New Beginnings Spring 20 Book Box Set

by Hope Sinclair

  Abigail nodded. Her father had said nothing about love, companionship, or any of the other things she found important and wanted to share with a husband. As usual, he only cared about success and material measures, which Abigail did not consider the hallmarks of a happy marriage.

  “And I do believe you’ll make a splendid wife,” Mr. Jackson added. “You’ve got your mother’s looks, and you’ve received a good education and been raised a good Christian. So long as you are obedient, respectful, and attentive to your husband, I’m sure you’ll please him.”

  Abigail was disappointed in her father’s values and did not look forward to being matched with, or married to, a man who shared them.

  Mr. Jackson took a sip of his cordial and smiled from the sweetness. “That’s all,” he said, turning a flatter expression to his daughter. He’d dismissed her, which came as a relief, but he’d been so self-serving about it.

  No matter, Abigail went to her bedroom. She found the travel book that she’d picked up at the store earlier, and she sat down on her bed and tried to read it. As riveting as the stories were, however, she couldn’t give her full attention to them. She kept thinking about her predicament.

  Abigail set her book down and readied herself for bed. It was getting late anyhow, and she figured her mind could use a rest. She crawled into bed and made herself comfortable, and her mind again wandered. She first worried about the type of man that Mrs. Thomas would find for her, but then her mind shifted, and she thought about the type of man she’d want to marry.

  As she cozied herself with these pleasant thoughts, Abigail began to feel sleepy. But she couldn’t go to sleep, in sound mind, without praying to her Heavenly Father. So right before she drifted off, Abigail thanked God for the many blessings He’d given her, submitted her will to His, and asked for His guidance.

  THREE

  It was prayer—and patience—that got Abigail through the next few days at home. Things were unusually unbearable around the house, and it was all Abigail could do not to go crazy from it.

  Her parents had always sheltered her, and they never let her do the things most other young women did. But now that the matchmaker was on the case, they were even more restrictive with her. They’d paid Mrs. Thomas a lot and put a lot of faith in her, so they didn’t want Abigail’s behavior to somehow interfere with their investment. With the matchmaker actively trying to make her a match, they couldn’t stand to have her do anything that’d make it more difficult. Heaven forbid Abigail be seen laying in a field somewhere, daydreaming or reading a book, or pray she would be spotted with mud on her shoes and dirt on her dress from climbing a tree or exploring a hillside. Then maybe some potential husband out there, or his parents, would think she was not suitable, or worthy, to marry.

  All Abigail was expected to do was sit around and do nothing as she waited for her life to unfold before her. And, as noted above, it was prayer and patience that got her through the first few days of it. But then she ran out of patience, and she needed something more tangible than her Heavenly Father’s comfort.

  So one morning just after breakfast, as her father got his things together for work and her mother discussed the supper menu with their maid, Abigail decided to do something uncharacteristic. She told her mother she didn’t feel well and feigned stomach pains, then she went to her room and waited for a while.

  When she was sure her mother had lay down for her morning nap, Abigail snuck out of her room. The hallway was clear, but still she tiptoed down it. She was almost to the backdoor, when all of a sudden, the maid walked out of the pantry by the kitchen.

  She raised her eyebrow at Abigail, then smiled and shook her head from side to side. “I hope you feel better, Miss,” she said, turning a blind eye.

  Abigail giggled, which was her way of silently saying, “Thank you,” and left the house.

  Once she was outside, she took a deep breath and savored the fresh air. It was autumn in New York, and it felt wonderful for her to be out of the house, moving around freely without her parents there to direct her and spoil her fun.

  Abigail made her way to town and went to the bakery.

  “Good morning,” the baker greeted. “How can I help you?”

  “I’d like a loaf of bread,” she answered. “A loaf of old bread.”

  “Pardon?” the baker asked.

  “I’d like a loaf of old bread,” Abigail repeated. “Something you have left over from yesterday, or even the day before.”

  The baker looked at her curiously. Given her clothing, her well-kept appearance, and her bred beauty, it was obvious to him that she was a wealthy, privileged young woman, and he couldn’t understand why she’d want old bread, given that’s usually what the downtrodden bought from him at a discount.

  “I’m not concerned about what it costs,” she said, sensing his confusion. “I’ll pay regular price if I have to… I just want it because it’ll be harder and crustier.”

  The baker was still confused, but he couldn’t refuse her offer. He went to the backroom and got an old loaf of bread, which he sold to her for the price of a fresh loaf. Abigail thanked him to finish the transaction, then she left the bakery and continued on her way.

  She walked to the edge of town, then walked for about twenty minutes more, until she was at a clearing with a small pond in it. In the summer, the local children used the pond as a swimming hole. But this time of year, there were no people in it. But there were ducks in there, and Abigail was there to see them.

  Abigail walked over to the pond and stopped. She pulled out the loaf of bread, broke a few crumbs from it, and tossed them into the water. One of the ducks swiftly paddled over and pecked at the food, and the sight of it warmed Abigail’s heart.

  She continued to feed the ducks for the next several minutes, until the loaf of bread was but a heel. As she was breaking up what was left of it, she heard a sound from behind her, and she turned quickly to investigate it.

