Trudy

by Debra Holland

  Afterward, on her way to the dormitory, Trudy was passing the open door of the upstairs bathroom when she heard a sound that was part eek, part scream. She rushed in and found the maid, Evie, pressed against the white bead board wall, scrub rag held to her chest like a shield. She was gazing up at the ceiling over the toilet.

  “What’s wrong?” Trudy asked.

  Evie glanced at her and flushed. “I’m scared of spiders.” She pointed at a big brown one hanging on the wall, waiting to drop down on the head of any unsuspecting maiden using the facilities.

  Trudy didn’t like spiders either and usually asked her father to deal with them. Unless he wasn’t home and then she had to take care of the situation.

  But in this household of all women, there was no knight in shining armor to call upon to slay the beast. She tore off several sheets of Gayetty’s Medicated Paper from the packet next to the sink, climbed on the commode, grabbed the spider, and pinched it to death. Then she dropped the body shrouded in the paper into the toilet and pulled the chain, flushing the spider down the drain. “There. All safe.” She smiled at Evie. “I’m glad you saw it, though. Imagine if that spider had landed on you while…”

  Evie shuddered. “I’m sorry, Miss Bauer. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “Nonsense. I was glad to help. And call me Trudy. After the adventure we just had, I think we’ll have to consider ourselves friends.”

  “You’re very kind, Miss Bauer.” Evie straightened from the wall. “Thank you. I mean, most of the other brides don’t even notice if I’m around, let alone speak with me…much less offer friendship.”

  Trudy raised her eyebrows. “Is this not America? The land where men, and in our cases, women makes their own way?”

  “I’m still the maid,” Evie responded softly.

  Trudy set her hands on her hips. “My grandparents immigrated to this country from Germany. They were poor cobblers without any education. But they scraped together enough money to send my father to school, and he studied hard. One of the trustees of the school sponsored him to attend the university and become a lawyer. We’re not wealthy or anything, but we get by just fine and appreciate those who strive like we do.”

  Evie brushed a finger across the fine material of Trudy’s sleeve. “I think you and I have a different idea of wealthy.”

  “Maybe so.” Trudy laughed. “But we all have opportunities, Evie. We first need to recognize them when they cross our path, so we can seize hold of them.”

  Evie nodded, rubbing the rag along the edge of the sink. “Oh, I agree wholeheartedly.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Trudy put firmness into her tone. “I want a different kind of life.”

  “You certainly are confident in your convictions. I admire that very much.”

  Trudy let out a long exhale. “I’ll tell you something I’ve told no one else. Sometimes, I lay awake at night in fear. I’m risking my whole future happiness.” She shrugged and smiled at her new friend. “But as the Bible says, ‘Joy cometh in the morning.’ So, I let the sunlight wither away my doubts.”

  Evie reached out and tentatively took Trudy’s hand.

  Trudy could feel the roughness of the maid’s work-worn palm.

  “You’ve given me much to think on.” The maid squeezed Trudy’s hand, and then released her. Evie smiled as if she had a grand secret to share, then seemed to think better of it, for she waved the rag toward the door. “I think you have a cooking lesson and I have to finish cleaning the bathroom.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  That evening, the eight prospective brides sat in a circle—embroidering, crocheting, knitting, or tatting. All except for Darcy Russell, who read Walden aloud. Although Henry David Thoreau wouldn’t have been Trudy’s first choice, Darcy’s well-modulated voice made listening a pleasure.

  Megan O’Bannon, a slight Irish redhead, bounced into the room. That day, she’d received the ticket for her travel to Battle Mountain, Nevada.

  Darcy stopped reading so the brides could hear Megan describe the route she’d take to reach her new home.

  Trudy crocheted another round in the doily she was making for Evie and listened to Megan talk about the long stagecoach ride she’d have to endure after departing from the train, followed by a five-hour drive from town to her new husband’s land. Although she was glad to see Megan’s excitement, Trudy felt grateful her journey to Sweetwater Springs would be relatively easy compared to Miss O’Bannon’s.

