by Rose Jenster
Felicity couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mother laugh like that. It felt good even if it was meant at her expense.
“I want to do—more. I had plans about going West and those—well, they aren’t to be. But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing for me. I can do this, plant some flowers, do some of the cooking, take some of the burden off you if I’m to stay,” she faltered. Her appreciation for her mother's tasks was a new feeling.
“The cooking? I can’t say as I’ve much hope of that, Fliss.”
“I know I’ve not been much of a hand around the house, and I’m sorry. I’ll do more,” she said humbly.
“This isn’t like you one bit. I expect it’s the shock of being jilted, my girl. He wasn’t the man for you. Don’t be giving up hope just yet. You may be one and twenty but you’ve still a pretty face on you,” her mother said, meaning to console. “Now, go change yourself for dinner. I’ll not have you appearing like a scullion before your father.” In truth, she needed a few minutes to recover from the sight of her daughter acting so out of character.
“Yes, ma’am,” Felicity said and went to tidy herself. It felt good touching and connecting with the earth. It was even fun to get a bit dusty. The surprise on her mother's face was priceless.
The next day, Felicity nipped off to the lending library during her lunch break. Instead of taking out one of the travelogues about the West as she usually did, she went to the cookery books and took out two of those. She was also drawn to one on kitchen remedies which she took to mean how to fix trouble in the kitchen. Soon enough, she found it was a recipe book of herbal teas and poultices using kitchen ingredients to treat sickness.
Felicity set aside the cookery and read on in the fascinating book about how herbs could heal various illnesses. Felicity reluctantly laid the book aside and dealt with customers. She eagerly flipped back to her place in the book whenever a lull occurred in helping customers. Felicity made notes with a pencil on a piece of brown wrapping paper, absorbed in the different uses of fennel. She was fascinated by the multiple uses of crops that came right out of the dirt.
At the end of the day, her head was full of recipes on stomach disorders and interesting anecdotes about soothing teas. Felicity took her wages from Mrs. Rochester, thanked her absently, and made her way home.
Her mother met her at the door and said if she was serious about cooking she would teach her how to fry potato balls. Felicity smiled and handed her wages to her mother in full. Astonished, her mother stared at the money. Her eyes met her daughter's and then she stared again at the money.
“To help with the housekeeping, of course,” Felicity said brightly as though it were a common thing.
“What am I to do with it?” her mother asked, dumbfounded. Her daughter was acting very out of character and this was both refreshing and unsettling.
“Buy things you need, a new tablecloth or something,” she said airily. “I’ve got a parcel waiting at the feed store where I’ve spoken for seeds. I want a few flowers as I said last night, but I’ve also found the most remarkable book. Did you know that people use herbs to heal sicknesses?”
“Yes, your own grandmother was one for herbs. I remember taking lavender and honey for a throat ailment time and again,” she said fondly.
“Did she have any books or notes about it?” Felicity was anxious to learn all she could about this new world that opened up to her.
“Why no. She had her knowledge handed down to her from her own mother.” Felicity's mother was happy to see her daughter's new interests but was concerned about her sudden change.
“Do you... could you teach me any of it that you remember?”
“The honey syrup one and she made a poultice of fried onion for pneumonia if I recall correctly. Mint leaves to make tea for a cough or a sick stomach was something she made for me when I was a child.”
“Thank you. I wish I’d had the sense to talk to her about such things when she was alive. Now let me go change, and I’ll be in the kitchen to learn all about potato balls.” Felicity was ready for a new adventure and it distracted her from moroseness.
“You sure have changed, Fliss,” her mother said with a shake of her head, but she was smiling for all that.
Chapter 2
Fort Benton, Montana Territory 1886
Alec Walsh had been awake for twenty hours, fighting for his patient’s life. The man had pulled through, and the operation seemed a success, but there was no telling if infection might set in. He rubbed his eyes and pushed his hair back from his forehead, thinking with annoyance that his sister, Beatrice, had best give him a haircut the next day. Glancing at his pocket watch, he noted grimly that it was already Wednesday, albeit the small hours. He washed up and then roused the wife who slept fitfully in a chair by Felix’s bed.
“In a few hours, give him some broth and some water to drink, nothing else. Don’t let him get up for anything. I mean it—if the house catches fire, you better get a neighbor to help you drag him out, bed and all. I don’t want that incision to break open. Do you understand me?” Alec spoke firmly to emphasize the point.
“Will he be all right now, Doctor?”
“We’ll wait and see. He came out of the ether all right. I gave him some laudanum to help him stay comfortable and rest. He can have another four drops after he takes some broth, but don’t give him more than that and never more often than every six hours.”
“Thank you, Dr. Walsh. I don’t---I don’t rightly know what I’d do without him,” she replied with gratitude.
“You get some sleep now. I’ll call in later on to check him.”
Alec was exhausted as he stumbled toward his horse, mounted, and turned toward home. There was not a convenient location for a doctor to settle in Montana. If he lived in town, it was sure enough that the homesteaders would get kicked by a cow or catch a fever in the middle of the night. Live out on the range, and one was forever going into town.
