People streamed out of the buildings along the street and the sound of frantic voices, questions, and shouting rose up to me.
"They need help! Please!"
I gathered my skirts and ran as quickly as I could out of my room, through the lobby, and out onto the dusty street. People were running past me and for a moment I was disoriented, but the man yelled again and I ran toward the sound.
"What's happening?" I demanded.
"They're sick. Fell ill on the way here and haven't recovered. Five people died in the last two days. We need to get these people to the clinic."
The man who had answered me was carrying a small child in his arms and rushing toward the small clinic on the other side of the street. I watched the man who had climbed into the back of the wagon hand a young woman out of the wagon into the waiting arms of a man I recognized as one of the blacksmiths.
I felt stunned as I watched the men help carry the sick people from the wagons to the clinic. I remembered what that had been like on my journey. A fever had burned through our train, leaving several people dead over the course of a few days. Hannah had told me that she had lost her husband to cholera when she was on her way here just a few weeks before I arrived.
My heart pounded and I felt slightly dizzy. The people around me turned into a blur of colors and panic rose in my chest. There was a tragic, gut-wrenching scream from one of the wagons and I heard a woman sobbing a man's name over and over.
Knowing there was nothing I could do there, I ran back to the hotel and into the lobby where I rushed up to the desk. Hannah looked up at me, startled by my sudden appearance in front of her.
"What is it, Caroline?"
"I need a horse," I said breathlessly, "Please. I need to borrow a horse."
Hannah nodded, reaching out to cover my hand with hers calmingly.
"Alright. You can borrow mine. She's the grey one in the stable in the back."
"Thank you."
I hurried to the stable behind the hotel as quickly as I could and released the animal from her stall. She stepped forward docilely and I tossed a blanket onto her back, not bothering with the saddle. It had been years since I had ridden like this, but I didn't have the time to go through any more steps in preparing the horse. I would just have to pray that I would remember how to ride the way Papa had taught me.
I stepped onto a low stool and climbed onto the horse's back, squeezing her as tightly as I could with my legs and holding onto the coarse hair of her mane as I urged her forward.
The late August air streamed through my hair and stung at my face as I pushed the horse as fast as she could run behind the buildings and out of the town. Her hooves moved so quickly it was as though the ground unfurled like a golden ribbon beneath us, but I still felt like we weren't going fast enough. I fought the tears in my eyes and the hard tightness of my chest as I encouraged her to continue.
It felt like hours before I heard the shouts of the men faintly in the distance. I focused in on them against the rhythm of the horse's stride, letting them draw me forward. Finally, horizon broke and I saw the group of miners moving around the wide creek as they searched for gold.
I pulled the horse to a stop and jumped down, taking only a second to tie her to a post driven into the ground before running toward the men.
"Bailey!" I shouted.
Several of the men turned to look at me, but I ignored them. I continued shouting until I saw Bailey in the distance, stepping away from the creek and turning to face me. It seemed to take him a moment before he realized it was truly me coming toward him. He started to run and I pushed myself harder, closing the space between us in just a few seconds.
Bailey scooped me into his arms and I clutched at his shirt, filling my hands with as much of the fabric as I could as I breathed in the scent of his skin at the crook of his neck and shoulder.
"Caroline," he whispered into my hair.
After several seconds, he set me on my feet and stepped back so that he could look at me.
"Are you alright?" he asked, looking into my eyes with concern on his face.
"Yes," I told him, "A new wagon train arrived filled with sick people. One of the men…"
I couldn’t finish the sentence. I wrapped my arms around his neck again and pulled him into another hug. He held me, rocking me gently as if to soothe me.
"I'm sorry for what happened," he said.
"No," I said, pushing back to look at him, "Don't apologize; you did nothing wrong. We are not our parents. Their conflict is theirs; we shouldn’t let it keep us apart."
Bailey tucked a finger under my chin and lifted my face slightly so that he looked directly into my eyes.
"Please never run away again. I have been miserable without you."
"Never," I promised.
I knew then why I had been led to Bannack and to Bailey. It was us who would soothe past hurts and bring two families torn apart by war and misunderstanding together. We had another wedding ceremony that autumn just before Thanksgiving. The vows we made were the same—but this time, I was making them to a man I knew I truly loved.
THE END
Mail Order Bride Louisa
Brides Of Grasshopper Creek
Faith-Ann Smith
Mail Order Bride Louisa
Boston, Massachusetts – 1862
After the death of her sweetheart, Louisa feels that there is nothing left in life for her, and wonders what she could possibly do to fill the years that lie ahead. When her sister Eleanor suggests that she consider becoming a mail order bride for one of the men in the frontier, Louisa is appalled, but with the prospect of her sister and brother leaving on the wagon train with their cousins, Louisa knows that she must make the decision to either be left alone without any relatives and only her painful memories, or to enter marriage with a man she doesn't know.
