A Bride Idea

by Yvonne Lehman

  “Look behind you,” Stella said.

  While Olivia looked, Stella explained. “Canaan Valley was once as lush and green as this. Now the lumber companies are stripping the land, cutting the trees. It’s sad. But logging has become such a huge industry.” She sighed. “That’s called progress.”

  Olivia nodded. “Yes, like the tree trunks that are in the bigger cities with electric lines on them so we can light up our homes. It is nice being able to pull a chain or flip a switch and have light.”

  “Yes, it’s not all bad. If it wasn’t for some of those cut trees, I’d be in a pickle.” She smiled over at Olivia. “Mom and Dad had a small sawmill on this land up here. When they died, your father inherited it. To his credit, he gave me a tract of land, but he kept the mill. I sold some of the land but still have my little cabin, and nobody’s going to cut those trees around it.”

  Because Stella lived in it, Olivia could honestly say, “I like your cabin better than our house in Davidson.”

  Stella nodded. “So do I. That’s something Herman can’t understand. About me. . .or you.”

  By midmorning they came upon a sign: Sunrise, West Virginia, pop. 2,013.

  “Let’s drive around and see what this town offers,” Stella said. They passed cleared areas and sawmills and railroad tracks and a black, smoking train, huffing and clanging around a mountain.

  They rode past a church, a school, a hotel, and a hospital. After returning to Main Street, Stella led the horse and wagon to a livery stable where the mare could be watered and fed. Across the street was a lovely white, two-story house with a sign outside with the words Laurel Blossom Boardinghouse.

  “Hmm.” Stella expressed what Olivia was thinking. “Living and working there wouldn’t be the worst of fates.”

  Olivia agreed. “The worst would be married to a maniac.”

  “Quite an astute observation,” Stella said, as they began to walk along the sidewalk. “And of course we can’t go inside the boardinghouse or the hotel in case I decide to apply for the job.”

  Olivia liked the charming town where ladies, gentlemen, and a few children walked along the sidewalks and entered shops. Several blocks revealed a saloon, shops, a restaurant, a grocery, a bank, an attorney’s office, a medical clinic, and a post office. Farther down stood the depot.

  “Years ago, when Kev and I were married, we came through here with an acting troupe.”

  Olivia detected a moment of sadness in Stella before her aunt whispered, “That’s my future husband.”

  The man was tall and skinny, wearing a top hat and dark suit, and eighty years old if a day. He was an aristocratic-looking man, but Olivia had a hard time picturing him as Stella’s husband.

  “Or him.” Olivia nodded toward a man on the other side of the street.

  “Oh, you mean Humpty Dumpty?”

  He did rather resemble a picture-book drawing Olivia had seen of a short, oval Humpty Dumpty.

  Stella sighed. “The good-looking ones have women with them. Oh well, let’s go into the Soda Shoppe and drown our sorrows with a Coke or a milkshake.”

  Olivia soon discovered her aunt had something in mind far removed from sorrows. “Here’s what we should do in the name of common decency,” she said. “In case our man of means is not filled with common decency, it’s up to us to put a stop to it.”

  Olivia felt a nervous giggle coming on. Stella continued, “You can’t go to acting school yet because you don’t have the money. Herman would kill me if I paid your way.” Her words were tinged with regret. “Besides, you have to want this enough to work for it. And you need to be able to give it up at any time without feeling obligated to anyone. You understand that?”

  “I do.”

  “All right,” Stella said. “Just in case this might be a job for you, here’s the plan. Let’s at least have an interview with this man with four names. Oh.” She perked up. “The four names thing probably means he’s either very wealthy or royalty and has ‘de’ or ‘van’ in his name. Now what were those initials?”

  “DVMC? DMNC? Something like that.”

  Stella slapped the table with such force Olivia thought the straw might fly right out of the glass. “Aha! See? He could be either ‘de’ or ‘van’ or both.”

