"Why is that fortunate?"
Alan reached over and took my hand. I drew in a breath.
"I flirted with them because I hoped you would notice. I made sure that no one else would pay attention to you because I didn't want you paying attention to anyone but me. I teased you because I was a ridiculous boy who was enamored with you even then and didn't know how to express myself."
"And now?"
"And now I kept the picture of you out of the catalog because I couldn't bear the thought of one of those men out in the Frontier seeing you, deciding that he wanted you, and taking you away from me before I had the chance to show you the type of man that I have become."
"What type of man is that?"
"I went to college so that I could be intelligent and cultured and show you that I can be as engaged as the men in the salons so that if you want to continue to go to them, we can. And if you want to play sports, we can play them together. On our ranch."
"Our ranch?"
Alan nodded and held my hand closer.
"I have been planning to go to Oregon to start a ranch. I know that I can use my business knowledge to run it and hire men to do the work that I can't handle on my own. I have been dreaming of a future there and when I saw your picture for the catalog, it felt like everything had finally come together. It is quite late in the year to be starting a ranch now. I want to leave in the spring, and I would very much like for you to leave with me."
"Why couldn't you just tell me? Why did you write the notes?"
"I was biding my time, hoping to build up the courage to approach you."
I thought for a moment and then turned to him.
"I will consider going to Oregon with you on one condition."
"What is it?"
"You promise to never tease me in front of the ranch hands."
Alan started to laugh and I laughed right along with him, for the first time in many months feeling truly happy.
Chapter 14
December, 1866
Dear Diary,
It is nearly Christmas again and the snow is falling with a vengeance outside. I feel fortunate to be curled up beside the fireplace, letting the warmth surround me and the light illuminate this page as I write. My new husband should be home soon. He has gone to the store to pick up some material I ordered to make a few new dresses for when we leave for Oregon in the spring.
I laugh as I write that, remembering the conversation that started my journey to finding him. Mrs. Gregory said that being in the catalog was like being a piece of calico that someone could order. I never did end up in the catalog, though. I suppose I was more like something sitting on the store shelf that Alan had been eyeing for some time and finally went in to claim. Either way, I could not be happier that he "ordered" me.
I received a letter from Jane yesterday. She suspects that she is expecting her first child. I am so thrilled for her. It seems that she will be getting plenty of help, too, since her husband took Lucy's husband on as their new hand and they will be living on the ranch together. Rebecca has finally settled in to a town just an hour or so away, which means they will all have plenty of opportunity to visit.
I am so looking forward to being with them come spring. Part of me is so sad to be spending Christmas without them, but as I hear Alan arriving home I know that I will not be alone, and that I never will be.
--Rose
THE END
A Mail Order Bride For Jeremiah
Brides Of Sutter Creek
Charity Phillips
A Mail Order Bride For Jeremiah
Sutter Creek, California - 1852
Miner Jeremiah Smith is used to spending his days counting down the minutes until the work whistle blows—that’s his cue to head to the saloon with his brother Earl, or for them to head home for a hearty meal and a night of playing cards.
But when Earl dies, he leaves a void in the spacious Main Street home, and Jeremiah is faced with a tough decision: either hold out hope that his growing mining town will eventually attract single women, or begin his search for a mail order bride.
Chapter 1
“Hiya, Jeremiah? Headed out?”
Jeremiah paused just before pushing past the heavy wooden door that separated him from freedom, his calloused palm pressing hesitantly against the barrier. Fred Walters stood behind him, an unlit lamp in one of his meaty hands as he grinned at Jeremiah.
“Yeah, Fred,” Jeremiah said cautiously. “Why? You need me to check on your boy again?”
Fred dipped his head and harrumphed. “Sure would be kind of you. Just duck in is all; you know I worry, with his Mama gone, and his sister studying nursing. Ain’t got much time for anything else.”
But I do? Jeremiah though as he nodded wearily—but he offered Fred a smile that he hoped was warmer than he felt. “I can duck my head in on them, Fred, no worries.”
Fred sighed, and Jeremiah saw dread leave his body like air coming out of a balloon. “Thank you kindly, Jeremiah. You’re a great man!”
But he was already pushing out of the little coat room and into the open air by the time Fred had uttered his last words. He took a deep breath, and then another, letting the day’s tension trickle out of his body with each exhale, and feeling more peaceful the further he got from the mine. Jeremiah felt guilty for being so brusque, but not guilty enough to turn around and apologize. He was going the man a favor, after all, and he wanted to leave it at that.