When she finds an advertisement for a man who seems to have the same dry concept of such an arranged marriage, she thinks she might have made the right decision. A difficult wagon train journey with tragic consequences, however, leaves her wondering if all of the challenges that had been put in front of her were really to lead her to the man she was meant to be with all along, even if he enters her life in an unexpected way.
Chapter 1
December, 1862
Dear Diary,
I have tried to start this entry so many times and have had to rip out each one and start again because my tears have soaked the paper and smeared the ink so much that the words are unreadable. I am trying again now, and though there are still hot trails streaming down my cheeks, I seem to have gotten in control of them enough that they are no longer splashing on my paper.
I might as well as get used to my tears. I think that I will cry them for the rest of my life. They will be a constant presence and a constant reminder.
Outside my window, I can hear children laughing as they play in the snow and talk about Christmas. It is just a few days away and they are all so excited about the trees that are in their parlors and the sweets their grandmothers are baking for them. They have dreams of the gifts they will find all wrapped in their pretty papers, and the fun they will have with their families.
I wish that they would stop. I wish that silence would fall over the entire world and I would be left with nothing to hear but my own thoughts. I do not want to think about Christmas. There is no laughter or joy in my heart, no excitement or sugary dreams. I do not think that I will ever have them again.
This was meant to be the Christmas when Gregory and I would formally announce our engagement. We have been talking about marrying for several months now and we thought that announcing it on Christmas would mean so much to both of our families. It was meant to be a surprise at our annual Christmas party.
Just three weeks ago, however, all of my dreams started to unravel right before eyes as Gregory fell ill. I was hoping with everything in me that it was just the damp, cold weather that was making him feel sick, but after several days I could tell that it
was so much more than that. I have never seen my Gregory look so pale and drawn as he did lying there in his bed.
I sat by his side nearly every hour of the day and night, holding his hand, changing the cool towel on his forehead hoping to draw out the fever. Only when I could no longer hold myself up did I allow the doctor or his mother to take my place. I cannot remember sleeping during those breaks, though I suppose I must have. I only remember the hours of staring into his face, praying for his eyes to open or his lips to smile. Sometimes it was as if he heard my thoughts and would look up at me weakly and tell me he loved me.
Those moments became few and farther between rapidly and by the last week, he barely moved. Even sitting right at his side, I almost could not perceive the movement of his chest as he drew in air. Finally, I saw the pain leave his face and felt his hand release in mine. I knew that he was gone, but I could not let myself believe it. I could feel the rate of my heartbeat growing, and my breath coming faster. It was almost as though my body thought that if I just held on and did not say anything, I could transfer my heartbeat and my breath to him and bring him back to me.
That was three days ago, and I am still living in a daze. I have not spoken to anyone. You, Diary, are the only one that I can record my thoughts with, the only place where I can feel safe. I have not been able to sleep and it is beginning to wear my body down. I do not want to rest. I do not want to close my eyes. I spent too many of the last moments that I had with Gregory with my eyes closed and maybe if I keep them open for another second, another ten seconds, another hour, it will give me those moments back with him.
I feel like there is nothing left inside me. It is a hollow feeling unlike anything I have ever experienced. I remember clearly when my parents died. Even though I was young, I can still remember what it felt like when my uncle told me that they would not be coming home, that there had been an accident and that they both had gone to Heaven. I can still so distinctly feel the sudden ache within me that was like a little part of me was no longer there.
It is different with Gregory. This is not a small ache, a small part of me that has been taken away. When Gregory died, he took along with him everything that I was, but also everything that I would have been if he had lived. You can move past the pain and emptiness of a piece of you that has been taken after you have already lived it, but there is no way to soothe the hurt of a piece of that has been lost before it ever had a chance to come to be.
With my parents, each new step and each new day carried me beyond that moments that had been stolen by their deaths so that I healed just a little bit as I moved forward in life. With Gregory, each breath is a new one that I am breathing without him, and each day is a day that I should have lived by his side. For the rest of my life I will be living stolen moments and I will be broken all over again, never allowing me to heal.
What do I do from here, Diary? Who am I if I am not Gregory's wife and the mother of his children; the only two things that I have seen myself as in the years since I have known him? I am not a widow and yet I do not feel that I will ever be able to see anyone else as my husband.
Perhaps I can lay down and close my eyes and when I open them again, Christmas will be over and I will not have to suffer listening to the joy and delight of those around me any longer. Maybe if I sleep long enough, I will wake with Gregory again.
Louisa
Chapter 2
"Louisa, please, you need to eat something."
Eleanor pushed the bowl back toward me and I shifted it toward her again. I knew that she was right. I should eat. I didn't feel hungry, though, and nothing, not even my favorite creamed potato soup, sounded good in that moment.