  “Yes.” Olivia played along. “De Van of Many Corpses. I’ll bet he’s a mortician.”

  “We have to know. It is a job. And it’s worth checking out.”

  In a matter of minutes, Stella had Olivia believing that man might have a good reason for wanting a temporary wife. “And you know I wouldn’t let you get mixed up in anything objectionable.”

  Olivia knew that. But she also knew what one person con-sidered objectionable, another considered perfectly reasonable. Hadn’t her own father called her unreasonable for wanting to be an actress?

  But the possibility of just seeing the man was too big a temptation to resist. After all, Stella said she would do the interviewing as the “mother.” Olivia wouldn’t even have to speak to the man or let him know she was in any way con-nected with Stella. Ignoring the butterflies in her tummy, she marched alongside her aunt to the post office.

  Stella asked if there were paper, pen, and an envelope available for her to respond to an ad in the paper. The middle-aged clerk, obviously taken with Stella’s good looks and charm, gave her everything she asked for free of charge.

  After writing the note, making sure she got the initials correct, Stella handed it to Olivia to read.

  Dear DNMC,

  Thank you for your note. Please meet me at the Canaan Valley Restaurant Saturday at 10:00 a.m. I would like to question you before allowing you to interview my daughter. Please bring a book with you so I might identify you.

  Sincerely,

  Juliet Kevay’s Mother

  Olivia swallowed hard. Maybe this was the answer to her dilemma. Although she didn’t really believe that for one moment, she nodded.

  Stella looked pleased, folded the letter, addressed the envelope, licked the gum on the stamp and made a face, then handed it to the smiling clerk.

  Olivia had the feeling she had reached a point of no return.

  three

  Needing a break after a busy morning, Neil left the clinic and walked across the street and down the sidewalk to the post office.

  There was a letter, again neatly printed. He almost smiled upon seeing that the letter was signed by the interested applicant’s mother. He could appreciate a mother’s caution. And he could appreciate a young woman who would confide in her mother about something this preposterous. He’d never let a daughter of his consider such a thing.

  On second thought, one never knew what he might con-sider. Although he knew that mail-order brides had been an acceptable practice in some parts, Neil hadn’t an inkling he would ever advertise for a wife—until now.

  Nevertheless, despite self-reproach, anxiety, and a sense of helplessness, on Saturday morning at 10:00, he tied his horse, Sally, to the hitching post at the side of Canaan Valley Restaurant.

  He’d already given himself every conceivable lecture. He willed himself to put one booted foot in front of another and go inside. As Mrs. Kevay had requested, he placed a book on the corner table at the front window and sat down.

  The book he brought was the Bible, hoping that Mrs. Kevay’s reaction to it would give him an indication about her and tell her something about him, too. He ordered a cup of coffee and, upon lifting it to his lips, marveled that his hand was steady in spite of his quavering insides. A man, especially a doctor, needed to be in control at all times. Even the worst operation hadn’t affected him like this.

  Three gentlemen were seated at a table near him. Snippets of conversation sounded like a business discussion. Two fashionably dressed young ladies waltzed in and sat at a table beyond the gentlemen. He doubted those young ladies would need or want to apply for his job—unless they did it as a lark. That could be, since they were whispering and giggling.

  Never before having been one to b
e self-conscious, he now thought he glowed like a bonfire. The sunshine streaming through the window made him uncomfortably warm. He preferred a dimly lit corner, but it was occupied by a young woman. She was staring at a magazine through spectacles. When her chin lifted as if she might look his way, he lowered his cup and his head.

  His ears seemed to ring with the mingling of male voices and the young women speaking to the waitress. He was acutely aware of the distant rattle of dishes and muted voices from across the room. However, all other sounds faded away when he heard the turn of the door handle, the swoosh of the door opening, and the rustle of a woman’s skirt approaching him.

  Swallowing hard, he put his hands on the edge of the table and forced his gaze to travel up the dark blue dress and into the face of a woman. Thanks to instinct and having been taught good manners, he stood. “Mrs. Kevay?”

