enclosed Grace in her arms with another loud sob. The two young women held each other for a long moment until the train whistle startled them apart.