As she held the tiny picture now, she couldn’t help but smile. It was coming together so perfectly. Everything she’d ever wanted, everything she’d always planned for. Perfect.
Setting the small picture aside, she began her letter.
My Dearest Orville,
I count the days until your next letter, grieving that we are still so far from one another. It is what we must do; I cannot fall for a man, even one such as you, in so short a time. Your letters bring me closer each time, and as my chest swells with affection, I know it shall not be much longer that we shall be apart.
In your previous, letter you had requested a likeness of myself. I must admit, I have dreamed of giving my tintype to my dearest love, and it pleases me so much that I am able to do so now. I shall enclose it with this letter.
I hope that you find my image pleasing.
Perhaps it is presumptuous of me to request something in return, but I must. I long to have a face to put with your sweet words, one I might dream of during my lonely nights awaiting the moment when we are finally together.
Yours Always,
Delia
She signed her name with a flourish, pleased with her phrasing and her penmanship. Her mother had made a point to refine her for the sake of her position in society. It was important that she was able to read, write, host guests, and of course, work on needlepoint. Laura was always better at it, Delia had to grudgingly admit, but few were better at penmanship than she was.
Sealing up the letter along with the tintype, she smiled and set it aside, leaning it up against her box of trinkets. She would make sure to send it to the post the very next day.
Perfect. It was all so perfect.
Chapter 2
Delia received a corresponding letter quickly after she sent out her last letter with the tintype in it. She marveled at how easily they could now speak with one another from across the country. Eagerly, Delia went to her sitting room for some privacy and tore open her letter. There were several pages of scrawled writing; his penmanship wasn’t as pretty as hers, but that was fine. His words were beautiful.
My Darling Delia,
You are in my thoughts constantly. I have been unable to remove you from them and I do not wish to. You have brought hope and light into my life, the promise of such a wonderful future that I cannot even begin to contemplate how I might now exist without you. Each moment we spend apart is agonizing, and I ask you again to come and join me in Wyoming. My sizable ranch and the beautiful land upon which it sits await you, as does my beating heart. It aches for you; will you deny me still?
As you have asked for a likeness of myself and have been so generous to send yours—the image of an angel, so beautiful that I daresay you must be a dream that I have imagined all along—I have returned the favor. You may keep this until the end of my days, a reminder of our unending happiness.
It is my intent to give you that and so much more for as long as we both shall walk this earth.
I shall have my staff wait on you hand and foot like the queen you surely must be; my queen, I hope. You shall rule from my mansion here in Wyoming, doing with it as you wish, watching as our eventual children run wild through the tall grass and the trees and the perfectly kept shrubbery. I am having a rose bush planted purely for you, placed outside the window that shall be yours so that you may rise every morning and view it with the break of dawn.
I hope that my image is as much to your liking as yours has been to mine, and I hope also that my words please your tender heart.
Reply to me swiftly, my love, and say that you will come to me.
Your Devoted Husband To Be,
Orville Peterson
By the time Delia had finished reading his words, her cheeks were bright red with blush and she was sighing as though she was ready to faint. She clutched his letter to her breast, her heart pounding within it, and she knew it was time. His request was not unreasonable and his promises were plenty. It was time to tell him that she would come to him and they might soon be wed shortly thereafter.
Placing the letter aside, she picked up the tiny picture that he had sent along with it. As soon as her eyes fell on the young man in the photo, she felt as though she might burst right there with happiness. He was so very handsome.
Part of her had worried terribly that he was going to be an ugly, awful looking man. She worried that he would be heavy or balding or sweaty and unkempt, but the young man in the picture—surely very near to her age, looking nearer than the age in the paper had told her—was so handsome that if she had seen only the picture, she might have fallen in love right away.
His hair was dark and cropped near to his head, though it was full and thick. His eyes were bright, though it was impossible to tell the color from the image, and he stood tall with a proud, determined posture and the expression to match it. But even with that determination, there was a kindness hiding within his features, the kindness she knew was there from his letters to her.
Oh, he would be such a wonderful husband.
Snatching up her steel nib, she quickly began to write a return letter. It was short and to the point, but she didn’t think her dear Orville would mind.
My Love,
I shall take the train immediately. Expect me soon.
All My Love,
Delia
She sealed the letter then and it was sent out the very next day. She wasted no time in making the appropriate arrangements, and by the time she received her last letter from Orville—a simple reply that told her to hurry and that he would be waiting—she was packed. The following day, she was on the train being whisked away to the perfect husband in the perfect ranch to the perfect new life that awaited her.
Chapter 3
Glenrock, Wyoming, 1865
When Delia stepped off the platform at the station, she was so excited that she could barely contain herself. It was only her mother’s lingering, tearful words that kept her in check: You are a lady now and soon to be a wife. You must keep your chin high and always be demure and respectful. Behave yourself, my beautiful daughter.