It wasn’t that he disliked Fred—quite the opposite, in fact. The two used to play cards together at his house every weekend with three or four other men, all crowded around his little white table, joking and laughing until the sun began to peek out over the horizon to push the darkness away. He didn’t particularly dislike any of the men at the mine, but he also hadn’t seen any of them outside work or church in a year. He kept making excuses—repairs needed to be done to the house, an injury needed to be nursed until it got better, the kitchen needed a new coat of paint—but everyone knew the real reason the miner was no longer as social as he’d once been. As Jeremiah rounded a corner and entered the business section of Sutter Creek, his eyes fell on Mac’s Sunset Saloon, and he couldn’t avoid thinking about the reason any longer. He could see the bar from the wide window, and though his regular stool was occupied by some tipsy patron, the stool occupied by his brother stood empty. Jeremiah hurried past, casting his eyes downward—but his mind had already pictured Earl as he’d seen him so many times: laughing uproariously at something Mac said as he tried not to slosh his ale over the side of his mug, slapping his beefy thigh as the player piano struggled to be heard over his deafening guffaw. His heart twisted in his chest, but he pushed the pain away, focusing on winding through the thickening crowds as he made his way home after his long shift. I’m getting a lot better at that, he thought dryly. Guess time does heal some wounds after all.
There was barely any light in the sky as Jeremiah finally reached his doorstep. He saw his neighbor twitch aside the curtain to peek at him, but the curtain was closed by the time he thought to wave. People were already getting used to him not saying hello; it bothered him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do something about it. How could he, when he was only just working on being civil with himself?
His boot fell on a crisp white envelope as he opened his door and crossed the threshold. Jeremiah bent over to pick it up, startled that it hadn’t been left in his mailbox—then he saw the words urgent stamped across its front, and his heart started to pound. He walked around his wide living room, lighting the gas lamps with his trembling hands as he fought to keep his train of thought from running wild. Was it from his relatives overseas, bringing him more bad news? Or even their old Marshall, dropping him a line after being run out of town. Then his blue eyes saw the return label—Miss Pollyanna Clark, New York, New York. His rushing thoughts all stopped in their tracks, and he gasped aloud in the empty room, his fingers even more shaky than before as he tore open the envelope.
When he was fin
ished reading, he slid onto his sofa, feeling curiously numb as Polly’s words sank into his brain. The letter had been sent three weeks before, but it might as well have been written now, for all the good it did him; it told him—quite apologetically—that she had mistakenly bought a ticket for a train that arrived November twelfth, not December twelfth. Saturday, November twelfth.
The next day.
Darn it.
All at once, the anxiety Jeremiah had been holding at bay came rearing up to swallow him. He’d advertised for a mail order bride half-heartedly—and only because his fellow miners pressured him into it.
“It’s time, Jeremiah,” Fred had told him after work one evening. “Earl would have wanted it. He didn’t want you to be a bachelor forever; you were meant to share that house until you found wives. Now you gotta find a wife to share that house with, before you drive yourself plumb crazy.”
A few nights later, after Jeremiah had drunk himself into a stupor, he realized his friends were right. He couldn’t sit in his living room forever, stewing in his memories of times long gone now. But mail order brides married doctors and lawyers—even Earl had said so, years before. Who would want a dirty miner who was gone ten to twelve hours a day?
But it was Earl who ended up helping his brother find a bride. His death was so shocking to the little town—most of whom had been helped by the jovial miner in one way or another—that Central Eureka Mining wasted no time in validating his life insurance policy. As his only living kin, Jeremiah received $2,000 for his brother’s untimely death, meaning that not only would he not have to worry about supporting himself if he took time off, he could now take a wife, even with reduced hours.
But now he’d have no time to prepare for Polly’s arrival, and that filled him with dread for more reasons than one. Polly was sweet, intelligent, and thoughtful—but she didn’t seem to be excited about living in a mining town. Jeremiah assured her that there would be plenty of young women and employed matrons to make clothing for, and that he would be around to help her transition into life in Sutter Creek, but her words carried a sort of bleak hesitance nonetheless. She’s just nervous, like you, he kept telling himself. Maybe she has someone writing for her, and her words are coming out wrong.
But how else could he take words like ‘I’ve been made wary of the miners’ lifestyle’? He couldn’t say he could blame her for that, but his letters weren’t filled with anything besides pleasant details of the quiet life he led now. He made it clear to her that he wanted her to feel welcome when she arrived, and her letters acknowledged that fact—but Jeremiah couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he wasn’t being told.
That night, he hurriedly scrubbed down his house and readied the second bedroom for Polly’s arrival. Jeremiah’s black hair was damp with sweat by the time he finished, so he shoved a hat on his head before trotting two houses over, to pound on his bosses’ door.
Samuel opened the door a moment later, his green eyes lighting up as they fell on Jeremiah. “Jer! Are you joining me and Douglass for cards?”
“'Fraid not tonight, Samuel,” Jeremiah said hurriedly. “I need tomorrow off, if that’s alright. Give my shift to one of the others, they could use it more than I.”
“Everything alright?” Samuel asked as the sound of men’s laughter exploded behind him.
“Yeah,” said Jeremiah, pausing before elaborating. “Polly’s coming in early.”
Samuel’s smile was filled with compassion and something close to pity, and Jeremiah had to fight to keep from scowling. Samuel was a widower who had been married for ten years, and thought he knew what was best for everyone—and what was best for everyone was always marriage. “I’m mighty glad to hear that, Jeremiah! It’s about time.”
He grunted and started to back away. “Thank you, Sam. I’ll see you Monday, then.”