  “I’m sorry if I startled you,” another young woman said.

  Abigail let out a sigh of relief and shook her head from side to side. “It’s okay,” she responded. “I just wasn’t expecting to run into anyone else here.”

  “Neither was I,” the other young woman laughed. “But I guess I’m not the only one who likes this spot.”

  “I like to come here and feed the ducks,” Abigail explained as she tossed the last of the old bread into the water. “They’re such beautiful creatures, and they really enjoy the treat.”

  “I come here to eat my lunch sometimes.” The other young woman smiled. She lifted her arm and nodded toward her lunch sack. “I work in one of the factories in town, and I need an occasional distraction from all that commotion. So I come here, sit under that tree yonder, and relax… and I daydream about the kind of life I wish I had.” She held up her other arm and waved something else in the air. It appeared to be a newspaper.

  “What’s that?” Abigail asked curiously.

  The other woman laughed. “It’s a copy of the Matrimonial Times,” she said, waving it in the air again.

  “The Matrimonial Times?” Abigail asked. She’d never heard of the publication.

  “It’s a mail-order-bride periodical,” the woman said.

  Now Abigail had heard of mail-order-bride periodicals before. But she hadn’t heard much about them. “Oh,” she said, a bit embarrassed by her own ignorance. “I don’t know much about such newspapers. I’ve never read one.”

  “I bet you haven’t,” the woman said slightly sarcastically.

  Abigail was shocked by her frankness.

  “I just mean women like you don’t exactly need to use these types of newspapers, now do you?” the woman elaborated. “Women like you have no problem finding suitors.”

  For the first time in their conversation, Abigail noticed how plain her outfit was and how average she appeared. These things weren’t important to Abigail, but it certainly seemed that they were important to the other woman. And they were enough for her to
form her own conclusions, however inaccurate they were.

  Abigail felt the urge to tell the other woman how wrong she was. But of course, she suppressed it. There was no need to prove herself and no need to argue with a stranger. “Well, good luck,” Abigail said as politely as possible. “I hope you find the man of your dreams in those pages and go on to live a very happy life with him.”

  The young woman was surprised by Abigail’s kind comment, but nonetheless she took kindly to it. “Thank you,” she said, turning to go toward the tree she’d indicated earlier. “I wish you the best also.”

  Abigail smiled, then turned to look at the ducks again as her new “friend” walked away. The other woman didn’t come from wealth or power, wasn’t very attractive, and seemed a bit bitter. But for the moment, Abigail was jealous of her. At least she didn’t have cold parents dictating her life for her—and with that newspaper in her hand, at least she had options.

  FOUR

  As Abigail made her way back toward town, she thought more on her encounter with the young woman. In particular, she thought about the newspaper she’d had with her—the Matrimonial Times.

  I wonder what type of men place advertisements in those periodicals, she pondered. And I wonder how they compare to the type of men Mrs. Thomas will round up… That girl seemed awfully excited about her newspaper and was very committed to reading it, so maybe the advertisements in it aren’t that bad. Maybe they’re even promising.

  Abigail’s curiosity was piqued, and she felt a little hopeful. Could the man of my dreams be found in those pages? she asked herself. And indeed, she knew that there was only one way she could get an answer.

  I can’t buy a copy of the Matrimonial Times. My parents hired a matchmaker. There’s no need for me to turn to such a periodical, or to distract myself with anything, or anyone, I might find in it.

  Still, despite this thinking, Abigail remained curious, and her curiosity got the better of her. When she got to town, she went to the general store, where she paced back and forth a bit before entering.

  “Good afternoon, Miss,” the clerk said to the daughter of one of her most valued customers. “Have you come to get another book?” It took Abigail a few seconds to realize that the clerk was the same one who’d waited on her and her mother the day they met with Mrs. Thomas.

  “No,” Abigail answered, approaching the counter. “I’ve come for a newspaper actually… I’d like a copy of the Matrimonial Times.”

  “Oh, al— All right,” the clerk stuttered. She dared not say as much, but she was surprised that the Jacksons’ daughter would request such a periodical. Abigail could sense her sentiment, but didn’t let it bother her as she went about her business.

  After paying for the newspaper and thanking the clerk, Abigail left the store and went to the center of town, where she sat down on a bench and promptly started reading the Matrimonial Times. She was curious and a little hopeful, but she reminded herself to be practical.

  Don’t expect too much, she kept telling herself as she read through the first few pages of the newspaper. She could understand why the woman she’d encountered at the pond was so fond of it. Some of the ads were very inviting, and some were endearing, even romantic. Granted, some were boring or unappealing, too. But for the most part, Abigail found them intriguing.

  Abigail turned to the last page and sighed. The newspaper, in general, had left a good impression on her, but there’d been no ad that really stuck out to her. Nothing had spoken to her. She hadn’t found the man of her dreams on those pages.

  As she stared down at the back page of the Matrimonial Times, Abigail debated whether or not she should actually read it. It was getting late in the afternoon, and she needed to get home before her absence was detected. But still, despite the hour and the fact that she’d been disappointed, she couldn’t tear herself away from the newspaper. You’ve read so far, she said to herself. You might as well finish it.