In his case, Alec had realized this early on after completing his medical training and had built a serviceable cabin on a claim not too far from Fort Benton and the town that had sprung up around it some twenty years earlier, when he was only a lad.
Alec had a field of oats, a vegetable garden, and room enough in his cabin for a laboratory of sorts. His sister was a spinster and seemed content enough to see to his comforts and keep his records in order. Beatrice was a practical sort and looked after him, which was good for them both because he hadn’t much patience for women and their noisy complaints with the laces and frippery and continual emotional upset. He hoped now that she had saved him something from supper because he had a mighty hunger after such a long day.
The lamp was lit, and he could see its yellow glow through the window when he arrived home. When he set his bag down on the table, before he even sought his hours-old meal, Alec sank into a kitchen chair. He was bone-weary and unsure if his patient would survive. His whole body ached from lack of sleep and nagging fears. Alec was also lonely, but tried to not let those thoughts ever surface. He wanted someone to shoulder the burden of that widow’s tears, the widow who said she couldn’t do without the man who held on to life by a thread even now.
Alec wanted someone to put a hand on his head and say he’d done his best, and it was in God’s hands now. He wanted comforting and conversation to soften the hardships. Never would he complain to his sister because she cooked the food and kept the house clean and even filed his records for him. She wasn’t much in the way of company though, her nose always in a book or a newspaper. He’d never expect her to share in his grief and frustration at the limitation of his skill, his frailty as a human being.
Alec thought of writing to his cousin Luke who was a bit of a deep thinker like himself. Luke would only tell him what he always did—that a man needs a good wife. Alec Walsh didn’t want a wife. He wanted a meal and some sleep and no one nattering after him about tracking mud on the clean floors or leaving his medical journals and notes strewn about. A wife
would complain that he smelt of ether and household disinfectant and would not be pleased.
Even his relatively compliant sister was displeased that he bathed so often, requiring use of the cookstove to heat water in the kettle over and over which took time and effort and kept her from cooking anything in the meantime. He also was guilty of evicting her from the kitchen/sitting room for the duration of his notoriously long baths. Still, when a man came home from work with another man’s blood dried beneath his nails, it took more than a scrub brush and soap over a basin to make him feel clean again.
Pumping water into a basin, he started washing up even though he had scrubbed thoroughly out at his patient’s farm before he left. Some nights he felt like Lady Macbeth, never able to remove the stain and stench of blood on his skin.
Alec sat back down at the table, head in his hands. There was a weight in others depending on him to restore their health and he had doubts about his abilities. Sighing, he pushed himself up and retrieved the plate he knew would be warming on the stove and took the dishcloth off of it. He tucked into the meatloaf, shoveling it down without hardly tasting it.
Beatrice came in her wrapper and nightcap and sat down across from him.
“You should be asleep. It’s gone two o’clock,” he said gruffly.
“I thought you might like to see the newspaper,” she said casually. He waved it away, and she laid it on the table between them.
“I had hoped you’d a mind to look at the paper. Since you haven’t, you may read this instead,” she said sturdily, not put off by his gruffness. She took a letter from her pocket and passed it to him.
Alec scanned it absently assuming it was news from one of their many cousins who had produced another child or something of that nature. He was on the cusp of saying that she could congratulate their relations for him without so much as skimming over the sentences before him. Yet, something caught his eye, some phrase that startled even his weary gaze.
My darling Beatrice, say you will marry me!
Someone, the writer of this letter, was proposing marriage to Alec’s old maid sister. He read it again, starting at the beginning. In sum, the substance of the letter was just what he suspected. Some man who lived in Idaho Territory wanted Beatrice to move there to marry him. He referenced an advertisement, and his meaning was all too clear to Alec.
Beatrice Walsh had answered an advertisement for a mail order bride. She had gotten a matrimonial newspaper and selected a likely candidate, commenced a correspondence, and evidently betrothed herself without speaking a word to her brother, nor seeking counsel in the smallest regard. Harrumphing to himself, he set the letter aside and leveled a grave expression at his sister.
“Have you accepted this man? This Cyrus person, this—this total stranger?” Alec said with disapproval.
“I have,” Beatrice replied, determined to stay strong.
“Without consulting me?” he asked sternly.
“Our father passed away these ten years back, and he was the only person whose thoughts I would have asked in making such a decision,” she said primly.
“As your brother I think,“ Alec stopped himself to think for a moment.
“Not my guardian, nor my keeper. You’ve given me a roof over my head, and I’ve helped you as well, but life with you has shown me how much I still want—a family of my own, a home of my own. I can have those things. Cyrus has three little ones of his own, since his wife died of a snakebite last year. They need a mother, and he needs a wife. I can be that for them. He cares for me and we both enjoy reading—just be happy for me and give thanks, as I will when you find a bride,” Beatrice said with hopes her brother would not be too stubborn.
“A bride?” he said crossly. “I’ll thank you not to arrange things for me as you have for yourself. I’ve no interest in widowed farmers.”
“Alec, I had hoped you would be inspired to seek a bride of your own. You need a helpmate, someone to come home to and have your dinner waiting. I had thought you might be pleased for me.” Beatrice had many mixed emotions, but was not surprised by her brother's reaction.
