Mail Order Josephine - A Historical Mail Order Bride Novel (Western Mail Order Brides) (2 page)

But Aunt Agatha answered, “It tortures my nerves. Come in and close the door. We have to walk back to the station to fetch our valises before someone puts them in the barn along with the rest of our luggage. I wish you hadn’t told him to put it in the barn! Why didn’t you instruct him to send everything up to the room? You just don’t know who could be lurking around a hotel like this, looking for things to steal. Our baggage would be much safer here, in the room, where we can keep an eye on it.”

Josephine strode back to the open doorway and scowled through it at her aunt. “Be reasonable, Aunt Agatha! Look around you! There’s not space in this room for all that luggage, and I for one don’t intend to stay cooped up in here for the duration of our stay just to keep an eye on our luggage! I’m going to eat some supper, get some sleep, and first thing tomorrow morning, if we haven’t heard from the Stocktons, I’m going out to explore the town. I don’t intend to spend any more time in this room than absolutely necessary. You can stay here as much as you like, but I won’t! And I certainly don’t want that clerk, or any bell boy, or any other person on God’s green Earth breaking their back hauling all that luggage up those stairs when we might not be staying here more than one night. Good gracious, Aunt Agatha! Use your head!”

Aunt Agatha furrowed her brow, but the next minute, dissolved into a tearful puddle of dejection. “I can’t help it!” she wailed. “I can’t help it if I don’t like this place. I don’t know how you can even think of living some place like this, a million miles from civilization! And you’re going out to explore the town? Your father would have my head if he knew I let you go out by yourself. I’m supposed to be acting as your chaperone. I’m supposed to go wherever you go, to make sure you don’t get into trouble.”

“I fail to see how I can get into trouble shopping around town,” Josephine fumed. “I went out unsupervised all the time at home, and I can do the same thing here.”

“You’re not at home anymore, my dear,” Aunt Agatha reminded her. “You’re in the Wild West now, and as long as I’m here, I’ll do my duty and go with you when you go out. I won’t claim to like it, but I’ll do it.”

“If you’re not going to like it,” Josephine maintained, “if you’re going to complain about everything and bemoan my fate at coming to live here, then I would prefer you stay behind. I don’t want you dampening my enthusiasm. I’m very happy about coming out here to live, and I can’t wait to marry Paul Stockton, Jr. so that I can get on with the rest of my life. I’m delighted with what I see in this town, and I wouldn’t go back to New York for all the tea in China!”

“Oh, you really are as crazy as they say you are!” Aunt Agatha scolded. “If this is the kind of life you want, you really have lost your mind! And to think of the effort and expense your poor parents spent on your education and your refinement, and to see you come to this! I’m glad your father isn’t here to see it!”

“I never wanted any of that education or refinement,” Josephine insisted, “and I told them all so many times, both then and now. I hated it, and I only ever wanted to get away from all that high society nonsense. Now I have a chance to do just that, and I intend to seize the opportunity. So I’m crazy, am I? Well, so much the better! I embrace my insanity, and I encourage you to put as much distance between yourself and me as you can!”

“Oh, how can you be so cruel?” Aunt Agatha moaned. “All I want is what’s best for you. It’s inhuman of you to spurn me so, when I only want what’s best for you.”

Josephine relented. She sat on the edge of the bed next to her aunt and took her by the hand. Agatha dabbed her eyes and sniffled. “Alright,” Josephine soothed her. “We won’t argue about it anymore. Come on. We’ll get our valises from the station and get some supper. I’m starving!”

Aunt Agatha swallowed the remainder of her tears and followed Josephine down the stairs and back out into the street. She endeavored to look neither right nor left as they crossed the open square to the railway station, retrieved their travelling valises from amongst the piles of boxes and trunks near their bench, and took them back to the hotel. They left the valises at the foot of the stairs and repaired to the dining room, where they—or Josephine, at least—devoured a hearty meal of steak, potatoes, and stewed greens. The gloom of evening darkened the hotel windows as they prepared to mount the stairs to their room, and the clerk at the desk informed them that the blacksmith’s boy had departed for the Stockton homestead with their message. Josephine thanked him again, and he reiterated his warning that they expect no reply before the next day at the earliest.

Back in their room, Josephine lighted a candle by which they changed out of their travelling costumes into their night dresses, arranged their toilets, and climbed into the big double bed in the center of the room. During the duration of their journey from New York, they shared a bed in the various hotels and railway sleeping cars, and Josephine, long accustomed to her aunt’s habits, found herself shocked and repulsed when the elderly woman began to snore next to her. Josephine lay awake, listening to the grunting noise for a long time, trying to identify what part of it offended her sensibilities so much. It never bothered her in the past. Noiselessly, she climbed out of bed and snuck out onto the balcony.

