As the final note rang out in the main room, Thea closed her eyes. She felt as if she had left her body and was riding through the air on the notes. Where it would take her, she did not know.
“That was lovely.”
Thea opened her eyes and turned around on the piano bench. Lost in the music, she’d completely forgotten Emily was in the cabin with her.
Thea’s friend smiled at her from across the main room, but it was strained. “What song was that?”
“I do not know,” Thea admitted. “A canon, maybe. That’s all Mrs. Gerald told me.”
“She must have been a wonderful teacher.”
Thea ran her fingers across the piano’s keys once more, tears filling her eyes. “She was.”
Mrs. Gerald had died at least ten years earlier. Thea had long since done her mourning over the kindly neighbor who had taught her to play the piano. Today, her heart was heavy for another reason.
“Thea,” Emily said. “Don’t cry. What is the matter?”
“They are coming for the piano next week,” Thea said. “The purveyors from Charleston.”
Emily did not answer, and Thea could not bring herself to look at the other woman’s face. She did not want to see the pity there.
The whole town was talking about Thea, about how horrendous it was that she had lost her husband only three months into their marriage. If they’d only known the truth about Jeb, Thea thought, would they still feel bad for her?
Thea herself did not even know how she felt. Her entire being had been a mixed bag of emotions since that fateful afternoon nearly three months earlier. Two neighbors had come and told her the news: there had been an accident while cutting logs for the Veeland’s new barn. One had fallen on Jeb. He was gone. Dead before the doctor had even gotten there.
But, really, things had been complicated before then. Strained. Jeb had never been the husband others seemed to think he was. While he treated Thea so sweetly in public, gently laying his hand on the small of her back, whispering in her ear, smiling at her… things were vastly different at home.
She’d met him a total of three times before their wedding day, an event that had been born out of necessity. Money had been tight at home for years, and Thea’s parents needed her to be taken care of. As she could not bear the thought of going to the city and working, leaving behind her parents and siblings, that meant there was only one option. Marriage.
Why he had agreed to marry her, Thea will never know for sure. He was older by twenty years. Perhaps he liked the idea of having a younger person to exert control over. Or perhaps he wanted to show her off. Whatever the reason, Jeb had shown his bride little affection. Quite the opposite in fact. Indeed, he had not waited more than a week after exchanging vows before he put his hands around her throat.
He’d been careful each time he struck her, making sure to never leave any bruises or markings. He was good at his craft, good at hiding his cruel intentions, good at making Thea wonder if she might actually be the problem.
Sometimes, when she lay awake in bed at night, Thea thought God had done her a favor by taking Jeb away. That was likely a wicked idea, but knowing that didn’t change the relief Thea felt with him gone.
However, now there were other things to worry about. With no husband, Thea was flat broke. Going home to her parents and asking them to take her back in, was not an option. They would accept her with open arms, but they could not afford her. Not with six children at home—one blinded from Scarlet Fever and one crippled from a wagon accident.
Thea was on her own. It was up to her to find her way.
“I am sorry about the piano,” Emily said mournfully.
Thea forced herself to smile. “It is only a piano.”
That was not the truth. The piano had been a gift from Mr. Ascott, who lived down the street. He’d been moving at the same time Jeb and Thea had married, and, unable to take the piano West with him, had gifted it to the new couple as a wedding present.
The musical instrument had been Thea’s solace from Jeb’s abuse. It had been the one thing that had held her up in the face of adversity. She did not know how she would manage without it.
Although she would have to, because, just like Mr. Ascott, she would be going West as well.
Hopefully.
“I have something to tell you, Emily.”
Emily’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Something good?”
“I… I hope you will think so.” Unease churned in Thea’s stomach, and she stood and went to the cabin’s open door. The cabin looked out into a wide field where Jeb had cleared and planted the year’s corn crop in. He would not be there to see the stalks shoot skyward. If all went well, neither would Thea.
“Thea? You are worrying me.”
Thea pressed her hands together and turned back to look at Emily, whose eyes were wide with concern. They had known each other since they were children and had been inseparable from the beginning. The two of them had walked to the schoolhouse together, bare feet kicking up dirt and lunch pails swinging against their skirts. Emily’s life, it seemed, had turned out quite well. She’d married the boy she had swooned over all throughout her school years, and the two of them lived in a little white house near the river.
Sometimes it was hard for Thea to not be jealous of her dear friend.
“Have you heard of mail-order brides?” Thea asked.
Emily slowly shook her head. “What are those?”
“Out west, where there are far fewer women than men, sometimes the men arrange marriages with women back east. The women travel westward to meet them. To Texas, California, the Wyoming Territory.”