“I had hoped you would afford me enough respect to seek my advice before taking such an enormous step. It’s appalling and irresponsible. Have you considered what your daily schedule will entail? What woman would want a man she has never seen?” Alec did not think his sister knew what raising three young children involved, but was instead dreaming her life away.
“It’s romantic in a way—" she broke off and blushed. “He proposed to me without ever seeing my face. He cares for my soul, my heart, not my face or form,” she said with pride about the kindness that Cyrus has exhibited towards her in his letters.
“As idealistic as that sounds, Bea, do you expect to arrive in Boise and find him a kind, affectionate husband? What sort of man allows his wife to get snakebite and does not attempt to suck the venom out to save her?” He regretted voicing that once he saw his sister's face.
“Alec! What a thing to say! He was not present when she was bitten, nor has he your medical training. Surely, most folks would not think to put their mouths to anyone’s snakebite. Lord preserve us, Alec, that we should be judged by your standards.” She swept away from the table and returned to her room, sniffing while fighting back the tears.
Alec wished she wouldn’t make such a fuss. She was a good woman and a fine sister. Beatrice had been a great help to him, and he was unsure how he would get along without her. He might have to hire a charwoman to do the cleaning and make the trek to the village to eat at the hotel restaurant, or else learn to do for himself, something besides hoecakes and bacon which was the extent of his cookery skill.
Beatrice’s sudden tendency to behave as if she were in an opera instead of in Montana Territory reinforced his belief that women were a good deal of trouble. They can act in unpredictable ways based on their impulses. He hadn't expected this rash behavior from her.
She’d lived with him for nine years, since he returned from completing his studies in medicine and his training with an eminent surgeon in Missouri. While he was away at school, their father had died, and Beatrice had handled all of the arrangements for the burial, had moved out of the house and taken up residence in a boarding house, doing plain cooking for the residents to earn her keep. Alec had always congratulated himself on doing her a bit of a favor when he took her in to keep house for him. He realized now, rather bleakly, that it was she who had done a good turn for him.
Beatrice had been making her own way and had the society of other ladies in town when she had been a cook. When she moved in with Alec, her life became more isolated. Living with him may not have been so easy or pleasant as he perceived it. A swift recollection of his own dark moods, his gruffness and his thoughtlessness made him feel ashamed. He had dealt with her unfairly. Still, he was not eager for her to cast her lot with a stranger out in Idaho.
Out of curiosity, Alec leafed through the matrimonial newspaper and read a few of the advertisements. It was men in the West seeking pretty Eastern wives of good breeding, nice manners and pretty faces. They hoped the ladies would come to Wyoming or Montana or Idaho Territories to fry their bacon and tend their chickens and learn to kill a rattlesnake swiftly with a hoe.
None of these ads promising prosperity and a good Christian husband mentioned anything about the storms, the scorpions or the isolation. What about the wild animal attacks, the bandits and the hardships of a new environment? It wouldn’t make for an enticing advertisement, he thought, if one told the whole truth. That was what he feared for his sister. Cyrus was not telling the whole truth, only the most appealing version of it. He dropped his head in his hands, wondering what he could do to prevent his sister from going. Alec knew she seemed set upon it. He also didn't know if he might get on without her in Montana.
The following morning, she approached him, her mouth hard.
“ Good morning. I will marry Cyrus. He wants to wait until after harvest so he will have more time to spend with me and cle
ar the way for the children. That’s time enough for you to secure yourself a wife if you will set your mind to it,” she said firmly.
“I’ve no need of a wife,” Alec said.
“Yes, you have. I have kept your house and looked out for your comfort and taken care to cook meals that sit for you to come home and reheat well. I’ve kept the billing up to date and filed your records. I’ve acted as a housekeeper and secretary for you and a stand-in for what you truly require which is the help and comfort of a wife. You are nine and twenty years, Alec, and you’ll not be doing yourself any favors being recalcitrant. I’m seven years your senior and I’ve taken a switch to your backside before. Remember that I'm your elder,” Beatrice said.
“Not since I was ten,” he corrected.
“You would do well to remember that I did it then and could do it again. You need someone to whip some sense into your fool stubborn head, I’ll warrant,” she replied feeling helpless, but trying to add some humor.
“Is there a point to this other than to abuse my character?”
“Yes. You need a wife. I think you should place an advertisement. You know that our cousin Luke in Billings did so and it worked out quite well,“ Beatrice said to emphasize her point.
“I’m well aware of Luke’s situation,” he cut her off. “I’ll manage my own affairs.” Alec knew he was being stubborn, but was not one that dealt with changes with grace.
He went to check on his patient to see how the man had survived the night. Thankfully, his patient was stable and would recover barring any new complications. Alec let the relief engulf him and tried to not think about the declaration his sister had made.
Chapter 3
A week or so later, Alec stopped in for the post and found that he had a stack of letters bound with string. He wondered if it were a mistake as he was not a man to keep up correspondence. Alec had an old college friend with whom he exchanged letters about twice a year on puzzling cases, a sort of consultation at a distance. This, however, was unprecedented. He flicked through the envelopes, finding them all addressed in unfamiliar handwriting.