Below her, the town lay blanketed in slumber, with the exception of a few raucous clatters from the saloon around the corner. Candles winked in odd windows, but most of the town rested in darkness. From the barn and forge behind the hotel, Josephine heard the murmur of horses settling down in their stalls. The wind gusted through the streets of the town, catching hold of her hair again and cutting through the thin tissue of her night dress. For the first time since leaving home, she realized that being in this town, breathing its air and stepping through its dust, must surely invoke some fundamental change in her very being. She could hardly drink its water or eat its food or inhale its vapors without undergoing some molecular transformation at the very root of her own physical nature. The food she ate in the dining room of the hotel seemed to grow and transmogrify in her guts, infusing her whole body with its essence and turning her into someone wholly different from the Josephine who left New York. She could not identify this new Josephine, but her heart beat faster at the knowledge that she would become her. Her former life appeared to her to lead up to this point, piloting her through a labyrinth of shadow and confusion to a new dawn in which her truest self emerged in clouds of glory and happiness. No wonder Aunt Agatha’s presence annoyed her. She wished Aunt Agatha would go home now, so she could complete her transformation without continual reminders of her past or expectations that she would remain as she was before. She actually dreaded returning to the bed she shared with her aunt, but the cumulative exhaustion of the journey compelled her to sleep. She shut the doors to the balcony and groped her way under the quilt. To her relief, she found Aunt Agatha turned on her side with her back facing Josephine, so only the gentle tide of her breathing sounded through the room. Josephine listened to her, but still the hum of the wind over the balcony and the whispering call of her future life beckoned to her from outside. She trained her ear in the direction of the town and the life awaiting her beyond the balcony, and in this way, she fell asleep.

The morning dawned as blustery and restless as the previous day.

When the two women descended to breakfast, Josephine asked the desk clerk, “Any message from the Stocktons?”

The clerk shook his head. “I will let you know when anything comes in for you ladies.”

“Thank you,” Josephine replied.

“Is it always as windy as this?” Aunt Agatha complained

The clerk merely smiled at her and said, “No.”

“It drives me mad,” she grumbled. “I don’t know how you can stand it.”

Without waiting for any answer, she followed Josephine into the dining room, where they ate breakfast and drank black coffee. Josephine bubbled with enthusiasm for the day ahead, while Aunt Agatha stewed in a ferment of resentment and anxiety about the town around them.

“I want to look at the
saddlery and at the distillery,” Josephine chattered between bites of toast.

“What do you want to see those for?” Aunt Agatha growled.

“I want to see and understand everything about the way they do things in this town,” Josephine declared. “I want to learn as much as I can about this type of life. I’ve never seen anything like that before. Even though they must have had those trades in New York, it seems different here. I want to understand how they make the things they need to survive out here. It seems very important to know as much as possible in order to be able to take care of oneself. And I understand they have a Chinese laundry somewhere in this town. Maybe the clerk at the desk can tell us where it is.”

“How do you know that?” Agatha demanded. “You only just got off the train.”

“Papa read me one of Mr. Stockton’s letters,” Josephine informed her. “He mentioned it in the letter. I can’t remember why. I think he was just describing the town so Papa could get an understanding of the environment in which they live. Oh, and I want to go around to the blacksmith’s forge.”

“You can’t be serious, Josephine!” Aunt Agatha exclaimed. “A blacksmith’s forge is no place for a lady!”

“I don’t want to be a lady!” Josephine snarled. “I’m sick and tired of being one, and I don’t want anyone telling me what I have to do to be one! I want to see how they shoe the horses, and how they mend the wagon wheels, and how they repair pots and pans. That’s the kind of information I need to live out here. If I wanted to be a lady, I never would have left New York!”

Aunt Agatha gasped at her outburst. “Josephine! How can you! How can you turn your back on all your good breeding? Don’t you know that the
Stocktons went to great trouble to find a young lady for their son to marry? What will they say if they hear you talking like that? They certainly won’t take kindly to you lowering yourself to into the gutter! They expect you to maintain a certain degree of decorum and to elevate their family to a higher station. Really, Josephine, you should try harder to comport yourself according to your social rank. Your father and I and the Stocktons are all counting on you in this regard. Honestly, my dear, you’re twenty-two years old. This could be your last chance to marry. If you ever expect to marry in this world, you should leave behind your childish fancies about horses and trail rides and all that other wild stuff. If you don’t learn to control your impulses and find a way to be the daughter-in-law the Stocktons want, you will grow into an old maid like me!”

