Cheyenne Mail Order Bride (Mail Order Brides Book 13)

by Susan Leigh Carlton

  She had not written a letter since she had applied for her widow’s pension. It took quite some time to find an envelope. She sat at the kitchen table trying to decide on the words she wanted to use. She only had two sheets of paper, so she wanted to make sure she thought out her words.

  She touched the pencil to the tip of her tongue, and began to write.

  Dear Sir, I heard of your paper from a friend whose relative placed an ad. I am a lonely, thirty four year old widow. I have long red hair and green eyes. I am 5feet six inches tall. I’m not sure of my weight, but it is average for my height. I like to think I am attractive, but I’m prejudiced. I have a sixteen year old son. I would like to correspond with a man of my age, with a possibility of matrimony. I would like to engage with someone who is of average size and weight. My means are limited, but I am a good cook, and have been supporting my son and myself with my sewing. I have lived on a farm all of my life and am accustomed to hard work. Children are not a barrier. While I have only the one child, I love children. I would appreciate your kind attention to this. Please tell me what the cost would be for an ad in your paper, Yours truly, Jennie Simpson.

  With the writing accomplished, she put the letter into the yellowed envelope, and used wax from a lighted candle to seal it. I did it, now do I dare mail it?

  She had no opportunity to mail the letter until Saturday, when she went into Yorkville to deliver a dress she had finished making. She gave the letter to Samuel Wilcox, the store owner and also postmaster. The postage was two cents.

  Now I wait. She checked for mail the Saturday after posting the letter, but there was nothing for her. The same for the following week.

  On the third Saturday, she had a thick envelope from Kansas City. It’s from them, she thought, as she opened the plain envelope. Inside, she found a letter, and a copy of The Matrimonial News. The letter read, Dear Mrs. Simpson, Thank you for your interest in The Matrimonial News. It is our mission to help those people in search of a spouse. There is no fee for a female placing an ad of forty words or less. Each additional word is one cent. You can feel secure in our discretion. We do not reveal your name or your address until we have your permission to do so. Correspondence is through our office. We will review correspondence for offensive material and will not forward it to you. Letters that are straight forward and appear to be honest will be forwarded. We can neither promise correspondence, nor results. If you have any questions, we will answer immediately. Enclosed you will find the latest copy of our paper. I created an advertisement on your behalf. It has been assigned number 4694 and you will find it on page sixteen. This number is used for identification purposes. It will be the means by which responses to your ad will be identified. You should use your number in any responses you make. If you find ads in the enclosed newspaper to which you would like to respond, you should reference the number. Sincerely, Matthew Carlson, Publisher.

  On page sixteen, she found her ad: Mature widow, thirty four years old, red hair, 5’ 6” and proportional weight desires correspondence with male of same approximate age, with a possibility of matrimony. Means limited. Loves children. Refer to #4694.

  Well, that’s me in less than forty words, she thought. I wonder if anything will come of it. Cora said her cousin exchanged five letters before agreeing to meet. That’s not a lot to base the rest of your life upon. I don’t have to answer back if I decide this was a mistake. I wonder what Mama Bess will think of me for doing this. It smells of desperation. Well, I guess I’m desperate. I’m not going to tell Chris until I have something more positive. I’m not going to tell Papa Clarence and Mama Bess about it either.

  Two weeks later…

  Jennie had known Sam Wilcox since she was a little girl. She had always called him Mr. Sam.

  When she walked into the store, he said, “I have what you’re looking for, Jennie,” he said grinning.

  “I have a letter?” she asked.

  “No,” he said.

  “Oh,” in a disappointed voice.

  “You have two letters,” he said.

  “Two? I have two letters? You’re not funning me are you, Mr. Sam?”

  “No, I’m not funning you. Hold on, I’ll get them for you,” he said, and walked over to the part of his store that was the post office. “Here you are,” and handed her the two envelopes.

  As before, there was no return address on either of them, “Aren’t you going to open them?” he asked.