Emily frowned, the distaste Thea had feared already showing. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Life here has become dangerous too,” Thea answered. “Poverty presents its own challenges. You know that.”
Emily’s lips parted as the understanding sank in. “You are to be one of these… brides?”
“Perhaps. If anyone will accept me. I already wrote the letter a month ago.”
Emily’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, Thea.”
“Do not be like that.”
“An arranged marriage?” Emily cried. “What if the man you go to marry is horrible? It’s the West. He could be absolutely barbaric.”
“He cannot be any worse than my late husband.”
They both fell quiet at her words. Emily knew exactly what Thea referred to. When it came to her marriage’s difficulties, Emily had been the only person Thea had confided in.
“Plus,” Thea added, “mine and Jeb’s marriage might as well have been arranged. I had only met him three times before our wedding. Mother and Father wanted me to marry him. I went along with it and pretended I wanted it as well because it was the best thing for my family.”
“I wish it hadn’t been that way for you,” Emily said quietly.
“Well, it is over now. Jeb’s soul is in God’s hands. As for me… I still have life on Earth to contend with. I have to go, Emily. What would become of me here?”
Thea leaned against the door frame, wrapping her arms around herself even though it was a dreadfully sticky and hot April. She felt small. Cold inside. Alone.
She was unnervingly used to that last feeling.
Emily opened her mouth, but she had no answer.
“Exactly,” Thea said. “I am a widow at twenty-eight. I have no money. My parents cannot take me back in. There’s not an eligible bachelor within a day’s ride from here. I would have to go to Charleston in order to find a man, and I could not bear to live there. I hate the city. It would crush me, Emily. Absolutely.”
“You will have money from selling the piano.”
“I could sell everything in this home, and then what? What skill of mine could support me in such a rural area?”
Emily sighed. “You are right then.”
Thea stared at her in surprise. “You think so?”
“Yes.” Emily stood and came to join Thea in the doorway. “I apologize for taking the last
wonderful man in this township,” she said with amusement.
Thea laughed. “I have accepted that you and Edward were made for each other since the first day of school when he put jam in your hair, and you said he was still dashingly handsome anyway.”
Emily didn’t smile. “You could stay with us for a while. Until you find someone here to marry.”
“No.” Thea shook her head. “I appreciate that so much, Emily, but I cannot. You and Edward have such little room as it is.”
“I know he would not mind.”
“But I would.” Thea clasped Emily’s hands. “I worry about losing my nerve. If I do not say yes to the first marriage offer that comes in, I am more likely to say no to the next one as well.”
“What if the first marriage offer is awful?”
“Will I be able to tell from the man’s letter?” Thea countered.
“He’ll tell you his age, will he not?” Emily’s nose wrinkled. “What if he is sixty?”
Thea sighed. “I cannot think of that now. I sent the letter to the mail-order bride agency in New York, and it might be weeks before I have a response… if any come at all.”
“Any man would be a fool to not want to marry you.”
Thea smiled ruefully. “Believe me, Emily, if I really thought staying in South Carolina was a possibility, I would do it.”
“I know,” Emily said sadly.
They fell silent as they stood in the doorway, watching dusk settle in around them. The peeper frogs and cicadas began singing, and an ax rung out in the woods for a while longer before halting all together.
South Carolina. It was the only land Thea had ever known.
Did she have the grit that was necessary to leave everything behind and start over in an unknown place with a strange man?
She did not know. She also knew it did not matter. Life had brought her to the place she stood at now—penniless and widowed. A door had closed. Whatever window opened next was up to God.
Preview: Chapter 2
Wyoming Territory
Wakefield watched the two miners out of the corner of his eye as he polished one glass than another. If they asked for one more shot of bourbon, he’d cut them off. Not standard practice, sure. And also not an action that would go over too well. But he couldn’t have them stumbling around Whiteridge at noon, causing who knows what kind of trouble.
After talking some in low voices, they put their hats on and headed out, the door swinging shut behind them. Wakefield finished polishing the last glass and put it on the shelf. Six months in business and only four glasses had been broken so far. It had to be some kind of record.
The back door opened with a bang, and Noah entered. His sleeves were rolled up, and he must have lost his hat somewhere—something he was always doing—because his blond crown was on full display.
“Mail,” he nearly shouted, plopping down on one of the bar stools.
Wakefield tossed his dishrag onto the bar. “Is it your break time?”
Noah made a big scene looking around the empty saloon. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t notice all the waiting customers.”
Wakefield guffawed. Try as he might he never could get a rise out of Noah. It just never happened. The man’s temperament was butter smooth.
“Did the paper come?” Wakefield asked.
