by Sky Winters
Jo was coming up 15; a pretty girl with an active mind. She was a quick pupil and wanted to become a school mistress but she was needed to help out on the farm. Next there was Rebecca, 13 years old but going on 30; an old head on young shoulders. She had been her mother’s favourite and probably the one that missed her most of all. She was a plain, silent girl who liked to be alone, with her head deeply buried in an old tatty book. Isabelle worried about her the most. The others, Sarah 9, Hannah 7 and Louisa 5 were all too young to really understand the situation and could hardly remember their mother; if at all. They all attended the local school and roamed in the surrounding countryside when they were did not have chores. She envied their innocence and freedom yet loved them fiercely. Her heart ached for them all.
At 18 she was the oldest and had taken on the role of her mother, selflessly and without question.
Isabelle caught her reflection in the grimy glass of the window. She looked exhausted, dirty; stray strands had escaped from her tightly bound hair and hung down limply around her face. Her eyes were her mothers and looked back at her accusingly. What had happened to the young girl she had once known?
As a young woman she had dreamed of travelling far from Wyoming, of meeting a tall dark stranger in a distant land and falling in love with a happy ever after ending. Those dreams were impossible now and she had shut away all such thoughts. Isabelle could not bear to look herself in the eye, and turning her head wiped away a rare tear. Crying would not prepare the dinner; or bring back the past. She had to be strong for all of their sakes.
Saturday morning was a rare treat for Isabelle when she had a few precious hours to herself. The weather was fine and she decided to walk the two miles into Rawlins, the nearest town, to buy the weekly provisions and also call on her good friend Mary. The two had been close since school days and Mary was due to be married to a local boy.
Since her mother’s death Isabelle had taken over the weekly accounts. Each month there seemed less money to go round and she had to be creative in making ends meet. The girls were growing quickly and keeping clothes on their back and shoes on their feet was a constant struggle.
There was one main store in the town and it sold everything from farming equipment to pianos. She loved to wander around, an imaginary shopping list in her head. First she eyed the rolls of material. There was a fresh red and white cotton gingham that would make lovely dresses for the three younger girls; a blue cotton for Rebecca- it would match her eyes, and a yellow for Jo to match her beautiful corn coloured hair. For herself she chose a rose coloured satin brocade; a rich cloth that she would make into a stunning dress. She imagined herself dancing around and around in a beautiful gown; twirling in the arms of a handsome young man.
But there was nothing spare for such luxuries; nearly all the money would have to be spent on food and she needed to make a little go a long way. Still, she always managed to buy a little something extra for the girls and looked along the display of lace handkerchiefs and accessories. Picking up a pair of white lace gloves she held them against the light. They would look so pretty on her hands and would hide some of the roughness from her constant cleaning. Looking at the price tag she quickly put them down again.
"Miss Adams, how can I help you this morning?"
Jake Turnbull had owned the General Store for the past 20 years and had known Isabelle since she was a little girl. He was a generous man with a nagging wife and having no children of his own he had a soft spot for Isabelle and her family. He had been quietly watching her as she browsed his shop in her patched dress and tatty bonnet and his heart went out to her.
"Looking for something nice for all the young ladies no doubt?"
She sighed, there were so many pretty things, but not much available to suit her tiny budget.
Jake knew that Isabelle was a proud woman and that she would not accept charity from him, he always had to be careful not to offend.
"I have just the very thing for sophisticated ladies."
From beneath the counter he pulled out several rolls of velvet ribbon that spilled out across the counter in a myriad of colours.
"Now I don't know too much about feminine ways but I have been told that a lady can't have too many ribbons; now is that so Isabelle?”
The young woman smiled. They were certainly pretty and would look lovely in her sister’s hair.
"I would need five Mr Turnbull, how much would that be?"
Her forehead creased into a frown.
"Well let me see. I really need to shift these ribbons, there taking up valuable space so shall we say 5 cents for the lot?"
Jake would have willingly given her the ribbons for free but knew that she would not accept; they went through the same formalities nearly every Saturday.
Isabelle screwed up her nose; it seemed so cheap.
"Are you sure Mr Turnbull?”
Jake smiled.
"Absolutely Miss Adams, you would be doing me a favour.”
She had always known that he was only being kind and trying to help out. Normally she would not have accepted charity for herself, but she liked Mr. Turnbull, and anyway the ribbons weren't for her, they were for her sisters.
Nodding she handed over the money in exchange for the small package and the basic provisions. It didn't seem a lot for the 7 of them but she was a clever cook and would make the meat and vegetables last all week. There would be soups and bread and cheese to supplement their diet and always plenty of milk from the cows. Milk puddings had become a staple.
Just as she was about to leave the store Jake Turnbull called out and she turned to see him running to catch her.
"Miss Adams. If I am not mistaken it is your birthday soon? I always remember as it is a week before my good wife's. Now I want you to accept this little present from both myself and Mrs. Turnbull."
Isabelle looked in surprise at the brown paper package held out in his hands.
"Mr Turnbull, I'm not sure if..."