It had been far more difficult to say goodbye to her parents than she had ever dreamed possible. For her whole life, it seemed like she was preparing to leave them; to go away to far off lands and have an adventurous, handsome husband—not quite a pirate, but in that same fantastical vein—so that she might live her life to the fullest, rather than relive her mother’s own dull existence. But then the time came to say goodbye and she felt hot tears prick at her eyes as emotion swelled within her breast. She would miss her family dearly, and as she hugged her mother tightly, she had begged for them to come and visit once the marriage was finalized and she’d had some time alone with her husband.
Of course, her mother had promised. Then the women had broken apart and dabbed at their eyes, pretending as though nothing at all was happening.
Now, her heart had mended after their parting and she was giddy again with excitement. Today, she would meet her new husband.
Her blue eyes searched for him as a delicate hand went to her blonde locks, patting at the neat, pretty bun that she had put her hair up in. She searched for the handsome man from the photo, scanning the small crowd that had gathered together at the platform, but she didn’t see him. For a quick moment, her smile faltered and her heart beat quickly for an entirely different reason: what if he wasn’t here? What if the whole thing had been a terrible scam and she was left alone here in a strange town with no friends and little way to contact her family. Of course, she had some money on her person, but was it enough to return her home to New Haven? She couldn’t be sure.
Taking in a steadying breath, she began to search more earnestly for her dearest Orville. All those letters, the pictures, the boasting, it couldn’t have all been a scam. Certainly, he was truly here and she was simply missing him. People didn’t write so poetically when they didn’t mean it.
Reassuring herself, she dusted off her long full skirt--though it wasn’t dirty in
the slightest--and adjusted the neat jacket she had chosen to wear during the last leg of her trip. She kept a smile on her face, despite her anxiousness at not seeing her husband to be immediately, and started to walk around. She instructed a young man who worked for the railroad to watch her things; he said he could give her only thirty minutes and she agreed, paying him a decent tip that made him smile broadly at her, tipping his hat.
Delia began to walk around, searching the faces of the men in the area. Some were quite handsome and clean shaven, while others appeared to be wild men, haggard and dirty. She tried to not show her disdain at meeting such men, but it was difficult and the longer she looked, the harder it was for her to smile whimsically as though she were not terrified.
And she was most definitely terrified.
At long last, she heard her name.
“Delia Hennessey?”
The voice was gruff and almost sickly, like an infirmed individual ready to hack or gag or cough at any moment, but she didn’t care. She was so relieved to hear someone call to her specifically, that her face lit up and it could have been the call of the hangman and she wouldn’t have been any less enthused.
Swiveling around towards the sound, her eyes searched out the owner of the voice, eyes shining with delight.
That delight dimmed almost instantly when she realized who had called out to her.
He was a short, pudgy man, his suspenders working overly hard to keep his pants up around his engorged belly. His face was shrewd; beady eyes set in a sallow face that was blotchy and puffy. Upon his head was a sparse coating of fine baby hairs, wispy things that couldn’t stay in one place and were hardly covering his shiny, balding head. Her eyes spotted his hands, calloused, spotted with large, dark warts that covered both the back of his hands and his short, pudgy fingers. Everything about him was repulsive. The only thing that he didn’t seem to have working against him was his smell. At least that was mostly of a plain, soft soap.
Swallowing harshly, Delia quickly put a smile back on her face. “Do you work for Mister Peterson?” she asked in as pleasant a voice as she could muster. She was disappointed that he hadn’t come to meet her himself, but she understood that things could be busy, especially when running such a large plot of land. She would simply have to take comfort in knowing that they would meet, finally, soon. She had to assume, of course, that he was merely a relatively short carriage ride away.
The pudgy little man hesitated briefly before offering her a sickly smile that displayed yellowing teeth, so crooked that they caught on his thin, cracked lips. “I’m here to take you to the ranch, yes,” he told her.
Relief filled her. “Oh, good! I was getting a little worried,” she admitted with a little laugh. She felt almost foolish now for having doubted their connection and her choice in traveling so far for her adventure. “Of course, Mister Peterson would send someone to fetch me. How silly of me to have assumed otherwise.”
His smile grew wide and he looked like he wanted to laugh; she didn’t think she wanted to hear what a grotesque sound that might be.
“My things are waiting just over there,” Delia said to the man, pointing towards her pile of belongings still being watched carefully by the young man who worked for the station. “We should retrieve them and then we can go.”
He nodded. “Alright.”
When they went over for her things, the young train boy eyed Mr. Peterson’s man suspiciously. He seemed reluctant to allow Delia to travel away from this disgusting looking little man, but she smiled at him and patted at his hand kindly. She explained her situation, telling him that she would be quite alright; her husband was waiting for her.
The young man seemed slightly mollified by her assurances, but he still glanced over at the pudgy man beside her distrustfully. When she explained that she needed to get her things into the carriage, Mr. Peterson’s wait staff seemed quickly irritated, as though he didn’t appreciate having to carry the whole load. She frowned at him a little; wasn’t this his job after all? But in the end, the young man explained that he still had ten minutes he could spare, and quickly offered his help. He was so sweet and Delia made sure to tip him generously.