Josephine could not answer the hopeless wrinkles across the table from her, and she retreated into a resentful sulk behind her bacon and her coffee. But toward the end of the meal, she softened toward her aunt, and she extended her hand across the table and stroked the older woman’s silky fingers. “I’m sorry, Aunt Agatha. I know you mean me only good, and I will endeavor to do you justice. I promise I will do everything in my power to be the lady you want me to be and to give the
Stocktons the daughter-in-law that you and Papa want me to give them. Please forgive me for my rash outburst. I will strive to keep my juvenile impulses in check and to conduct myself according to my upbringing.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Aunt Agatha smiled at her. “That is all I ask.”

Josephine beamed. “Now, come along! Finish up your coffee and let’s go to town!”

“Calm yourself, my dear,” Aunt Agatha scowled. “Don’t get too excited. We shall start with a little simple window shopping, but we shan’t get overly enthusiastic about visiting laundries and forges.”

“Very well, Aunt,” Josephine conceded, but she couldn’t erase the mischievous grin from her face. The faintest hint of a plan crept into her mind, but she kept it to herself for the time being.

They ventured into the blustery street, and Josephine ambled slowly next to Aunt Agatha as the elderly woman picked her way stealthily along the wooden sidewalks and tiptoed around mud puddles and horse pats in the street. Josephine cast her critical eye around the town, taking in as much detail as possible while maintaining a tight rein on her own bounding excitement to explore every nook and cranny and question each individual she met about his work. They peeked into shop windows and browsed in the dry goods store. Josephine took particular interest in the shop window at the
saddlery shop, but she tagged meekly after Aunt Agatha when the elderly woman turned away toward the haberdasher’s. Josephine took special notice every time a horse and rider passed them in the street, and she inspected the wagons and coaches with their teams of animals hitched into harness in the fleeting moments when they trundled through the town. Curiously, she never took any particular interest in such things back home. Only now, in the novel territory of the West, she suddenly experienced the revelation of their importance to her future life, and she understood the urgency of learning as much as possible about everything around her.

As Josephine
anticipated, Aunt Agatha’s motivation to continue poking into doorways and comparing prices dwindled the farther they went until, by mid-morning, she mopped her brow with her handkerchief and declared her intention to return to the hotel. Josephine readily accompanied her aunt back along their route. After moistening her face at the wash stand, Aunt Agatha took off her hat and boots and stretched out on top of the bed. Josephine removed her own hat and outer cape, took a book out of her valise, and sat down in a willow chair by the window. She read half-heartedly, waiting patiently, until she heard her aunt’s breathing slow to a smooth ebb. Then she tossed the book back into her bag, pinned on her hat again, and silently left the room.

She hurried down the stairs, eager to grasp as many of the experiences forbidden her by her aunt before she returned to the room. Long acquaintance gave her a good idea of how long Aunt Agatha would sleep, and she was determined to see all the sights she wanted to see before coming back indoors. As soon as she exited the hotel, she dodged around the corner of the building to the blacksmith’s forge. Of all the objectives on her agenda, this one seemed the most temptingly forbidden. Not only had the mention of a visit to the forge elicited the most hostile reaction from Aunt Agatha, but Josephine had never even heard of a woman visiting one, let alone visited on herself. Extreme curiosity, in addition to her more specific goal of learning about her new environment, forced her to seek it out and see it for herself. She stepped off the wooden veranda of the hotel and her feet sank into drifts of saw dust in front of the barn. Already the clamorous strikes of the hammer on metal echoed through the barn yard and she followed the sound to the forge.

The forge stood next to the barn, a low roof supported at its four corners by stout wooden posts but without any walls surrounding it. Its open structure allowed Josephine to see the blacksmith swinging his arm above his head and driving his hammer down onto the anvil from a significant distance away. As she approached the forge, she realized the severity of her fantastic breach at venturing here, and her pace slowed to a falter. As she drew closer still, she noticed the blacksmith’s hair hanging down around his face, greasy with soot and sweat, swinging with the rhythm of his hammering. Ash and grime streaked his face and trickled through the rivulets of sweat down his cheeks into his beard. Cotton threads hung from the frayed hems of his trousers and the elbows of his shirt, visible under his heavy leather apron. Two boys, similarly dressed scuttled around the smith, shoveling coal into the furnace, operating the bellows, and otherwise responding to their master’s shouted orders. Three men in heavy work clothing and wide-brimmed hats hung around the periphery of the forge, discussing horses tethered to the rail nearby and observing the blacksmith at his work. Even from several yards away, the stifling heat of the furnace blasted across the yard, burning Josephine’s face.

