Derek smiled down at his bride-to-be. She wasn’t well enough to dance, or have a real wedding, but all she wanted was to belong to their family. He couldn’t see Parson Dale or Mayor Taskey having a problem with that.
“Laurel, it sounds as though you made a home for yourself here, despite my best attempts to keep you at a distance.”
“It was only because you kept me at a distance that I worked so hard to make a home for myself in town,” she countered and he scoffed.
“Now you will spend your time building your home here. Not in the shadow of another woman, but with the family that was changed the moment you walked in the front door. Welcome home, Laurel. Would you be my bride?”
She nodded and ducked her head to hide the tears that escaped her eyes. Derek tilted her face to meet his, and wiped the wet tracks off her cheeks gently with his hands.
He kissed her rough, cracked lips gently, almost in a whisper, and then he was gone. She needed to rest, and he needed to prepare. It looked like there was going to be a wedding after all.
THE END
Ogla’s Inspirational Journey
Chapter 1 – The Baker’s Bread
“You must knot it tighter than that if you want it to bake properly.” The old man took the dough from Olga and began kneading it on the table. He handed the lump of dough back to her, then watched critically as she tried again.
Olga Petrov dragged her flour-covered hand across her forehead, leaving a streak of white across her already pale skin. She was a beautiful girl, barely nineteen years old. Her long, thick hair was pulled back into a chocolate-brown ponytail, and her bright, blue eyes were focused on the dough in front of her.
“I’ll get it this time, Mr. Baker, I promise.” She said with determination. However, she could tell Mr. Baker was far from pleased with the new braid she made from the dough. He shook his head and sighed, then turned to go.
“That’s going to have to do, if we knead it any more, it’s going to be tough. Put it in the oven.” He spoke as he walked away, leaving Olga to manage the large, brick kiln on her own. Her small frame shook as she lifted the heavy paddle with the loaves on top, and she slid them onto the rack inside, as carefully as she could.
Sighing, she closed the door and glanced at the clock. Mr. Baker was a difficult man to work for, taking as much pride in his name as he did in his occupation as the city’s baker.
But, Olga had no choice.
Life had been difficult for her since she and her father had arrived from Russia. Though it had been nearly ten years ago, she remembered the day like it was yesterday. Olga had learned English perfectly, but her father still struggled with anything but the basic phrases.
She knew it wasn’t that he couldn’t learn the language, but that he didn’t want to. Her mother had passed away after developing a fever while making the journey to America, and it was a tragedy that her father had never recovered from.
In more recent years, he had turned to alcohol to numb his pain, and was often angry and drunk when Olga returned from work. He refused to get a job of his own, blaming his poor English – but Olga knew the truth. Her father simply didn’t want to find a job or attempt to better their lives.
He wanted to go back to Russia, and he wanted to block out the loss he was feeling, that never seemed to get any better. But Olga knew moving back wouldn’t fix anything, and often argued with him on the matter.
Life in Russia had been hard. Here, there was opportunity. Here, she knew they could make a decent living. She had also felt the loss of her mother terribly, and missed her every single day, but Olga knew that even back in Russia they would feel her absence, and they would have more hardship to face on top of it.
She pottered around the back of the shop, washing dishes and tidying up as she waited for the bread to finish baking. Mr. Baker was in the front of the shop tending to the customers as he often did. Even though Olga’s English was perfect, he told her it gave a bad impression for the bakery to have a foreigner dealing with the customers.
Olga didn’t mind. She found it much easier to work when Mr. Baker wasn’t around to point out everything she was doing wrong. She had been working at this bakery for nearly two years, and knew exactly how he wanted things done. Yet, it seemed that in spite of her greatest efforts to please him, nothing she did worked.
He would criticize her kneading, then make her form the loaves two or three times. He would tell her to clean things better, although he never got anything as clean as she did. But, perhaps the one thing Olga disliked the most, was when he told her to hurry.
Olga hated wasting time, and she would never dare dawdle when she was being paid to work. She understood the value of a dollar, and wouldn’t dare take advantage of her employer. She finished scrubbing the last of the bowls when it was time to pull the bread out of the kiln.
Once again, Olga gripped the large paddle and slowly opened the door to the kiln. The heat from the fire blasted against her face, blowing her bangs to the side. Olga expertly slid the paddle beneath the loaves and pulled them out, quickly transferring them to the table.
At that moment, Mr. Baker reappeared, and shook his head.
“Those are too brown! You’ve nearly burned them, you foolish girl.” He knocked against the top of the loaves, listening for the hollow sound. Shaking his head, he laid the loaves gently side by side, then placed a towel over the top.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his billfold, then drew out a few of the bills.
“I really should take some of your pay for these loaves, but I’ll let it go this time. Thank you, Olga, you may go.” He handed her the money, then turned his attention back to the bread. Olga thanked him, but didn’t count the money until she was out on the street.
There were times when Mr. Baker accidently paid her the wrong amount, but it infuriated him when she would check in his presence. Olga expertly flipped through the dollar bills, and smiled with relief when she found he had paid her properly.