Cutting her off mid sentence he held up his hand.
"I insist Miss Adams. You and your family have been loyal customers here for the last 20 years. I have seen all of you girls growing up and I like to think that you are more than a mere customer; I hope that we can think of each other as friends?"
She took the parcel not knowing what to say. The sudden act of kindness brought a lump to her throat and she was left speechless as she untied the parcel. Inside was a pair of white lace gloves.
"Oh Mr Turnbull, I don't know what to say. You are too generous. Are you sure?"
Her eyes brimmed with tears as he clasped her hands in his.
"You are a beautiful young woman Isabelle both inside and out. You do everything for your sisters and nothing for yourself. Take these with our love. Now if only I was 30 years younger and didn't have a Mrs Turnbull, but don't tell anyone I said that."
She laughed at his joke and wiping away the tears kissed him fondly on the cheek, making the old man blush.
"Thank you Mr Turnbull"
And she turned and fled the store before she started to cry again.
Mary lived on the edge of town; her father was the local blacksmith and had a steady trade. They lived comfortably and Mary had an easy life compared to Isabelle, yet the two girls had always been the greatest of friends and did not let their different circumstances come between them.
The dark haired girl was waiting by the gate and waved to her friend as she came into view. They hugged eagerly before entering the warm kitchen. Mary had baked a walnut cake and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the air. It was always a treat for Isabelle to visit. The kitchen was cosy and comfortably furnished and they sat at the scrubbed table eating and drinking whilst Mary updated her friend on the latest wedding plans. There would be lots of flowers; freesias and roses ordered especially and there would be a party with dancing and refreshments in the evening. After the cake had been eaten Mary grabbed at Isabelle's hand and took her through the hall and up the stairs to her room.
At
the door she hesitated.
"Now close your eyes Isabelle, I have something to show you.”
Isabelle did as she was told and allowed the girl to guide her into the room.
"You can open them now."
Her eyes widened at the sight of the dress hanging on the wardrobe in front of her. It was the most beautiful thing that Isabelle had ever seen. Her mouth opened in wonder as she stared at the gown.
"Isn't it beautiful" gushed Mary. "Here come and take a better look"
Taking the dress carefully from its hanger she laid it across the bed. It was a delight of light blue lace and satin with tiny white rosebuds stitched along the hem.
"Here, hold it against you and see how you look"
Isabelle hardly dare touch such an expensive looking gown. The material was soft and silky beneath her touch, flowing like water between her fingers.
With trembling hands she held the garment in front of her and faced the mirror.
The blue was a perfect shade for her colouring and would compliment her fair hair. The image before her was a fantasy, she would never own such a dress, but more importantly could never hope for a happy ever after like Mary. Such thoughts caused her to frown; the excitement of the moment lost and she handed the dress solemnly back to her friend. She couldn't even afford a new dress for the wedding; her Sunday best would have to do. It had already been altered from one of her mother’s dresses and now even that was looking shabby; she would have to wear a shawl to cover a place that had already been mended.
Isabelle felt tired. Suddenly the weight of her responsibilities seemed too heavy a burden to bear. She was slowly losing the fight to keep the family together in both body and soul. Eventually something would have to give and she immediately sat down upon the bed and started to cry. The tears did not stop for some time; they had been bottled in for too long and needed release.
Poor Mary comforted her friend the best way she could and sat on the bed, with arms wrapped around her. She knew that things had been difficult for Isabelle and the family but had not realised the extent of her sorrows and immediately felt ashamed for flaunting her forthcoming marriage and celebration in such a thoughtless manner. Mary had never really paid much attention to the clothes her friend wore, but now they were sat close together she could see the faded material and lines of stitching where tears had been mended and holes patched. Her wedding gown must have seemed such an extravagance, and the cost would have bought the Adams girls several dresses each.
"Izzie, I'm so sorry. I never thought. Here I am wittering on about my wedding and parties, when you are obviously struggling to make ends meet. What must you think of me? I am supposed to be your friend but I have behaved selfishly. Can you ever forgive me?"
Mary passed a white handkerchief to Isabelle who proceeded to blow her nose vigorously. She felt embarrassed at having displayed such emotion and hugged her friend close.
"Oh Mary, it is not your fault but mine. It all started with Mr Turnbull being so kind to me this morning, All those pretty things in the store, I'm not bothered about things for myself, honestly. It's just the girls. I wish I had more money to spend on them. Louisa needs new shoes and Jo a new dress and there just isn't the money. All I could manage today was a ribbon each and that was only by the kindness of dear Mr Turnbull. Oh Mary, it's such a mess and I don't know what to do for the best. I may have to marry a rich man after all.”
The two girls had often joked about the men that they would eventually marry. Isabelle had always been adamant that she would only ever marry for love and would rather marry a poor man with a good heart than a rich man with a wicked one.
Mary smiled "Then perhaps we shall have to find you one."
"Where am I likely to meet a rich man, and furthermore, why on earth would he marry me a poor girl like me. I have nothing to offer of value?"
