Romance: Mail Order Bride "The Ideal Bride" Clean Christian Western Historical Romance (Western Mail Order Bride Short Shorties Series) (178 page)

Chapter 5

French Prairie, Willamette Valley, Oregon

The weather was getting warmer as the harvest time approached. Matthew was looking forward to his first yield of sweet potatoes. With that came the selling. He had asked around the prairie about the Townsend brothers. Most of the farm owners he had spoken to had good things to say about them. It was only after his inquisitions that he decided to visit their office in Portland. 

It was early morning when he ordered Fred to saddle his horse. Eating his breakfast quickly, he dressed in attire suitable for a town visit: an off-white frontier vest and brown range wear trousers with black boots. Staring at himself in the mirror, he smoothed his dirty blond hair and put on his dark brown hat. He felt overdressed, being used to wearing simple clothes fit for a farmer. Strapping on his watch, he went outside to where his horse stood, neighing and tossing its head around.

“He doesn’t like me.” Fred said, looking a little distraught.

“Easy there,” Matthew said, approaching the horse gently. Placing his hand on its beautiful black mane, he stroked it smoothly. The horse quieted down in Matthew’s presence.

“Good boy!” Patting its neck, he climbed onto its back and settled down in the saddle. He glanced at Fred and said, “I’ll be gone a while. Make sure to keep the rifle with you in case any raiders show up.” Pulling on the reins, he rode away, off to a town he’d never been to before.

The prairie was behind him as Matthew continued to ride at a leisurely pace. It was a fine morning. The sun wasn’t too bright yet. He took out a map of the area from his back pocket and looked around. He realized he had about four miles ahead of him before Portland began. He could see it in the distance.

The area between the Prairie and Portland was scarcely populated. He had crossed a native settlement a while back. He wondered what they felt like, their lands being taken up by the pioneers. Thinking of his family, he wondered if they were missing him as much as he was missing them. Reminiscing about them made him realize just how lonely he had been since he arrived here. Back in Nebraska, in his hometown of Omaha, his mother had been searching around for the perfect girl for him. He had indulged her, even meeting a few his mother had picked out for him. But there were none that he fancied. They all seemed too dainty and naive. He wanted someone who was diligent, strong and responsible, someone who could look after him and his home. Someone he could grow to love. Looking back, he understood he had not been ready to commit to anyone, which was why he rejected every girl he was introduced to. He was still quite young, turning twenty seven last December. His father had taught him the ways of farming since he was a little boy. It had seemed fascinating to him as a child, the feeling of the wet soil under his toes as he planted the seeds beside his father, sowing the seeds then waiting and watching the crops grow. The time of harvest had an air of accomplishment about it. All of their hard work paid off. This was why he loved what he did. It was something he would surely love to do for the rest of his life and would eventually teach to his children.

Looking ahead, he saw that he had reached the outskirts of Portland. “Only a mile to go,” he told himself. Nudging the horse with his feet, he rode a little quicker, wanting to be done with the deal as quick as possible. He did not feel too comfortable leaving the farm with only Fred and Leroy in charge. 

Within minutes he had entered Portland. Taking out the Townsend brothers’ card and the map, he located the street and rode in that direction. A few turns later, he had arrived at their office.

It was a two story brick building with huge windows on each floor. The horse slowed down to a stop in front of it. Matthew dismounted, tying the ropes to a lamppost outside the office. This street wasn’t as busy as the ones he had passed, he noticed, looking around him as he made his way into the office.

Stepping inside, the first thing he noticed was the noise: some men were busy talking to each other while others were bent over their typewriters, typing away furiously. It was a trading company after all. They had their hands full, assembling all the documents and recording their purchases. Feeling out of place, he asked where he could find either Chris or Thomas. A middle-aged man wearing a monocle directed him upstairs.

Halfway up the stairs, Matthew stumbled into someone hurrying down. It was Chris. Stepping back, Chris apologized then looked at him twice. Recognition dawned on his face, and he seemed pleased.

“You came,” he said, sounding a little surprised. “For a while I thought you wouldn’t.”