  “No, I’m going to wait until I get home,” she answered.

  Back at the farm, she unhitched the mule and led him to his stall. She drew a bucket of water for him, and pitched some hay into the stall.

  “I thought I heard you come up,” Chris’s voice came from behind her. “Mama, I told you, I’ll take care of the mule. You don’t need to bother with it.”

  “You do enough around here. You look worn out as it is. Did you have lunch?”

  “I had some biscuits and fatback left over from breakfast,” he said.

  “Now you know that is no kind of lunch for a working man. I’ll fix a big, early supper for you.

  “What did you do today?” she asked.

  “I spent most of the day checking the cotton for weevils and worms,” he said.

  “Did we have any?”

  “No, not yet. Maybe we’ll stay lucky. We’ll be in good shape if we get a little rain,” he said.

  Listen to him. He’s working as hard as any man. He’s a born farmer. You still have the seed bag we use to dust, don’t you?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Do we need to get any poison to dust?”

  “I still have some left from last year,” he said.

  “Well, let me know,” she said. “I’m going to lie down for a bit,” she said. “You need to take a break too,” she said.

  “I’m fine, Mama.”

  “Well, I’ll make some lemonade anyway. You come in and get something to drink and sit a spell.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  After making the lemonade, she poured herself a glass, and went into her bedroom to read her two letters.

  She opened the first letter.

  Dear Number 4694, I have seen your ad in The Matrimonial News, and I find it of interest. I am thirty seven years old, and a widower for the past two years. My wife passed and left me with three girls, ten, thirteen and fifteen years old. I have a steady job as a driver for a mining company that provides for me and my girls. They are in need of a firm hand and female guidance. I would like to correspond with you. My number is 4084. I look forward to hearing from you.

  She laid the letter down, while she thought about it. This doesn’t look to be written by a man. I wonder if he knows how to write. It sounds like he’s looking for someone to ride herd on his girls. I don’t think I could be happy with someone who has no education.

  She opened the other letter. It began in much the same manner.

  Dear number 4694…

  chapter seven

  Cal’s Decision

  The Circle CP ranch prospered under the capable management of Clay Terwilliger. Cal had increased his holdings to over 30,000 acres. His herd now numbered over five thousand at any given time. He provided beef to the army, and the miners. Some of his cattle were being shipped to the slaughter houses back East.

  He should have been a contented man. He wasn’t. He was lonely. His ranch hands numbered twenty, he had a housekeeper, but something was missing.

  Cal had begun attending the First Methodist Church while he was living at the Frontier Hotel. A generous donor, he had developed a friendship with the pastor, Clem Hutchison. One Sunday, Clem sought him out after services. “How are you Cal?’, Clem asked.

  “I suppose I’m doing pretty well,” Cal said. “It seems to be lonelier than usual, these days, but I’ll get over it.”

  “By the way, I want to tell you how much we appreciated your generous donation toward our new addition,” the pastor said.

  “Thank you, Clem. Church attendance
was one of Mama’s rules. It was that way until I left Texas for the gold fields. The good Lord’s been good to me, and I’m just returning the largesse,” Cal said.

  “If you’re lonely, how is it you’ve never married?” the pastor asked.

  “When I was reading for the law, I had no time for courting, and in the gold fields, there were only the fancy girls. They were as ugly as a mud fence, and a lot of them were diseased, so I stayed away. Here in Cheyenne, there just does not seem to be any of the female persuasion my age. I’d still like to have a family, but I don’t see any prospects of it,” he said. “I guess my time has passed me by.”

  “Have you heard of a newspaper called The Matrimonial News?” the pastor asked.

  “I can’t say as I have. It’s not local is it?”

  “No, I believe it’s published in Kansas City. I heard of it from one of our church members. The paper is mainly ads, placed by people in search of a wife or husband. When an ad is placed, the paper acts as a go-between for correspondence, to protect the identities of the parties.