As she pulled out her notes, the man beside her eyed her with his beady little eyes. His thin lips pulled down into an unpleasant frown that did nothing positive for his features. If anything, they made him look like some gargoyle, the type you might find back in Europe somewhere. He watched as Delia handed the money to the young man, who beamed with pride.
“You are such a kind gentleman,” she told him sweetly and watched as a quick blush rose to his cheeks.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he answered in response, taking off his hat in polite notice of her. “You’re too kind.” His eyes darted quickly to the other man and he frowned a little. “If you find need for me later, I work here most days. If I’m not on a train, you can find me and I’d be happy to be of help.”
“Oh, thank you! Might I have your name?”
He cleared his throat, fiddling with his hat nervously. “Oh, it’s George, ma’am. George Henley. My family lives out the way a bit, but I’m here in town most days.”
Smiling at him again, she nodded her head. “My name is Delia. I hope to meet you again.”
They parted then. During their entire conversation, Mr. Peterson’s help turned more and more sour. His expression was puckered as though he’d swallowed a lemon and the frown on his face reminded her of a chipmunk or a mouse or other small rodent, fiddling with cheese.
“We’d best get going,” he told her pointedly, taking her elbow in his pudgy hand.
She nearly jerked back from him, appalled that he would touch her in the first place, but also that his grip would be so stiff and that he would address her so rudely. Not wanting to cause problems—he was her only way to her dearest Orville—she allowed him to help her into the carriage that waited for them. She was relieved when he closed the door behind her and went to the driver’s bench. At least she wouldn’t have to sit alone with him for the entire trip.
As the carriage started moving, Delia promised herself silently that she would talk to Orville immediately about his rude servant. He had no need for such a horrible little man and she was sure that once she told Orville how rude he had been, the man would be gone within the week.
Chapter 4
They arrived nearly three hours later. Delia had found herself more exhausted than expected after her long journey to Wyoming and had fallen asleep during the carriage ride, trusting in the pudgy servant to drive her to her new home. When the carriage came to an abrupt halt, she was jerked awake.
Blinking away her sleep and fixing herself up quickly—she realized that she would finally meet her Orville, excitement blooming inside her chest once again—Delia took a steadying breath, and prepared herself.
This would be home.
After a moment of waiting, Orville’s servant came around to the cab and opened the door. He offered his hand to help her out, but she was too distracted by the sight before her to notice. She’d frozen in dismay and horror.
This was home?
There had to be some sort of mistake. The place in front of her was little more than a tiny, dilapidated shack. She knew people—friends in lower classes who worked all hours of the day and seemed to make ends meet—who had larger homes than this. The walls of the place were wooden, but they seemed half rotted, their facing looking gray and washed out. There was a porch, rickety and warped by weather and rain. A stool was sitting on it, three legged and just as grungy as the rest of the place. The roof was tin, she supposed, and looked to be half rusted away; surely it leaked when it rained.
And the property wasn’t much better. She had been prepared for rolling hills and tall grass and rose bushes. She had been prepared for unimaginable beauty; what she got was little more than a weeded scrap of half domesticated land.
The grass was barely there, brown and brittle, with patches of faded dirty shining through. There looked to be some pen
off to the side, but she doubted there was anything even inside it. What could possibly survive out here?
How am I to survive out here? she thought miserably.
“Um, I think there must have been some mistake,” Delia told the driver and servant. She ignored his hand still and hadn’t made any move to leave the carriage. “We were to go to Mr. Peterson’s residence, remember?”
She was grasping at possibilities that he had somehow gotten lost or that this was maybe his home and he’d kidnapped her! She was quite terrified, gripping the sides of the carriage with white fingers, worried that she would never meet her husband again.
The little man before her gave her that same yellow toothed grin from earlier. “We’re not lost, sweetheart,” he told her in that hazy, sickly voice. She cringed when he called her sweetheart and would have scolded him on the spot, but a shiver ran through her and she was suddenly positive that she had been kidnapped.
Mustering up all her courage, she said, “What do you intend to do with me?”
The little man gave a loud, wheezing laugh that sounded like a mix between a squeaking sound and a cough. “Why, I thought that was obvious. I intend to marry you.”
Delia’s skin paled; she had been stolen away! Oh, she would never find her dearest Orville now! She was lost to him and to her family and—
Before her thoughts could go any further, he spoke again. “That’s what you came here for, wasn’t it? A husband. Well, here I am.”
She frowned at his words. What was his meaning? Of course she had come here for a husband, but not for him. “Do you know Orville Peterson at all?” she asked quietly, timid now and afraid. “I am to be his bride and once he discovers that you have kidnapped—”
She wasn’t allowed to finish. His terrible, wheezing laugh interrupted her again, and she frowned tightly at him.
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