“No, not yet.”
Wakefield huffed. “It’s what I figured. The rest of civilization has ground to a halt. We’re the last men on Earth.”
“It feels that way sometimes, doesn’t it?” Noah asked. “Up here in the mountains, away from everyone else.”
They weren’t completely in the middle of the wild. Not with Shallow Springs and Pathways about ten miles away. Still, a man needed a whole day to make the journey to Shallow Springs and back. Maybe longer, depending on if it had rained and whether or not the road was impassable. With running the Outpost saloon day in and out for the last six months, Wakefield had only made it to Shallow Springs once and Pathways not at all. Whenever a mail run was necessary, Noah did it. Leaving the saloon for more than half a day didn’t sit right with Wakefield.
Seventy-five people. That’s what Whiteridge’s population amounted to. And two-thirds of those people were coal miners. The rest were wives and a few scattered children. Some of the miners might as well have been ghosts, drifting out of the mine’s mouth at nightfall and disappearing into their lean-tos until dawn rose to do it all over again. Many of them only came out for a good stiff drink, and that’s what Wakefield was there to provide.
“This came.” Noah waved what looked like a small, shortened newspaper.
“What’s that?” Wakefield took the paper and gave it a once over, finding pictures of women and printed letters.
“Mail-order brides. They had it at the post office.” Noah grinned gleefully. “What do you think of that?”
Wakefield scanned a few of the letters. It was all women looking for husbands.
“Why would anyone do this?” he asked.
“Who wouldn’t want to do that?” Noah asked. “The West is the place to be. God’s land. If I were a woman, I’d be putting my name in there.”
Wakefield found a short entry at the bottom of the front page. “Twenty-eight-year-old widow from South Carolina,” he read out loud. “The daughter of a miller. My skills cover every aspect required of a good housewife. No children.”
“Is there a picture?”
Wakefield didn’t answer. There was a picture—and he was too busy staring at it. The ink was smudged some, but he could make out the delicate, round face, big eyes, and dark hair. Widowed at twenty-eight… Wakefield didn’t know the woman at all, but he suddenly felt sorry for her.
“Let me see.” Noah plucked the paper from Wakefield’s hand.
“Hey now,” Wakefield grumbled, grabbing it right back out of his friend’s grasp. “I was looking at that.”
“See anything you like?”
“It’s not a catalog.”
Noah shrugged. “Strange as it might feel, it kind of is.”
Wakefield was busy looking at the twenty-eight-year-old widow again. “Theodora Sykes. From South Carolina.”
Noah leaned across the bar so he could get a good look. “A southern belle.”
“Not if she’s in this. My guess is she doesn’t have much in the way of a dowry or a home, else she’d be staying where she was.” Wakefield’s voice softened. “Why would no man in South Carolina want to marry her, though?” he asked no one in particular.
“You should write her,” Noah said, matter-of-fact.
“Naw.” Wakefield dropped the paper on the bar like it had burned his hand.
“Why not?”
He gave Noah a hard stare. “You’re joking right now, aren’t you?”
“What, you were looking to court some of the fine single ladies up in these mountains?”
Wakefield felt his lips draw tight against his teeth. They both knew every woman in Whiteridge—all ten or so of them—were married. The number of eligible women wasn’t that much greater in Shallow Springs or Pathways. Over the last ten years, scores of men had come west looking to make their fortunes. Most of them had opted not to bring women with them or couldn’t find gals crazy enough to make the trek.
Or at least that’s what Wakefield had heard. It wasn’t like he wasn’t going out looking for women to court, just… keeping his ears open.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to have a wife to care for your house?” Noah asked. “To keep you company?”
“Sounds to me like you’re the one who wants a mail-order bride,” Wakefield said. He picked up a glass and started polishing it, even though it didn’t it. Each and every glass in the place had done been polished.
“Maybe I do,” Noah answered lackadaisically. “But I know you sure could use one.”
Wakefield tried to glower, but it didn’t last long. “All right. Say I do write in and, what? Order a bride?” He grimaced at the strange usage of the words. “What then? Suppose we don’t get a
long?”
“Send her back.” Noah shrugged. “Or let her go off and do whatever it is she wants to, now that she’ll have found her way out West. From perusing these, my friend, I get the distinct impression that all these women are looking to get away from something. Why else would anyone pack up and leave their whole life behind? You could be doing a girl a favor, giving her the best opportunity she’s ever had.”
Wakefield’s gaze drifted down to where the paper lay on the bar. It had landed so the dark-haired woman’s photograph looked up at him. He didn’t care about doing someone a ‘favor,’ or saving them, or whatever sort of spin Noah wanted to put on it all.
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