Shoving the money in her pocket, Olga looked up and down the street before she crossed. She had worked later today than normal, and now she had to hurry to get home before her father did.
He’d be returning from his day of drinking shortly, and she didn’t want him to get angry.
Chapter 2 – Alone in the World
Olga looked out the window. Her father still hadn’t come home, which was unusual. She looked at the small clock which stood on the mantle. Her father preferred to have eaten his evening meal and to be in his slippers by seven, and it was now nearly six-thirty.
She stirred the soup she had made, trying to keep it hot without burning it. Their little stove was temperamental and food burned easily. Another hour passed before she finally heard her father walking towards the front door. She could tell before he even reached the door that he had been drinking a lot, and she braced herself.
“Olga! Olga! Where are you? There you are. Olga! Come here.” Her father stumbled through the door, and Olga hurriedly walked over. She held his coat steady as he pulled his arms out of it, and asked him about his day.
“Never mind about my day. I have news for us.” Her father stumbled his way over to the table, and Olga feared he may trip and fall onto the stove. Sitting down heavily, the old man gasped and looked around the room a couple of times. Olga walked over to the stove.
“Where’s dinner?” He asked gruffly, as Olga hurriedly put the soup in front of him.
“I wanted it to be nice and hot for you, Father. Here, I’ll get you some bread and butter.” She rose once more, but her father put his hand on her arm, and directed her to sit down once more. Reluctantly, Olga obeyed, though she hated being near him when he was so inebriated.
“Sit, Child, and listen to me. I have some important news for us.” He repeated, and Olga forced a smile.
“What is it?” She asked politely, hoping that it wasn’t anything she couldn’t talk him out of.
“We’re going home! Home! Ha ha! He fumbled inside his
pocket, then produced two tickets for passage aboard a ship. Slapping them down on the table in front of her, he looked at her triumphantly.
“Father! Where did you get those? We …“Olga began, but he cut her off.
“I bought them fair and square. And we are going home at long last!” Her father slapped his hand on the table and cackled, but Olga rose and turned to get him bread. Her mind was spinning. Tickets back to Russia would be incredibly expensive; it would likely have taken all the money she had saved.
“We leave the day after tomorrow, so pack whatever you can between now and then.” Her father said behind her. Olga quickly spread butter across the bread, then put it on a plate. She set this next to her father’s soup then once again turned her back on him as she began washing the dishes.
“Olga! Say something!” Her father roared suddenly, causing Olga to jump and drop the plate in her hand. It hit the floor and broke. Olga bent over to pick it up, but her father yelled at her once more.
“What’s got into you, Child?” He rose from his seat, and Olga stood. She was shaking and there were tears in her eyes. She shook her head.
“No, Father. I’m not going back there. Don’t you remember what it was like in Russia? We were starving, we were freezing, we had no money, we had…” Her father interrupted her once again.
“We had your mother! We had each other! None of those other things mattered, and I should have realized it then. Here, we have nothing. Not your mother. Not friends. Not anything. We are going back to Russia, I have decided.” His voice choked slightly as he spoke, but Olga simply shook her head.
“Now, clean up the mess you made, you stupid girl.” Her father growled as he bit into his bread. There were tears in Olga’s eyes as she scooped up the broken pieces of plate and dropped them in the waste bin. It would be pointless to try to talk to her father tonight, but her mind was made up.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
Olga rose and dressed quickly. She had overslept, and knew she had to be to work soon, or Mr. Baker may fire her. In all her life, she had never been late for work, but on the days she hadn’t arrived well before her agreed starting time, he reminded her that her employment could be terminated quickly.
Her father’s bedroom door was still closed, so Olga finished getting ready as quietly as she could. She had sat up late with him the previous night, discussing why they should stay in America. Even though he had argued against all of her points, Olga finally convinced him to stay.
Feeling proud of herself, she stepped out onto the street and hurried to the bakery. It was going to be a busy day.
Olga walked home slowly that evening. She was right about it being busy in the bakery, and now she was exhausted. She had worked hard to keep up with the orders, as well as bake the standard quota for the day, and even though she could hardly stand, she felt pleased with herself. Mr. Baker had only scolded her one time; a good day for Olga.
She walked up the street toward their little home, and sighed with relief when she closed the door behind her. She looked at the clock on the mantle and saw that she had time to sit down for a few minutes before she needed to start dinner.
Something on the table caught her eye. Intrigued, Olga walked over and picked up the piece of paper, and skimmed the contents. It was a note from her father:
Olga,
It is with a heavy heart I am writing this note, but I have no choice. I have tried to reason with you, I have tried to care for you, and I have tried to show you love. However, despite my greatest efforts, you refuse to listen.
I am returning to Russia. I have left the other ticket should you come to your senses and choose to follow. Until then.
Father Petrov.