  Megan continued to extol the virtues of her husband-to-be. “He says he’s not a big man, which is fine with me. He’s Irish, thin, redheaded, too.” As she looked around the circle, she laughed. “He might look like my brother.”

  Darcy closed her book. “At least, he’s not fat. I wouldn’t want a fat husband. My parents wanted me to marry the son of my father’s business partner.” She shuddered. “His waist was out to here.” She demonstrated by rounding her arms. “And he always had clammy hands. I couldn’t bear for him to touch me.”

  Me, neither, Trudy thought. A stocky build is fine. But not one of those men who looks like he’s expecting to deliver a baby any moment, or whose jowls are lower than his chin.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Prudence Crawford drawled, a calculating look on her bony face. “A fat banker would suit me just fine. A rich fat banker. Or a rich, fat businessman.”

  Chubby Bertha Bucholtz spoke up. “I wouldn’t mind a big man,” she said, beaming in her good-natured way. “A fat man of good humor. He’d probably like to eat and would enjoy my cooking. I’d like a man who’s a good eater.”

  “That’s because you’re fat, too,” Prudence said in a snide tone. “You want someone to match you.”

  A shocked silence followed the woman’s words.

  Bertha’s jolly face whitened, and her lips trembled.

  Trudy’s back went rigid. She wanted to slap Prudence’s face. If she’d been sitting next to the viperous woman, she would have stuck her with her needle. She exchanged I-can’t-believe-she-said-that glances with Darcy and Megan before reaching over and squeezing Bertha’s hand. “Your husband will be a lucky man, my dear. You’re the best cook of all of us. Even my bread isn’t as light as the loaves you made yesterday.”

  Heather Stanford’s green eyes flashed in annoyance with Prudence. She tossed her head and a tendril of black hair loosened from her bun. “I don’t mind a poor husband. I’ve been poor all my life. I know how to make-do. I don’t care if he’s fat, either. But I want a man who’s kind, who will love me.”

  Twisting in her chair to turn her back to Prudence, Trudy gave Bertha and Heather a warm smile that included both women. “I have no doubt your husbands will love you for your goodness alone. No man wants a shrew.” With a valiant effort, she refrained from looking at Prudence and settled back in her chair.

  Darcy sent Trudy an approving look. The woman’s thin features weren’t conventionally pretty, but her air of elegance made her attractive. She had fine, dark-lashed blue eyes that shone with intelligence, thick honey-brown hair, and a graceful neck. “What else is on everyone’s wish lists?”

  Evie entered the room carrying a silver tea tray. She brought it to the side table and set out the silver teapot, sugar and creamer, cups and saucers, and two plates of cookies the brides had baked that afternoon.

  “Handsome!” Buxom Angelina Napolitano called out with a saucy smile, her dark eyes gleeful.

  “An important man.” Prudence lifted her pointed chin to a haughty angle.

  “Hard-working,” Heather Stanford said in a practical voice. She set a stitch into her embroidery, her every move graceful. “I can’t stand shiftless men. Or pretentious ones, either.”

  “Thrifty.” Angelina pushed back a corkscrew tendril of black hair that had escaped the low bun she wore. “I don’t want a man to waste away my dowry.”

  Kathryn Ford waved the lace handkerchief she was embroidering. “But, in spite of being frugal, he’ll spend money on me. I don’t want a skinflint.” The gasl
ight overhead gleamed on the blond highlights in her chestnut hair.

  “Someone interesting,” offered Trudy.

  “A husband who will love me,” Evie said from the corner, hugging the empty tray in front of her like a shield.

  Trudy smiled at Evie. Earlier, the maid had confided in her that she’d taken one of the letters from a prospective husband out of the agency’s mail basket and responded to it. Mrs. Seymour didn’t know.

  Some of the women directed startled glances Evie’s way. Prudence eyed the maid with disapproval.

  To turn the attention away from Evie, Trudy tossed a question into the group. “Does it matter if he already has children?”

  “Oh, yes,” Angelina said, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “I can’t wait to be a mother! My family’s so big, I can’t imagine a life without little ones tumbling around.”

