She was grateful that they stayed. Meg didn’t know how she would get through the dark times without them.
“That will need to be cleaned later, Agnes. After the fire goes out.”
Agnes’s head nodded. “Yes’um,” she murmured, not once stopping in her duties. “I’ll be washing those bedsheets today.” She pointed back to the bed with the poker. “If’un you are done for the morning.”
“I need to get dressed. I’m going to go to the market. Do you have a list of anything I should pick up?”
“Yes, miss,” Agnes said, rocking back to her heels. The fire had been reignited and Meg watched as Agnes fed small bits of tinder and two large logs until heat roared through the room. Agnes stood and looked around the room. “For land’s sake, Miss Meg. You are going to catch your death of cold.” Agnes walked over to the window and pulled down the window frame. “What would your father say?”
Meg thought about her father, who was now in heaven, for a moment. “Hello?”
Agnes tapped her foot. “Not funny, Miss.”
Meg gave a little giggle. When she was done with the tea, she placed the cup aside and walked to the wardrobe that held her clothing. She pulled the wooden door open and looked at the contents. Everything had been dyed black except for two dresses in the back of the wardrobe. One was a pale blue with white lace and was suited more for summer months. The other was a maroon dress with a full skirt and black lace at the cuffs and hem. It had a small white collar and a long black sash that went around the waist into a bow in the back.
“I think I’ll wear this one today,” Meg said, pulling out the maroon dress. She was tired of wearing mourning clothes. “This was his favorite color.” She handed the dress to Agnes, silently daring her to say something.
Agnes took the dress and shook it, the fabric snapping in the air. “Thank goodness it isn’t black.”
Meg gave a snort and disappeared behind the curtain to change. She removed her nightdress and quickly donned stockings and a shift. She then quickly buttoned up her boots using the hook she left on the chair. Once her corset was in place it would be impossible to bend down to fasten the boots.
She picked up the corset that was draped over the chair and pressed it against her belly. She held it as she walked from behind the screen to the fireplace and presented her back to Agnes.
Her housekeeper pulled the strings as Meg held the dreaded contraption in place. She could hear Agnes grunt with every tug on the string. Meg thought she might pass out from the pressure. “I forgot how tight these were.”
“Well, miss,” Agnes said, huffing as she pulled the strings tighter, “you’ve not worn one since Mr. Peg passed.” She patted Meg on the back. “I think that is about as tight as we are going to get it. Your ribs have expanded.”
“What a terrible thing to say,” Meg reproached.
Agnes shrugged and picked up a padded bustle made from horsehair and tied it around Meg’s waist. She then picked up the dress she had just snapped the wrinkles from and lifted it in the air.
Meg gave a little giggle. Lifting her fingers to her lips, she looked at Agnes. “Do you realize that if I had married Philip, my name would be Meg Peg?”
Agnes snorted. “Didn’t like him none. Wouldn’t like your name either.”
“Agnes,” Meg said in mock indignation. “What has come over you?”
“Nothin’ but your Momma telling me to watch over you. She’d be so upset to see you wasted your life on someone who had no intention of marrying you.”
“No intention? He said he was going to. Things just got… complicated.”
“Uhm-hum.” Agnes looked at her as if she was going to say something but changed her mind. “Let’s get this dress on you,” Agnes said, lifting the dress up to place over Meg’s head.
Meg held out her arms sliding them into the sleeves. She twisted back and forth to let the dress shimmy down. As the dress fell, she turned her back to Agnes once more so she could fasten the buttons.
“All done,” Agnes said when the last button was fixed.
Meg turned around and gave a little sway. The dress swirled around her ankles as her boots peeked out from beneath the lace. It was time to start living again. She grabbed her wrap, bonnet, and reticule and headed towards the door.
“Miss,” Agnes said, lifting the cloche on the table. “Your breakfast is ready, ma’am.”