  “It seems the late war decimated the pool of marriageable men back east, and we have the opposite situation here in Cheyenne. The paper tries to bring the two groups together.

  “I’m not sure I could do something like that. It doesn’t seem normal. What type of woman would allow herself to be courted long distance?” Cal asked.

  “Perhaps, one that is lonely and sees no other alternative,” said the pastor.

  “This person you heard it from, did they use the services?” Cal asked.

  “They did,” said the pastor.

  “I don’t suppose you could give me their name?” Cal asked.

  “No, I couldn’t do that, but with your permission, I will give them your name, and leave it up to them to decide whether to talk to you.

  “I’d like for you to do that,” Cal said. “Even if there are always people around, I still get lonely. I would like to do something about it.”

  That Sunday, after church…

  “Mr. Pierce, I’m Harlan Trotter. This is my wife, Priscilla, and the little guy is Harlan, Junior.

  “Pastor Pierce told us you had discussed The Matrimonial News with him and had some questions.

  “Why yes, I do have an interest, and I appreciate you being willing to talk about your experiences,” Cal said.

  “It is our pleasure. We used their paper a little over two years ago, wasn’t it, Priss?” he asked his wife.

  “Why don’t we just tell you about our experience? Then, if you have any questions, we’ll try to answer them,” Trotter said.

  “Would you be my guest for lunch, and we could talk?” Cal asked.

  “That’s very nice of you, Mr. Pierce, but it’s not necessary,” Mrs. Trotter said.

  “I appreciate it wherever we talk,” Cal said.

  “Well,” Trotter began, “I have a small ranch north of here, and Priscilla lived in Ohio. They had a scarcity of menfolk, due to the high number of casualties in the war.”

  “To put it more bluntly,” Mrs. Trotter said, “There were none my age. I was desperate, when I sent off my ad.”

  “I’m an unsuccessful miner turned rancher,” Harlan said. “I came across a paper in the general store, and bought it. I saw her ad, and two others I deemed interesting, and I wrote to them, or rather their number. Both answered, as well as responses from the ad I placed. I exchanged letters with them, I found Priscilla’s letters interesting and forthright, so I continued to write her. I gave the paper permission to reveal my name and my address only to her. She did the same thing, and we wrote directly to each other. I invited her to Cheyenne, and she accepted. We were married the same day she arrived and it has been a good two years. Plus, I have a son.”

  “It has been a good two years. I married a fine man, one I would not have known if I hadn’t embraced the mail order bride path,” Mrs. Trotter said.

  “Mail order bride? Is that what you are called?” Cal asked.

  “It sure is,” she said. “I guess for some, there’s a certain stigma to it, but it doesn’t bother me. All I have to do is look at my family, and I’m grateful.”

  “That’s about it,” Harlan said, “unless you have questions.”

  “One question does come to mind. What if she had come to Cheyenne and one or the other of you decided it was just unworkable?” Cal asked,

  “That is certainly a risk, just as in any marriage, you may find you have made a bad bargain,” Trotter said. “In my case, it was a good bargain. To answer your question, the man is expected to pay transportation and expenses for the female. For my part, I promised if she wasn’t satisfied, or we were not compatible, for any reason, I would pay for her return to Ohio. I think any fair minded man would do the same.”

  “I did say if she traveled to Cheyenne and subsequently married someone else, I would expect reimbursement.”

  “Mrs. Trotter, it must have been a daunting to undertake a trip such as you made alone,” Cal said.

  “It was, but everyone was very nice. Fortunately for us, train service had just opened to Cheyenne when I traveled. A stage coach trip might have merited further thought,” Priscilla Trotter said.

  It sounds as if you wholeheartedly endorse this path?” Cal said.

  “Mr. Pierce, I think I speak for my wife when I say, we both considered it the only path we had. We were blessed to find each other. So, yes, I endorse it completely, however, exercise caution. Don’t go at it with blinders on.”