The unvarnished soil of the place and the men occupying it arrested Josephine in her tracks. Although she originally intended to barge right in and observe the activity of the forge up close, she stopped a good distance away and stared in fascinated horror at the sheer brutality of the scene. The smith and his boys took no notice of her whatsoever, but one of the other men outside the forge scrutinized her with his head on one side. His own trousers bore the evidence of hard
wear and heavy dirt, while his boots carried deep scratches, encrusted with dust, from harsh treatment on the range. A gun belt hung on his narrow hips. He broke off his conversation with the other men and stepped up to her. “Can I help you with somethin’, Miss?”

She pried her eyes away from the blacksmith and appraised him for the first time. His eyes twinkled in
amusement, and underneath his beard and moustache, a trace of a smile spread over his mouth. “I beg your pardon?” she stammered.

“Can I help you with
somethin’, Miss?” the man repeated. “Are you pickin’ somethin’ up, or droppin’ somethin’ off for Johnny to work on?”

“Oh, no,” she hastened to explain herself, “I just wanted to…you know…see it.”

“See…what?” he cocked his head the other way.

“The forge,” she waved toward it. “I’ve never seen one before. I wanted to see it. To see how it works.”

He snickered. “I don’t wonder you’ve never seen one before.” He swept his eyes over her attire. “A lady like you doesn’t belong back here.”

“I just wanted to see it,” she insisted. “It seems important. I want to understand how it works.”

“Don’t you have your men to take care of that?” he inquired. “You don’t need to understand how it works, so it can’t be important.”

“And what happens if a woman doesn’t have any men to take care of that for her?” she pointed out. “There must be widows in this town who come here to get their horses shod and their wagons repaired. They have to understand how it works.
So why not me? Anyway, I just wanted to watch. I want to learn as much as I can about how people live out here.”

He chuckled. “Well, you got me there. I know a couple of widowed ladies in town. The richer ones send word to Johnny when they need something and he sends his boys around to fetch their horses and whatnot. Then they bring them here. But the poor ones—you’re right. They have to attend to all that business themselves, and they come right into the forge and try to instruct Johnny on his business. It’s about the funniest thing you ever did see. But a lady like you shouldn’t have any call to do that sort of thing.”

Josephine scowled at him. “Maybe I won’t be a lady forever.”

His expression turned suddenly serious. “From what I can see from here, you were born a lady, and you’ll be a lady forever.”

“I hope not,” she snapped.

“What do you mean?” he retorted. “Why wouldn’t you? A lady like you would be a prize worth winning.”

“Then I wish you good luck in winning one,” she growled, “and I hope not to be the one you win. Good day!” She lifted her skirts above the dust and clods of mud and retreated to the streets of the town. Though she hadn’t watched the blacksmith as long as she wished, she had seen enough to satisfy her initial curiosity and gladly escaped the mocking questions of the man she met there.

She took a quick tour of the
saddlery, having viewed its merchandise through the window earlier in the morning. The man’s conversation at the forge dampened her enthusiasm. She no longer felt any motivation to confront the working people in their native habitat. Or maybe it was the shock of actually seeing the forge for herself that dampened it. She couldn’t work out which. Although she searched through multiple streets for the laundry, she couldn’t find it. She gave up the search, but just as she turned a corner on her way back to the hotel, she entered a covered alley between two other buildings and collided headlong with another woman. This woman wore a faded cotton dress and a smudged apron, and she carried a load of bundled linens in her arms. The load extended so far outside the woman’s comfortable reach that she could scarcely see over the top of it, and the woman sweated and puffed under her burden. When she and Josephine bounced off of one another, the enormous bundle fell out of her arms and landed on the ground. The woman struggled to retrieve it, but the effort of manipulating it and hoisting it up proved too much, and she left it lying at her feet while she evaluated Josephine critically.

“Can I help you, Miss?” the woman said.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Josephine apologized. “Please let me help you. I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t think anything of it,” the woman insisted. “Are you looking for
somethin’ here, Miss?”

“I heard there was a laundry here,” Josephine told her, “but I can’t find it.”