“I’m feeling quite squeamish this morning, Agnes. Thank you though.” Meg placed her bonnet on her head and tied the sash in a bow under her chin. “I really do want to get to town this morning, so I can return as quickly as possible.” She left the room, with Agnes following carrying the uneaten repast.
“Then why go at all, miss?” Agnes asked as they climbed down the stairs. “You know Roscoe, or I can go.”
Meg draped the wrap over her shoulders and removed a pair of gloves from her reticule. “Because I’ve not been seen in town, and I don’t know how I’m going to react to being around people for very long. I figure at this time of day there shouldn’t be many people doing their shopping.”
Agnes nodded and disappeared into the kitchen behind a wooden door. She returned with a paper she handed Meg. Meg looked at the words scrawled on the paper. “This shouldn’t be a problem.” She placed the paper in the pocket of her dress and headed to the porch.
She watched as Roscoe brought the carriage around to the front of the house. It would be about a thirty-minute ride to town. She looked at the fields that were overgrown. Her father had such plans for the ranch. But after her mother’s death, he didn’t really recover, spending his days drinking instead of raising cattle. All the cattle had been sold after her death.
Phillip insisted that he would bring the ranch back to life, but now it was just overgrown with a barn that needed repairs. She knew that soon she would need to leave all this behind. The bank had talked to her about a buyer for the property, but she wasn’t in any mood to listen. Perhaps she needed to listen now.
She heard the wagon moving at the side of the house. It took a moment for it to come around the corner and then Roscoe pulled in front of the house.
He tipped his hat and dropped to the ground. Roscoe had been with her father for as long as she could remember. He was over sixty now. She was just a little girl when he married Agnes and she came to work at the ranch. She was very fond of the couple.
He took her hand and led her up to the buckboard. She noticed his fingers were starting to curl. His back appeared stooped. She didn’t recall him looking so old.
“Thank you, Roscoe,” she smiled, as she put her hand in his and allowed him to assist her into the wagon. As she sat, she smoothed out her dress, fussing with a stubborn wrinkle that didn’t seem to want to go away.
“How’re you doing today, little miss?” he asked. He had called her little miss from the moment he first met her. His voice was always gentle and soft when he spoke to her.
He never raised his voice to her. Not even when she had lashed out at him a few times after the death of her father and then her fiancé. He simply held her while she cried and then told Agnes to put her to bed.
“I am well,” she finally said, grateful that her bonnet hid her sleep-deprived eyes. She caught sight of herself in the mirror as she had walked down the stairs. She looked quite ill if anyone was to look closely. She didn’t realize how much weight she had lost and how pale her skin was from hiding inside. The bonnet and her wrap hid most of that.
She knew she needed to make a change and she vowed that the first moment she had a chance she would make it.
She closed her eyes, rubbing her cold palms across the skirt of her dress, and lightly mouthed a prayer.
Father in heaven, I pray you to send me a sign for what I should do next. I place all my trust in you, Lord and please guide my steps. Amen.
Roscoe must have heard, as he silently said amen too. When her prayer was done, he clicked to the horses and they headed towards town.
Chapter 3
&n
bsp; The bell rang as Meg entered the Lilly Valley Mercantile. The town boasted about fifty residents, which included the families that lived just outside of town. The mercantile was the main building in town. It also served as the doctor’s office, post office, gossip center, and jail.
The room was dusty and smelled like stale linen. An old man was standing on a ladder behind the counter, dusting the shelves with a feather duster.
“Hello, Mr. Hanson,” Meg said as she approached the counter. She realized she forgot her basket. It really had been too long since she had been shopping.
The man turned to look at her and did a double-take, nearly falling off the ladder.
“Miss Dasher,” he said, climbing down the ladder and standing in front of her. He took her hand in his. “I am so sorry about Mr. Peg. We haven’t seen you in… well, in ages.” He patted her hand and then released it. “Mrs. Hanson will be so happy you are here. Do you have time for a cup of tea?”