A tight feeling formed in Olga’s chest, and she feared for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She read the note again and again, unable to stem the flow of tears that eventually came. Her father was gone, and he had left her behind. He had used her savings to purchase the tickets, and now he had abandoned her completely.
She had barely enough money to live on, and was completely alone in the world.
Chapter 3 – The Writing on the Wall
The week passed slowly for Olga, and the house seemed overwhelmingly quiet. For the first couple of days, Olga had wondered if her father was merely trying to test her; part of her expected to come home and find him waiting. But he never was. With each passing day, she realized that she truly was on her own.
Olga continued to work hard at the bakery. She needed the job now more than ever. One slip-up could get her fired, then she truly would have nothing. Each night, she stole a glance at the ticket her father had left her, but Olga was determined to stay in America.
America was her home now, even if she was alone and struggling.
“Pay attention to what you are doing!” Mr. Baker snapped, and Olga quickly apologized.
“I declare, it’s like you’re a million miles away.” Mr. Baker grumbled as he pushed past her. Olga looked down at the flour she had spilled on the floor, then added a little more to the batter she had been stirring. If she was going to keep this job, she couldn’t let her mind wander like that. Olga finished forming the batch of cookies before she grabbed a broom and swept the flour.
Though Mr. Baker reminded her several times that she was being absent-minded, he never asked if there was something on her mind. Part of Olga was grateful for this, as she didn’t want to confide in Mr. Baker, but another part of her wanted to tell him the plight she was in, lest he fire her for a silly mistake.
At the end of the day, Olga took the few dollars he paid her and thanked him, before walking somberly out onto the street. She thrust the money in her pocket, without bothering to count it. He had given her what he had given her, and if the count was off, she wouldn’t dare tell him she needed more.
Olga walked slowly up the street. She needed to get a couple things at the general store, but she feared how much it was going to cost her. Olga browsed the shelves of the store slowly, looking for the cheapest option for everything she had on her list.
“Why is sugar so expensive?” She muttered as she took only a small amount. Suddenly, something on the wall caught her eye. She had shopped in this small shop frequently, but had never noticed all the papers that were posted in the corner of the room before. Curious, she walked over and skimmed the contents.
“Looking for a bride!” she read. “Looking to converse with a young, pretty girl!” “What is this?” Olga spoke out loud as she realized these were all ads, looking for a woman to marry. Olga looked around, making certain no-one was nearby, and then she examined a few of the ads more closely.
There was one ad in particular which stood out to her, and Olga couldn’t help but fold it up and put it in her pocket. It was beginning to get late, and she knew she should get home, but she wanted to examine this curious proposal when she had more time, and privacy, to do so.
Once home, Olga quickly put away the few items she had purchased, then put the rest of her money in the little tin above the pantry. She sighed as she looked at how empty the tin now was, but shook her head with resignation. What was done, was done, and worrying wouldn’t make it any better.
Now that her father had left, Olga didn’t have any pressing need to make dinner, so she pulled the ad out of her pocket once more, looking at it closely.
It read:
Thirty-year-old man looking to converse with a young, pretty girl. I am good-looking, capable, and trustworthy, and I am looking for a young woman to entertain.
I would love to get to know this girl through letters, and if we are a smart match, as I hope we shall be, I would like to ask for this girl’s hand in marriage.
Please, write to the address I have provided, and I will write back to you accordingly. I look forward to meeting you.
Robin Drew.
Olga smiled to herself. She couldn’t believe she was even entertaining the idea of writing to this man, but she felt so lonely. At thirty years old, he was over
ten years older than herself, but Olga didn’t mind. She rose and walked to her father’s bedroom.
He had taken some of his belongings, but most of his things he had simply left behind. Olga was rarely in his room, but she did know where he kept his pen and papers, so she took a few pages for herself now. Walking back out to the kitchen, Olga felt a shiver of excitement run down her spine.
Ever since she had come to America, the new things excited her. This country was so different from her home country, perhaps this was just another way she could better herself. Sitting down at the table, Olga took a deep breath, then began to write.
Chapter 4 – Living Through Letters
A couple of weeks passed; Olga waited eagerly for a letter in response to hers. She hadn’t known what to say to Mr. Drew, so she had kept the letter short and simple, telling him her age, what she looked like, and why she was writing.
As the days passed, however, her confidence in receiving a return letter began to fade, and Olga feared she had wasted her time. Perhaps she had been too boring in her correspondence? Perhaps he didn’t like that she was from Russia? Perhaps he had already found a woman he liked?
But then, the letter came.
Olga eagerly took the envelope from the post office clerk, and ran home as quickly as her feet could carry her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she sat down at the table and carefully tore open the top of the envelope.
Pulling out the paper, she began to read.
My Dearest Olga,
Thank you for responding to my ad. I began to fear that no woman ever would, and I would be alone forever. Allow me to properly introduce myself. My name is Robin Drew. I am five feet, eleven inches tall, and I am slim.
I have sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, and I keep my beard short. I think you sound like the most beautiful girl I could imagine, and I would love to see a photograph of you, should you have one.
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