Samuel nodded, smiling knowingly as Jeremiah turned and headed back down the row of houses and away from the smell of tobacco and baked beans. That wasn’t so bad, he thought. Now if only I could turn that busted old buggy I have into a carriage, maybe I’d feel more sure of myself.
There was nothing else to be done, however, so Jeremiah found himself washing and crawling into bed just before midnight. He dropped off into a deep sleep despite his whirling thoughts, and he dreamed of falling down a bottomless mine shaft, his voice being swallowed by the air rushing past him during his rapid descent. When he woke, he couldn’t remember dreaming at all.
The next morning was so turbulent for him that he couldn’t even eat any breakfast, settling for a few gulps of coffee to fortify his nerves. Most of his neighbors had already risen and went off to work, and he could hear children chattering across the street as they fastened into their shoes and ushered to school; the predictable noise was comforting, but the pounding of hooves shattered his momentary calm. Jeremiah leapt up from the kitchen table and poured his coffee down the sink, wiping his hands on his pants nervously as he rushed to the door.
The carriage was already being unloaded by the time he got to it, and he could see a ruffled gray skirt moving behind the mid-length curtain shielding the open carriage from the open elements. He wondered what was taking so long, and then the curtain parted—and out came an enormous white hat topped with steel-colored silk flowers. The hat was followed by a short woman with the most flawless exterior Jeremiah had ever seen—creamy, unblemished skin, a heart-shaped face, softly curving lips and huge, honey-brown eyes to match the brunette curls piled atop her head. She stepped out and placed one hand on her slim hips as she blinked slowly in the sunlight, apparently startled by the brightness of the day. Then her head turned, and her demure expression changed to one of soft surprise as they took in Jeremiah’s appearance.
“Hello,” he said, taking a step toward her as the driver lugged her bags to the front door. “Miss Clark? I’m Jeremiah.” He took her hand as she extended it and squeezed it gently, enjoying the color that suddenly rushed to her cheeks. He’d slicked his wavy black hair away from his forehead to accentuate his cobalt blue eyes, and he was very thankful then that he’d put on suit. Nothing like great first impression.
Polly composed herself and smiled. “Nice to finally meet you, Jeremiah. It’s Polly, please; I think we’re past Miss and Mister, don’t you?”
His heart did a funny sort of tumble in his chest, and Jeremiah nodded. “I suppose we are.”
He slipped a few coins into the carriage driver’s hand and led Polly into the house, excitement growing inside him. “Would you like some coffee, or some breakfast? We have all the standard fare—but I bet you’d like to get settled first?” He turned toward her, worrying that his words were coming out more rushed than he meant them.
Polly nodded, clutching her hat to her chest as she stood uncertainly in the center of the living room. “That would be fine, thank you.”
So he showed her to the room she’d be staying until they married, her low-heeled shoes making sharp clicks against the wood floors as she walked. Jeremiah set both of her trunks at the foot of the bed and pointed her toward her wash basin and furniture, hoping they met her standards.
“This dresser has a tricky knob,” he warned. “Pull and twist on it, it pops right off. Earl was the handy one, but…anyhow, I’ll get it fixed soon.”
Polly nodded again, and Jeremiah noticed that her eyes had fallen on a worn woolen work cap on one corner of the four-poster bed. Jeremiah cursed himself silently as Polly picked it up and examined a dark spot near the flimsy brim, her fingers holding it gently, as though it were dynamite.
“Is this yours? There’s blood on it.”
“No,” he said quickly, feeling embarrassed. “It was my brother’s. I’m sorry; it was his favorite hat, and we were never good at getting stains out.”
Her features went blank, and she was silent as she handed it to him and he shoved it into his back pocket. “It’s a couple of years old, that stain. I don’t think even a professional like yourself could make this old rag new agai
n.”
“No,” Polly said carefully. “I probably couldn’t.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, and Jeremiah felt again that there was unspoken meaning behind her word. But Polly dropped her eyes from his before he could finish forming a question in his mind, heaving one of her trunks onto the bed so she could begin to unpack.
“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to get settled,” she said. “And then maybe a lie down. I have quite the headache.”
Jeremiah nodded, his earlier elation slipping away. “Can I get you anything? Medicine? Some water?”
Polly shook her head and smiled, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “No, thank you. That will be all.”
Jeremiah stepped out into the hall as the door shut behind him with a snap, wondering why it felt like he’d just been dismissed by a disapproving supervisor rather than his new wife.
Chapter 2
Polly was in her room for three uninterrupted hours, and when she came out again, her eyes were slightly reddened. He thought she would join him at the kitchen table, but she stopped just before sitting.
“I’m not feeling well,” she said in a hushed voice. “I think I’d like to have a bite to eat, and then lie down some more.”
He made her some soup and brought it to her room, but he didn’t see her again until nightfall, when she apologized once more and said she’d see him in the morning. Her curls were unbound and fell around her shoulders like a golden-brown waterfall, and he was mesmerized by her beauty as she spoke. It wasn’t until she walked away again that he realized he had been staring at her intently each time he’d seen her that day. That probably didn’t help her feel comfortable, he scolded himself. Settle down, you old dog.
Brides of Grasshopper Creek Page 44