  She extended a gloved hand. “Mr.?”

  He briefly shook her hand. “M–McCory.”

  “Mummacory,” she repeated.

  “No, no.” He hated this but rushed around to pull out the chair for her. “Just”—he forced himself not to stumble over his own name—“McCory.”

  She sat in the chair, looked up at him, and said without smiling, “Thank you.”

  Neil stared for a moment. What beautiful green eyes. He’d never seen eyes that color. He returned to his seat and folded his hands in front of him on the table. “The name is D–Dr. McCory.”

  “Dr. McCory.”

  Was she trying not to laugh? Some sense of reality returned when the waitress came over and he watched the interaction between her and the woman.

  Mrs. Kevay’s skin was exceptionally clear except for the dark circles beneath her eyes and a black mole on one cheek. Her navy blue dress was plain, and her dark brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun.

  While waiting for the waitress to bring her coffee, Neil tried to act normal. “It’s a nice day.”

  “Yes,” the woman said. “The days are cooler now that fall is almost upon us.” She removed her gloves, which revealed graceful-looking, long-fingered hands.

  He stared, then looked up and saw that she stared at him. He sincerely thanked God that the waitress brought her coffee and refreshed his.

  The woman dropped two lumps of sugar in the cup, picked up the spoon, and stirred. He opened his mouth to say some other inane words—he knew not what—when he suddenly caught his breath. It occurred to him that this woman might be the one applying for the job. He was in his early thirties. She could possibly be in her early forties. Yes, she could have a young daughter. But the only way to find out was to get on with the interview.

  Just as he opened his mouth to speak, she patted the Bible. “I see you must be a man of. . .of the Holy Bible.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” That helped. “Are you a woman of faith?”

  “Oh.” Her eyes closed for a moment. Then she looked back at him with a sweet expression. “Where would we all be without God?”

  He nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Well,” she said, “I am glad to hear that you are a man of the Holy Bible.”

  Neil felt that put a little perspective on the situation. He’d prayed that if this was not God’s will, then nothing would come of it. He must simply lay on the line what the situation was and interview this woman, and daughter if she had one.

  “Mrs. Kevay,” he said. “I am a Christian. I have a medical practice in Sunrise. My grandmother owns the Sunrise Inn. This is difficult for me, and I would like to tell my story only once. Could I speak with you and your daughter together?”

  The woman stared at the table thoughtfully. He felt sure she would confess that she was the job applicant. However, she looked over her shoulder and wiggled her finger at the girl in the corner.

  The young woman hesitated so long, Neil wondered if Mrs. Kevay was trying to force her daughter into something against her will. That would not do.

  Finally, the girl stood and began to walk toward them. He tried to size her up without being obvious. Describing her as “demure” would be an exaggeration. She looked rather prim with her hair in a bun at the back of her head. He couldn’t get beyond taking in the wire-rimmed spectacles to see her face. Her high-necked, plain gray dress covered everything from her feet to her wrists. Just as she seemed not to have a face, she seemed not to have a figure.

  Neil stood. The girl put her hand on the back of the chair, so he made no effort to step over and pull it out for her. The young woman did not look directly at him, nor did she smile, but quickly removed her gloved hand from his after a brief handshake.

  Although he suspected this girl was not the one to help in this situation, perhaps he could help them in some way. They must be in dire circumstances.

  At least, even if he could consider hiring her, he didn’t need to be concerned—not that he was—about any attraction between this spectacled young woman and himself.

  ❧

  Olivia sat, and upon seeing the Bible, she figured he must want to make a point of believing in God. She expected most everyone did, but she’d never had much experience with church life until the past few years when they’d moved to the city and her father insisted they go and hear a preacher occasionally, especially at Easter and Christmas or when he was meeting with a churchgoing businessman.