Matthew took off his hat and replied, “Well it took me some time. But I’m here now.”

“Come on up. My brother will be glad to see you.”

Following Chris, he walked up the narrow stairs to the second floor. It was much quieter than the one below. There were hardly any people on this floor. A young boy not older than eighteen or nineteen sat behind a desk outside a room he reckoned belonged to the brothers.

“This is my cousin Mason. We made him our personal assistant.” He smirked at Mason, who seemed annoyed at his older cousin’s teasing remark. Turning to Matthew he greeted him politely then busied himself with paperwork. Matthew entered the main room behind Chris. Thomas was writing something when he realized he was not alone. Looking up to see his brother standing with Matthew, he smiled broadly and stood up to welcome him.

“Look who it is! Have you decided to give us a chance then, Mr. Russell?”

“Call me Matthew, and yes I have. I will be harvesting soon and I need to sell as many of my root vegetables as I can to you.”

“Good to know that, Matthew. Take a seat. I’ll get you our standard contract.”

Chris left them to finalize their deal. He headed out just as Thomas called out to Mason loudly, asking him to bring the forms.  Within minutes, Matthew had read the contract and inked the deal. He would be selling his yield of crops in batches throughout the season.

It was noon when he left their office. Reaching his horse, he noticed a newsstand by the corner of the street. Picking up one of the newspapers he bought one from the old man selling them and flicked his eyes across the front page. There were reports of some pioneers losing their lives along the trails. It was tragic. He could’ve been one of them, he thought. Folding it over, he was about to put the paper in his back pocket when something caught his eye. There was an advertisement section full of personal ads-- men seeking out wives. He read a couple of them, wanting to write one himself. He decided he would think it through on the way to his house, and then write exactly what he wanted in a wife.

Chapter 6

Bethany was getting more and more anxious each day. Time flew by faster than she had hoped. With only a couple of weeks to go before the deadline, she had only managed to save a few dollars. She had gone to a thrift store to sell her necklace but was told it wasn’t worth much as the cross was gold plated, not pure gold. She had tried to sell a few of her embroidery works, but without a shop of her own, it didn’t garner much money. She had a hundred dollars saved. She needed a hundred more but was fresh out of options. This house wasn’t in her name. It belonged to David’s uncle, who lived in England. He had been David’s guardian and had let him stay here while he returned to London. A year after David’s death, his uncle had taken pity on Bethany and had allowed her to stay in his house until she found a place of her own.

She would never find a place of her own, she thought sadly. Thinking of what Drew had suggested she hoped that someone would marry her. She knew how the men here saw her: a poor widow with children to raise.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw worry lines on her forehead, but apart from that she was still as pretty as she used to be when life had been good. Her raven black hair tumbled down in waves to her waist; her pale blue eyes the color of the sky. She had prominent cheekbones and a small nose. Her lips were red and swollen from biting them, a nervous habit she had gotten into recently.

She knew how men looked at her. She was only twenty-five, not an old widow. Some would introduce themselves to her but would hesitate after learning she had three kids and a dead husband. None of these men understood the circumstances surrounding her. They would rather judge her than acknowledge that she was bringing up her kids alone, working in a factory that didn’t pay her enough to survive.

A knock on her door brought her attention back to the present. She went to open the door and was surprised to see Isabelle standing there.

“How are you, my dear?” She asked watching her face closely. Bethany stepped away allowing her to come inside.

“I’m fine,” Bethany replied in a small voice.

“I know you’re not.”

Bethany squirmed under her gaze. They had become friends, sort of, since that day she asked for her help. Isabelle was too kind to her. Looking out for her in the factory and giving her food even when she had not asked for it.

“How did you know where I live?”

Isabelle strutted into the living room, taking off her bonnet. There was a newspaper in her hand.

“I asked around. But there’s a more important question you should be asking.” She waved the newspaper in front of her eyes and sat down on the sofa.

“What do you mean? What am I supposed to do with a newspaper?”

“Oh silly, you’re supposed to be reading it. Remember when you told me a month ago you thought you should marry, that it would solve all your problems. Well I’ve found just the thing right here.”