"Oh Izzie, you don't know your own worth. You are beautiful, kind and have all the skills to make someone an excellent wife. You have been running your household since you were 13. Any man would be privileged to have you as his wife.”
"But where on earth do I find someone? You have picked the last good man for miles around and I definitely don't mix in the type of circles where I am likely to meet a rich man.”
"You should look in the papers. There are lots of wealthy gold miners out in the West that are looking for young wives to look after them. It's quite respectable I am told, and I did hear that Sarah Jacobs travelled out to Columbia in California to marry a rich man and that she met him through an advertisement in the Sundance Gazette!
Sarah was an old school friend. Isabelle had heard she was married but hadn't known the particulars.
Her eyes opened wide and they both fell back on the bed in a fit of giggles. They hadn't really liked Sarah; she had thought too much of herself, a proud and somewhat arrogant young lady.
"He's probably bald with a pot belly."
"Or thin as a rake with a long nose and knobbly knees."
Both girls were in hysterics by the time it came for Isabelle to leave and the recent tears were soon forgotten.
As Isabelle was gathering up her belongings Mary passed her a folded newspaper.
"Here, take this. It might come in handy."
It was a copy of the Sundance Gazette.
"It's a month old but the love of your life might be in there!"
Mary joked and Isabelle pulled a face as she stuffed the paper into her basket.
With promises to meet again in a week’s time the two girls made their fond farewells and Isabelle was soon on the road back home.
When the weather was fine the Adams girls would walk part way down the lane waiting for their big sister to return from her shopping trip. Each week there would be something to be had, a small present of some description for each one of them; they did not realise what a strain it was on both their budget and sisters heart.
As the familiar figure rounded the bend they danced and ran towards her, all eager to seize their prize.
Jo took the basket and carried it home for her whilst the two youngest grabbed at her hands and escorted her to the door.
The routine was the same every week. The basket would be placed upon the table whilst Jo filled a kettle and made the tea. Isabelle would remove her hat and shawl and take off her heavy outdoor shoes and sit at the head of the table with the other girls sat around her. They would wait until Jo carried in the tea with the remains of a cake and only then would the basket be unpacked.
The younger girls clapped and squealed with delight at the sight of the brightly coloured ribbons. Rebecca had little interest in frippery and would rather have received a book, but politely chose one of the coloured strips and smiled. Only Jo looked disappointed and Isabelle's heart went out to her. She was at an age when she had started taking an interest in boys and desired to have pretty dresses to wear; not the old hand me downs that she had to make do with.
Isabelle reached for the small brown paper package still in the basket and handed it to Jo. It was the pair of white lace gloves.
Once the tea and cake had been finished, the girls left her to get on with their own chores. Jo hung around after the others to hug her sister. Isabelle smile; the sacrifice had been worth the look on her sisters face.
Finally she was able to sit back in her chair and relax for a while. It would be several hours before her father returned from the fields and needed his dinner.
The basket had been emptied, all bar the newspaper that now lay at the bottom. Isabelle had almost forgotten about it and pulled out the paper; it could be used to light the evening fire if nothing else.
Out of curiosity she turned the pages until she came to a page headed 'Matrimony'
Several columns were laid out in neat lines and each one contained the details of several lonely men looking for a wife. Often the details appeared vague and as she read through them she smiled to herself thinking of Sarah married to her fat and balding rich man. She was about to stop reading when one a
dvert caught her eye.
'Wealthy rancher- 50 seeks young wife out East. Preference for fair hair and blue eyes. Must be under the age of 20, slim and attractive. Please write stating age and description with a copy of likeness where possible'
Isabelle smiled to herself. The author certainly knew what he wanted and she fitted the description perfectly. Throwing the paper into the basket next to the fire she laughed at her own folly; he was far too old and things weren't that desperate just yet.
However the thought would not leave her and it stirred all day in the back of her mind. If she did marry a wealthy man then surely there would be money for the girls; dresses and shoes for Jo and books for Rebecca and the thousand and one other things they all needed. She watched her father carefully over dinner. He was tired and pale and had aged over the last 5 years. What if anything were to happen to him; what would they all do then and how would they live?
All night she tossed and turned thinking about the advert and her friends words. She prayed to God for an answer and vowed that if the newspaper was still in one piece in the morning and had not been used by her father to make the fire, then she would reply to the advert. It would be the ultimate sacrifice for her family.
She overslept the next morning and by the time she walked into the kitchen the fire had been burning for several hours. Isabelle didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed and stepped over to warm herself by the fire. Glancing into the basket she could see that the majority of the paper had already been used and only a few sheets remained. Picking up the paper she scanned the first side and then the second. The page was now smeared with dirt but the columns headed ’Matrimony’ were still clearly legible.
It took her several attempts and several hours to frame her response. It was probably too late anyhow; the advert was over a month old and he would no doubt be married by now. Mary suggested several changes to the letter to boost her friend’s chances and after a visit to the local photographer for a small head and shoulders portrait the letter was posted. Isabelle had thought the picture too extravagant but Mary had insisted on paying and called it an early wedding present.