“I really don’t, but thank you. I just needed to pick up a few things for the home and I thought I should probably get out of the house.” She handed the paper to the shopkeeper. “This is from Agnes. I forgot my basket.”
Mr. Hanson took the paper. “I’m sure I have an extra box around here.” He scanned the list. “Give me a few minutes to get everything together.”
Meg walked over to the fabrics and ran her fingers along the ends of the bolts. There were fabrics in pinks and yellows and a lovely white silky fabric with tiny blue roses.
At the end of the shelf were darker colored fabrics, perfect for autumn or the upcoming holidays. There was a deep red with white berries and a pretty green striped fabric with red roses. There was also heavy brown linen with tiny white dots.
It had been so long since she had new clothes. Maybe Agnes was right, and she needed to add to her wardrobe. Black really was a drab color.
“We just got those in,” a voice said over her shoulder. Meg turned to see Mrs. Hanson behind her. Meg allowed the woman to embrace her in a hug. It is so good to see you, Margaret.” Meg simply nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.
Finally, she released the older woman and turned back to the fabric. “I think I’d like enough of this to make a dress,” she said pulling out the green striped fabric.
Mrs. Hanson took the bolt of fabric. “It will make a lovely dress.”
“And this one too.” Meg pulled out the brown dotted fabric and placed it in Mrs. Hanson’s arms, followed by the white satin with small blue roses. “And one yard of this. I want to make some sachets.”
“I’ll get this cut and wrapped for you,” Mrs. Hanson said walking over to a large counter. Meg followed and noticed the pitiful looks being sent her way from the women that were shopping. She lowered her head and ignored their looks.
Meg let her eyes wander over the counter and they landed on a newspaper someone had left behind. She walked over and gave it her full attention, mainly to avoid having to watch or interact with the women in the store.
She flipped over the paper and was surprised to see there wasn’t any news on the front page. Strangely the whole paper appeared to be advertisements. She glanced over a few of them and her mouth fell open in surprise.
They were advertisements for wives!
The ads were posted by men looking for women to make the trip out West in exchange for the promise of marriage.
How peculiar indeed!
Meg heard snickers behind her and the whispers from the women as they giggled.
“She’s too old…”
“She’ll never marry now…”
“Who wants an old maid?”
Meg straightened her spine and cleared her throat. Mrs. Hanson glanced up and noticed the girls milling behind the counter.
“May I help you, ladies?” Mrs. Hanson said. The girls murmured their apologies and quickly left the store. “Harrumph,” she said as she went back to measuring and cutting the fabric.
Meg went back to looking through the paper. Suddenly a group of words with a box around them leaped from the page. She ran her finger over the words, reading them silently.
A Mother wanted for three young children. looking for someone who can cook, clean and teach them basic skills. Ages 2, 6 and 9. Strong Christian woman, easy on the eyes, age doesn’t matter. I am 34 and a trapper. I live in the mountains. I’ve been called handsome. Needs to be able to move immediately, before winter. Respond to Cole Tucker, The Mercantile, Nomad, Montana.
Why she could do all those things!
She really couldn’t cook, but maybe Agnes could teach her. She could sell the house and take that money to start a new life.
She would take the newspaper home and read it over a cup of tea. There was certainly someone in there that would be a good match for her.
“All done,” Mrs. Hanson said bringing three paper packages tied with string. “What do you have there?” she asked, pointing to the newspaper. Meg quickly dropped the paper, as if she was caught doing something wrong. Mrs. Hanson picked up the paper and gave it a quick glance before handing it back to Meg. “Might be a good idea,” was all she said.
Meg’s eyes flew up to meet Mrs. Hanson’s. “You think so?”
Mrs. Hanson nodded. “Why not? Many women have gone out west and made new homes for themselves.”
Meg thought about it for a moment. “How long does it take to send a letter out west?”
“It could be a week. It could be ten days. I guess it depends on the weather. I know that when I write to my sister who lives up near the border, she can’t get anything between December to March.”