  A chorus of noes and yeses followed Angelina’s comment. About half the group liked the idea of becoming a stepmother and half didn’t.

  Under cover of their chatter, Evie slipped out of the room.

  Trudy sat back and focused on her embroidery, letting the conversation flow on without her. She already knew the kind of husband she wanted…had long since drawn up a list in her head and heart. Hopefully, Seth Flanigan would perfectly fit her requirements.

  If Mrs. Seymour approves me!

  * * *

  The next day, after having received Mrs. Seymour’s permission, Trudy sat at the desk in a corner of the parlor. The other brides were outside in the back yard, listening to a lecture and demonstration from the little gnarled gardener who reminded her of a gnome. This letter was so important, she wanted to take the opportunity to compose her thoughts in private. She dipped her pen into the inkwell and began the salutation.

  Dear Seth,

  My name is Gertrude Marie Bauer, although I go by Trudy. I’m 24 years old, and I live in St. Louis with my father, who’s a lawyer. My mother died when I was nineteen. I have two younger sisters whom I’ve raised since her death. The youngest has just married, leaving me free to seek a new life.

  She stared blindly out of velvet-curtained windows edged in stained glass squares, debating if she should add more about her sisters. After a few minutes of thought, Trudy decided she didn’t want to overwhelm the man with too much information.

  I fit your description perfectly. I have strawberry blond hair and blue eyes. I’m medium in height, with an average figure.

  Trying to decide what to write her prospective husband was proving harder than she’d anticipated. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, inhaling the scent of dried rose petals in the cut-glass bowl on the corner of the desk.

  You might ask why I’m choosing to become a mail-order bride. Perhaps you’re wondering if I had no suitors here in St. Louis. I’ve had several chances but I turned them down because I wanted more than those men could offer.

  Her hand stilled. Trudy wondered if Seth Flanigan would want a more conventional, less adventurous bride. After some thought, she decided he’d better know the truth about her up front, when he had a chance to turn her down. That thought made her heart hitch, and Trudy realized she’d grown attached to the idea of marrying this particular man. A rejection would hurt.

  I long for a new life, to live in nature, to have adventures.

  Trudy tapped her chin, wondering what else she could impart. Distilling her history, personality, hopes, and dreams into one very important letter was a difficult task.

  When I was younger, my sisters and I had a governess. Later, I attended The Oakmoss Ladies Academy. I’m afraid the school encouraged the students to learn ladylike accomplishments more than actual academics, but my father insisted on a private course of study, as well. I have quite a few books on many topics that I will be sure to bring with me.

  My parents were also quite insistent their daughters become proficient in the domestic arts. Thus, I am a capable cook and housekeeper. I enjoy working in the garden. But most of all, I’m skilled in handwork and will bring along an overflowing hope chest and an extensive trousseau with me.

  For the last four years, my father has courted a wonderful woman. His intended has patiently waited until the time all his daughters had flown the nest. When I leave, they will be free to marry.

  Trudy glanced at the plaster bust of Pauline Bonaparte, sister to Napoleon, resting on a square pillar in the corner of the room and hoped for some inspiration. She decided to end the letter in the same way he had.

  Your letter has made me eager to meet you and begin our new life together. I promise to be a good and loving wife to you.

  Sincerely,

  Trudy Bauer

  After blowing to dry the ink, she folded the paper and sat for a moment, imagining the journey this letter would take as it traveled on the train from St. Louis to Sweetwater Springs until it landed in Mr. Seth Flanigan’s hands. She wondered how he’d feel as he read her words, if he’d still want her after reading what she’d written, if he’d sit down to reply right away or think things over.

  Trudy rose, walked into the hall, and dropped the letter onto the silver plate. Mrs. Seymour would include Trudy’s letter in one of her own to Seth Flanigan.

  I’ll be on tenterhooks until I hear back from him!

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mrs. Seymour’s response arrived sooner than Seth expected, indeed, than he’d prepared himself for. When he’d gone into town and stopped by the train depot to pick up the newspapers, he hadn’t expected to find a letter had just arrived on that day’s train.