  “Mr. Trotter, Mrs. Trotter, you have given me hope. Maybe there is someone there for me. I appreciate your taking the time. If there is ever anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask. Thank you both, very much. I do believe I will follow your example. I hope my luck is as good as yours has been.”

  chapter Eight

  Cal’s Ad and Answer

  I am thirty five year old bachelor with some means, six feet two inches tall, 180 pounds. I have a good appearance and would like to correspond with woman of my approximate age, with a comely appearance and proportional size and weight. She must be able to read and write. Object matrimony if compatible,

  It seems rather stilted to me. He had written and rewritten his ad several times, and was still not happy with it. Well, that’s the best I can do, he decided.

  He put the letter in the mail. The Trotters had told him it would be at least a month before he could expect any results.

  Three weeks later, he received a plain envelope containing a copy of the newspaper, and a letter from the editor, containing the guidelines under which the paper operated. His ad had been assigned number 6208. He found his ad, just four short lines describing a lonely man.

  Cal went through The Matrimonial News he received in the plain envelope, looking at each ad. He paid close attention to those placed by females. He circled several with his pencil; then he went back through the ones circled. He picked the three he found the most interesting.

  One of the three was number 4694.

  He wrote: Dear number 4694. I read your ad in the latest issue of The Matrimonial News with interest. I find it both humbling and amusing that a person can be described with so few words. My attention was piqued by two things, one of which stated you have red hair. The second point of interest was your love of children.

  I have never been married, and was one of three children, born in Dallas, Texas. I read for the law until I was afflicted with gold fever. I left the great state of Texas for the gold fields of Colorado. I was one of thousands, all following the same dream. Or was it a nightmare? I was lucky (Very lucky) to have some success in the pursuit of my dream. So many find naught except for heartbreak. My other dream was to have a family. Now at the advanced age of thirty five, I fear the dream will not be realized. I

  I attend a Methodist church in the town close to my ranch. At the service this past week, my mind strayed from the sermon being delivered by the pastor, who is also a good friend. I looked around the congregation and all I saw were marrie
d couples and a few children. I could not identify any ladies of my age that were not already taken. This scene speaks to my futility and led me to talk to my friend. A member of the congregation met his wife on the same path we are taking here. What they had to say was encouraging and led me to place an ad in the newspaper, as well as to respond to your ad.

  Enough wandering. I am thirty-five, and have never been married, I am 6 feet, 2 inches tall and weigh approximately 180 pounds. I work hard and am muscled accordingly. My hair is dark, as are my eyes. Obviously I can read and write as evidenced by my having read for the law. I raise cattle for the market. Unfortunately, I have no skill for gardening and consequently my diet consists primarily of beef, bacon and beans, though on occasion, I treat myself to a meal in the local café,

  I would like to correspond with you if you are of the same mind. You indicated you lived on a farm.

  What is your crop? Is it for market or for your own sustenance? I would like to hear about your likes and dislikes. Do you have a church? So many questions arise as I write, I don’t know where to start, so I shall end with the hope you will choose to continue the correspondence.

  Sincerely, Number 4608.

  Cal looked at the other two ads he had circled. I don’t think I will write either of these right now. I don’t want to have to keep track of what I told each one.

  After church…

  “I bit the bullet, and put an ad in the marriage newspaper, Clem,” Cal said to his pastor. What the Trotters had to say was encouraging. From talking to them, you would never know they had met in an unconventional manner.”

  “They’re both nice people, too,” Clem said.

  * * *

  “Clay, do you think it would be worthwhile to drive another herd up from Texas?” Cal asked his foreman. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t ask you to do it. You’re too valuable here to have you off on the trail for two or three months. I just wonder if it makes sense?”

  “I don’t rightly know. Cal. Our last count put the herd at nearly six thousand. If one of our contracts fell through, we would have to be careful not to overgraze and run out of grass. One thing that might be worthwhile would be to look at crossbreeding the longhorns with Herefords. I hear the Herefords fatten up earlier than the longhorns, so we can turn them into cash quicker.