  Abigail read through two more generally pleasing advertisements, then she started reading the next, expecting the same from it. But when she got a couple of lines in, she stopped, caught her breath, and went back to read it from the beginning.

  Rancher, 25 years old, from Laramie, Wyoming, seeking a wife to make my life complete. I love the outdoors and am very physically active. I keep my mind busy with books about history, world travel, and religion. I’d like to find a woman who shares my thirst for knowledge and adventurous spirit, as well as my values. I’m a simple Christian man who doesn’t believe in being ostentatious. I’d much rather help others and give back to my community.

  Oh, there were so many things about the ad that spoke to Abigail! In fact, some words screamed off of the page.

  When she’d met with Mrs. Thomas she’d used the very term “adventurous spirit” to describe herself, and she’d told her she was interested in books, travel, and learning. But these things weren’t important to the matchmaker—she didn’t consider them pertinent criteria. But apparently the man who placed this ad did. He thought these things were important, just like Abigail did. And that was just one more thing they had in common.

  What’s more, Abigail was impressed by the last two sentences of the ad. Her father was very proud of his success and money, and he showed it. No doubt he was ostentatious, and Abigail found his excesses, and his behavior, unnecessary and sometimes embarrassing. At many different times when he’d buy something elaborate and unneeded, she’d think to herself how the money could have been better spent. Why not give more money to the church instead? she wondered. Or why not give it to the orphanage or soldiers’ hospital?

  Mr. Jackson didn’t have a philanthropic bone in his body. But the man who’d placed this advertisement did, and Abigail admired him for it.

  He’s perfect, she reflected as she read the ad again. He’s just the type of man I’d like to marry.

  Abigail felt a warmth rush over her body. But then that warmth was washed away by the cold chill that traveled down her spine. As she thought about how the man who placed the ad was so very different from her father and the type of men Mrs. Thomas was likely to set her up with, she was reminded of the reality of her situation and the futility of the excitement she felt. Her parents would never let her marry some man she met through an ad in a mail-order-bride periodical, especially not when they’d paid a professional matchmaker good money to match her.

  Abigail sighed deeply as she folded the newspaper and set it down beside her. She gazed down at the typeface and felt a heaviness in her heart. She wished she hadn’t purchased the wretched thing, for it had only tempted her. It dangled something she wanted in front of her. But too many obstacles kept it just out of reach.

  There’s no use dwelling on that ad, she told herself. And there’s no use keeping this thing. She picked up the newspaper and without hesitation carried it over to a nearby refuse can and tossed it in. Then she walked back over to the bench, collected her things, and started home, resolved to leave thoughts of the Matrimonial Times and the man who’d caught her fancy behind.

  FIVE

  Abigail felt warm and cozy. She was comfortable and… happy.

  She’d had the most amazing time. She and her paramour had gone for a hike through the woods, followed by a picnic next to the stream. They’d seen deer and rabbits, and they’d tossed breadcrumbs to the squirrels. And… and…

  Wait, Abigail thought, grounding herself. None of this happened… It was a dream. I had another dream.

  It had been three days since Abigail tossed her copy of the Matrimonial Times in the trash can in town, and in that time, she hadn’t been able to get thoughts of her favorite advertisement out of her mind. In her waking hours, she did whatever was necessary to distract herself and force such thoughts out of her head. But there was nothing she could do to thwart them in her sleep—and indeed those thoughts came to her in her sleep in the most delightful ways. For the past three nights, she’d had wonderful dreams about the rancher from Laramie, Wyoming.

  B
ut they were just dreams, and Abigail reminded herself of this fact as she got up out of bed and readied herself for the day. Don’t be affected too deeply by dreams you’ve had about a man you’ve never met, she warned herself.

  Abigail had a boring breakfast with her parents, then a boring morning with them in the living room. It was Saturday, and her father didn’t have any business to conduct this particular weekend, so he actually sat with them. But of course his presence didn’t make their time any more pleasant. He just sat there and read a book and didn’t actually engage with his wife and daughter.

  The boringness seemed overwhelming, and when it was interrupted around noon, Abigail felt a sense of relief—though a moment later she realized her feeling was premature.

  The interruption came in the form of a knock at the front door. Mr. Jackson went to answer it, and he greeted a messenger on the other side of the door.

  “I’ve got a message,” the young man said, holding out an envelope. “It’s for Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, from one Mrs. Thomas.”

  “Very well,” Mr. Jackson said, taking the letter from the boy. He shut the door without saying more, then took the letter over to his wife. Abigail’s heart raced in her chest and all color drained from her face. She didn’t know what the message said, but she figured it was probably something she didn’t want to hear.

  Mrs. Jackson opened the letter carefully and slowly unfolded it. It seemed like it took forever for her to read the note, at least in Abigail’s opinion.

  “She’s just updating us on her efforts,” Mrs. Jackson said about a minute later. She scanned the letter again and continued. “Apparently, she’s decided to expand her search. She writes that she wasn’t able to find any eligible, interested bachelors just yet. So she’s looking at different men. She says she’s considering older men now too—men as old as thirty-six and thirty-eight.”