  He ignored the curious look of the stationmaster, stuffed the letter into his pocket, and left, trying to forget about it. Not that he could. The darn thing burned a hole in his pocket on the way home, while he’d continued his chores, made supper, ate, and did the dishes. Now he had no more excuses to avoid reading Mrs. Seymour’s response. Perhaps she rejected me or can offer no suitable prospect. Seth didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed at the thought.

  He lit the kerosene lamp on the table and pulled the light closer to him. After opening the letter, he took out a single sheet of paper and another envelope. He unfolded the paper and glanced at the signature. Mrs. Seymour, all right. Then he read through the body of the letter, how the matron had found a sound match for him. Makes the bride seem like a horse, he thought. She wrote that if he approved, he could send the agency fee and a train ticket or the agency fee and the money for a ticket, which she would purchase.

  Then the woman concluded the letter by introducing his future bride and stating a few details about her, which, beyond the fact that she was pretty, Seth barely absorbed.

  He returned to the beginning and read the letter through slowly, thought about what the woman had written, then carefully read the words again. As far as he could tell, everything about his prospective bride, Miss Gertrude Bauer, did appear sound. The thought made him melancholy.

  He sat for a while thinking of Lucy Belle, of Gertrude—Trudy, as she wanted to be called. The woman wanted adventures...that might be a problem. The life of a farmer was all tedium, all sameness, pure hard work. One of the reasons Seth lit out for the saloon when he felt the itching for something different.

  Seth stared out the back window, unable to see through the darkness, but he knew the view of the mountains by heart. Adventures were out there for a man who sought them out. Maybe he could show her Flanigan Falls, the secret waterfall known only to him.

  Flanigan Falls. He’d imagined taking Lucy Belle there in the summer, making sweet love in the grass under the blue sky while the crash of the water filled the air with sound and the mist drifted over their bare bodies.

  His melancholy deepened. Then, after he felt he’d indulged himself enough, Seth prepared himself to write a response.

  A response filled with lies.

  * * *

  At last, Trudy held Mr. Flanigan’s letter in her hands. Has he accepted me?

  She hurried into Mrs. Seymour’s parlor, grateful tha
t no other brides were around. Her hands shaking, she opened the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper. At a glance, she could tell he’d written very little on the paper in his neat handwriting. The note was free of blots. Miss Kelly would approve. No hand-smacking here.

  Chiding herself for her silly thoughts, Trudy settled to the serious business of reading the letter that would impact her future.

  Dear Miss Bauer,

  Your letter made me a happy man. From what you’ve written, it seems we will be well suited. I’ve sent Mrs. Seymour the funds for your journey. Please send me your travel plans so I will be there to meet the train and escort you to Reverend Norton so we can be married.

  I look forward to your arrival in Sweetwater Springs and to beginning our new life together.

  Seth Flanigan

  With a leap of her heart, Trudy realized Mr. Flanigan had chosen her as she had chosen him. The rush of excitement speeding through her body made her want to jump out of her chair and spin in circles, laughing hysterically. Although of course she wouldn’t exhibit such unladylike behavior.

  Again, she read through Mr. Flanigan’s letter. On the second viewing, she realized he’d given her no new details about himself and his circumstances, which made her vaguely disappointed.

  Evie entered the room carrying a duster.

  “Evie.” Trudy jumped to her feet and hurried to her friend, tugging her farther into the room, away from earshot of anyone passing in the entry or the hall. Her friend had already received a letter back from her intended and made secret plans to go to him, which she’d shared with Trudy.

  Trudy leaned close to Evie. “Mr. Flanigan has written me,” she said in excitement. “He wants to marry me!”

  Eyes popping wide, Evie let out a squeal, which she quickly hushed. “Trudy, that’s wonderful. We’ll both be in Montana! Maybe we’ll be able to visit each other. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “Oh, I hope so, Evie.” Even as Trudy said the words, she wondered if the likelihood of traveling, especially a journey away from a ranch and a farm, would be possible. But they could dream. This time in their lives was all about dreams. They’d face the reality of their new lives all too soon.