  She had expected DNMC to be an undesirable man with whom Stella would converse and say this was not the position for her daughter. But Stella had given the nod, a signal that this might really be a job for Olivia. But how could any of them even consider the job of. . .marriage?

  All right, she would act like the demure daughter of Stella Kevay. They could laugh—or cry—about this later. She had to admit that while sitting in the corner, she watched this man and thought him quite handsome. However, her vision was rather blurry since she had to look through the spectacles. Any man who advertised for a wife had to have something dire wrong with him.

  “Would you like for me to bring your coffee over here?”

  Olivia stared at the waitress as if she’d spoken a foreign language. DNMC and Stella seemed to be doing the same. Oh, they were all crazy as loons. Olivia shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”

  The waitress said, “I’ll bring your bill over here.”

  Watching the waitress walk away, Olivia wondered what happened to the sense of fun she and Stella had when talking and planning this. This wasn’t a game. She knew she would have to call upon her amateurish acting ability, and then some, to keep up the charade. She’d like to take the pins from her hair, shake it loose from that silly bun, and let this man see that she was not a woman desperate for a husband. There was more than one marriage-minded man in the city who had taken a liking to her.

  “Miss Kevay,” she heard but did not raise her gaze from the table. She dared not look at Stella, not knowing if she’d laugh, cry, or run. “I want to tell you and your mother,” he said, “why I advertised for a wife. Then I would like to know why you would consider becoming my bride for a year.”

  Olivia had every reason not to look at him. She certainly was embarrassed at what she and Stella were doing. And how in the world would she answer his question as to why they answered the ad in the paper? She wouldn’t have to pretend that she was speechless.

  Maybe she could kick Stella without being seen and have Stella say she had fits or something that would make this man not want her as a wife. Not that she would ever even consider it.

  They were all silent a moment longer until the waitress brought the bill for her coffee. She reached for it, but DNMC got it when her hand was only a fraction of an inch from his. They didn’t touch, but she felt that if they had, she would have been shocked with an electric streak.

  He laid the bill beside him, away from her. This man of means was going to pay for her coffee. Proving there was something wrong with him, he might even offer her a job. . . unless she did something even more drastic than look plain to prevent it.

  four

  “Much of this has
to do with my grandmother,” Neil began. He felt he needed to tell as much truth as he could without going into unnecessary details. A little family history might be in order.

  “My only family,” he said, “is my grandmother whose husband owned Sunrise’s first sawmill. When the demand for lumber increased, my grandfather grew quite wealthy and built a big house in Sunrise. Their son. . .” Neil looked at Mrs. Kevay who seemed interested and at Miss Kevay who wasn’t looking at him.

  He continued. “Their son, who was my dad, married and brought his wife into my grandparents’ home at their request. The men ran the sawmills, one for softwood and the other for hardwood. The women took care of the house and turned it into an inn since so many newcomers were settling in Sunrise and needed places to stay while looking for homes or building their cabins.”

  “I understand that,” Mrs. Kevay said. “Here in Canaan Valley, the sawmills have about stripped the land of trees. Communities have sprung up overnight.”

  Neil nodded, but he needed to get to the situation at hand. “My mom and dad planned to have many children—girls to help run the inn. But I was their only child, and I became a doctor.”

  He wasn’t one to disclose his personal life but felt some of it necessary. “My parents died in a flu epidemic when I was young. My grandfather was killed in a train wreck when I was in medical school. That brought me back to Sunrise to help my grandmother who had raised me.”

  Thinking that his once-vital grandmother was now an invalid wrenched his heart. “Now my grandmother has had a stroke, and she has a weak heart. The specialists don’t expect her to live another year.”

  “I’m sorry.” The soft words came from the young Miss Kevay.

  Neil was taken aback by her sympathetic tone of voice. He looked at her and was immediately again struck by the sight of those spectacles that partially hid her face. How in the world did she keep them on her small nose? But what struck him even more was that he knew she cared. Anyone who took this job would have to care, not about him, but about his grandmother.