“Really?” Meg couldn’t imagine.
Mrs. Hanson nodded. “Some of those snowstorms are just terrible. You need to have everything ready for winter because if a bad snowstorm happens, then you aren’t going anywhere.”
“Not even to the store?” The weather in New York could be bad, but it was only a matter of a few days before people could start moving again.
Mrs. Hanson shook her head. “No. It’s not like it is here. Granted we are a small town, but some of those places out west are even smaller. It takes months to get supplies to them.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Meg said, lifting her fingertips to her lips.
Mrs. Hanson patted Meg’s free hand. “Never you mind about all that. It might make a real fine fresh start for you.”
Mr. Hanson appeared with a wooden box filled with items. Mrs. Hanson placed the three fabric filled packages on top and pushed the box towards Meg.
“I need to pay for this as well,” Meg said, putting the newspaper in the box.
“I don’t know where that came from, but apparently you need it,” Mrs. Hanson said.
“That will be $3.26,” Mr. Hanson responded.
“And the fabric?”
“Two dollars and twenty-five cents.”
Mr. Hanson scribbled on a piece of paper. “That makes the total $5.51. Do you want to add it to your account?”
Meg shook her head. She didn’t want to be indebted. “No, I have some bills here.” She counted out six bills and placed them on the counter. After she pocketed the change, she said her goodbyes and took the box full of supplies.
Her eyes swept to the sky as she stepped outside. It was much brighter when she entered the store less than an hour ago. The sun had gone dim, hidden behind a cloud.
“Smells like snow,” Roscoe said walking back to the wagon. He tossed a bag that made a loud sound in the back of the wagon and came to retrieve the box from Meg. “Are you all set?”
Meg looked at the sky once more and inhaled deeply. The air was crisp and cool. It filled her lungs and she felt it all the way to her toes. Suddenly she looked at Roscoe. “If it snows, how long do you think it would take for us to come back to town?”
Roscoe shrugged. “Might be a day or two.” He looked at Meg and lifted a graying eyebrow. “You all of a sudden become partial to comin’ to town?”
“I forgot something. Can you wait a minute?” Roscoe nodded a
s Meg pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders. Picking up her skirt she walked back towards the store.
“Margaret,” a small voice called. Meg turned to see Alice Barnes, the butcher’s wife walking towards her. Her lips were turned up in a smile. “We’ve not seen you in forever.” She walked up and grabbed one of Meg’s hands. “How have you been? It is so good to see you out again.”
She gave a forced smile. “I’m just fine, Alice. As you can see. How are you doing?”
“We are doing quite well. I was just talking to Mr. Barnes this morning about you.”
Meg’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You were?”
Alice nodded. “Yes. I was just thinking about how lonely you must be in that big house.”
“I have Roscoe and Agnes with me.”
“That’s right,” Alice said softly. “However, you are mostly living by yourself. That really isn’t beneficial for a lady past her prime, is it?
“My prime?”
Alice looked around, almost embarrassed. “Meaning it might be too late for you to have children. I know it hasn’t been long since Mr. Peg died, I just thought…?”
Meg gave herself a little shake. She was surprised that Alice was so bold to ask that question. “Why did you think?”
Alice released Meg’s hand. “Well, Mr. Barnes and I were thinking of purchasing a small farm. It might be an ideal time if you wanted to sell. Do you have any prospects, dear?”
Meg wondered if this was the interested party the bank mentioned in their last visit. Meg looked back at the woman as she was pulled from her thoughts. “Prospects?” Meg echoed, then realized what Alice had asked. She blinked a few times. “Yes. I do have one actually.”
Alice's eyes widened but then lit up in excitement to hear the news. “You do? Do I know him?”
Meg shook her head again. “No, I don’t believe you do. His name is Mr. Tucker; he lives in a small town near the mountains,” she said quickly, his words from the advertisement stuck in her memory.
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