"I am not hungry," I insisted, feeling like I had said those words a thousand times in the last few weeks.
"Louisa," Eleanor implored, "You are wasting away. I haven't seen you eat more than a few mouthfuls since Gregory…"
She paused and I looked up into her wide brown eyes. There was a hint of color on her cheeks like she was upset with herself for having said anything.
"Say it, Eleanor. Since Gregory died. He's dead."
"I'm sorry."
"I want to go back to sleep."
I stood up from the table and started out of the kitchen, but I felt my sister's hand take my wrist so that I couldn't get out of the room. I let out a long sigh and turned back to the table, lowering myself back into my chair and looking at Eleanor.
"You have been sleeping almost all day already. You need to start living again."
I glared at my sister, not able to fathom how she could say something like that to me. At five years older than me, Eleanor had been the one to step in as the mother figure in my life after our parents died. She had been so young herself, but she did everything she could to make sure that my little brother and I were able to get through the first difficult months of them being gone, and then continued caring for us through the years, giving us the most normal life that she could. I appreciated everything that she did for me, especially everything that she had given up so that she could concentrate on taking care of us, but there were moments when I resented her trying to control me as she did.
"I do not want to start living again, Eleanor. I want to go to sleep. I want to go back to when Gregory was still alive. I want to do anything but pretend like everything is fine and that I have life ahead of me."
"You do have life ahead of you, Louisa. You are so young. I know that you miss Gregory, but giving up is not going to bring him back. God gave you your life for a reason, and you should not just be so quick to throw it away."
"It has been less than a month, Eleanor. I have the right to grieve. You do not get to tell me what I should be feeling right now. You do not have any idea what I am going through."
My older sister's face grew dark and I realized that I had gone too far. Simply because I was angry and sad did not mean that I should hurt her. Eleanor had forgone all that would have given her a normal life in order to make sure that my brother Harry and I lived comfortably and did not have to leave our home and live with our relatives. This included never marrying, and now that she was well past what most considered marriageable age, it seemed that she had given up her chance at a husband and a family for us.
"You're right. I do not know what you are going through. I have never lost a man who loved me, and who I loved. I never had the opportunity to. But I have been through some very difficult things, and I kept going. I had to for you, and for Harry. Now you need to decide that you are going to keep going. Gregory would not want you to waste away to nothing when you have so much ahead of you."
Eleanor stood up and walked out of the kitchen, leaving me sitting alone at the table, pondering her words and wondering if there was anything else to strive for just beyond this dark path.
Chapter 3
I didn't speak to my sister for another three days. I don't know whether it was more that I was avoiding her because she had hurt me and I was feeling frustrated and angry with her, or that she was avoiding me because she couldn’t watch me go through the pain any longer. Whichever way it was, when we finally came together again, the tension between us was palpable.
Part of me wanted to ignore her and maintain the icy silence that we had kept up for the last few days, but I knew that that wasn't right. Though I didn't let myself think of her often, it was moments like this that made me think of my mother and what she would have thought about our sisters' feud. I knew that it would hurt her and that she would want us to forgive one another and make amends.
"I didn't mean to make you upset with me," Eleanor said, slowly stirring the pot on the stove.
"I know," I responded, hoping that I could come up with something more to say to her, but finding myself at a complete loss for words.
"What do you see for your future, Louisa?"
I felt like if she had asked me that the last time we spoke that I would have gotten even angrier and more defensive, but now I was so worn down that I actually stopped to c
ontemplate what she meant by the question. She wasn't just asking me what I was going to do for myself, but if I thought I was ever going to love anyone else now that I had lost Gregory.
"I don't know. I don't even want to think about a future right now."
"But you have to, Louisa. You have to think about what you are going to do tomorrow, next month, a year from now. That's the only way that you are going to get through this. Unless you focus on yourself and where you are going, you are not going to know which way you are to walk."
"I don't even know what I'm going to do an hour from now, Eleanor. I feel like I am just facing too much. I can't bear this."
"Of course you can. The Lord will never give you more challenges that you are able to handle. He gives you only what you will be able to persevere through. That doesn't mean that everything is always going to be easy. You have to push and try and be willing to put all of your trust and faith in the knowledge that there is a plan for you."
"What type of plan could the Lord possibly have for me that would require me to lose the love of my life?"
"I don't know, Louisa. I don't think that his plan for you was for Gregory to die, but that is the path that was made for him. You were simply caught up in the fray. Now you have to move past it."
"I don't know how."
I sat down at the table and Eleanor came to sit with me, offering me a cup of strong tea studded with mint leaves from the plants that she babied indoors throughout the winter. I took a long sip and looked up at my sister, noticing that she seemed to be staring very hard into her tea in the way that she did when she was going through something in her mind that would be difficult for her to say.
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