“You mean the mail order bride ads?” Bethany asked making a funny face.

“Come on! You can’t judge these men without knowing who they are. Someone here could be the one for you.”

“Even if someone is I don’t think they’d want to marry me.”

“Don’t say that. Not every man is the same, my dear. There must be someone here who would accept you as you are, with your children.” Isabelle unfolded the newspaper and handed it to Bethany. “Read them and tell me which one you like. I’ll help you write a reply.”

Looking down at the ads section, she started to read. There were a few widowers looking for wives and a few bachelors as well. Her eyes paused at one of the listings.

Matthew Russell, Age 27, Oregon

I’m seeking to marry a woman of beautiful strength and character, someone who is responsible, someone who can be happy living on a peaceful farm with me. I’m what you could call a pioneer who just moved to the West. If you wish to get to know me you can write to me at my given address below.

P.S: I’ll be giving away a hundred bucks to the woman I find is the one for me.

This man is the one, she thought. It would be nice living far away from this place. And she needed the money. But time was running out and she had no idea when he would marry her or how long the journey would take to Oregon, or if he would even reply to her. Looking over at Isabelle, she said, “I have found someone named Matthew but he lives in Oregon. That is quite far away. If I write to him and he shows an interest in me, I don’t think I would be able to escape Richie and the money I owe him before I can convince Matthew.”

“Beth, darling, be patient. You have a hundred dollars saved already. Talk to Mr. Fitch and he’ll let you pay in installments.” Looking at the ad, she exclaimed, “Well well, Matthew sure sounds like some cowboy. And he’s giving away money! If he marries you, you can pay back Richie with that, considering Richie lets you off the hook for the time it takes for you to get it.”

“I hope so.”

“Just write him back. Tell him everything so he knows you’re not lying just to get his money.”

“I’ll think of what to write and send it first thing in the morning.” She smiled at Isabelle then hugged her. “Thank you!”

***

Tucking the twins in for the night, Bethany crept quietly out of their room and shut the door. Going to her bedroom, she changed into her night gown then sat down at her desk. With Matthew’s ad in front of her, she took out a piece of paper from the drawer and started to write:

Dear Mr. Russell,

This letter is in regards to the advertisement you placed. My name is Bethany Williams and I live in Lawrence, Kansas. I’m a twenty five-year-old widow with three children. Last fall I lost my husband due to an unfortunate event. He was en route to Europe on a ship that was attacked by pirates. Since then I have been raising my children on my own. My oldest son Drew is five while my twins Alice and James just turned three. It hasn’t been easy these past few months. I’ve been working morning shifts at a garment factory near my home which, frankly speaking, does not pay me well enough. I’ve been scraping by as of late. I read your ad and I felt drawn to it. I believe I can fulfill the things you ask for in a wife. Being a mother has taught me to be responsible and headstrong. I have no problem living on a farm. In fact, it would be a positive change for my children and me to settle in the West. I would like to keep corresponding but I need an answer soon. I do not intend to stay here as I owe some money to my employer who I fear will not let me go anywhere without paying him back. If you are interested then please reply to me on the return address stated on the envelope. Looking forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Bethany Williams

Reading it over one last time, she folded the letter and placed it inside an envelope. She wrote down the addresses on each side then sealed it shut. She would post it before going to work, she thought. Lying down on her bed she instantly fell asleep.

She was running a little late to work the next morning as she made a stop at the post office. Reaching her sewing table in the stitching section, she sat down to start on her day’s work. Her mind was on the letter she had posted and the money situation with Richie. She had a hundred dollars with her that she had saved from the loan itself. It was stupid of her to take out a loan of two-hundred dollars that she had to return so soon. The deadline was two weeks away. If she couldn’t pay Richie the full amount by then, she’d be charged a fine of twenty dollars.

As lunch break approached, Bethany spotted Mr. Fitch making one of his rounds. Her hands felt clammy as she got up and called out to him, “Mr. Fitch, may I have a word with you?”

Turning at the sound of her voice, Mr. Fitch adjusted his spectacles and replied, “Bethany, what can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if I can pay you back half of the money now and the other half later. You could extend my deadline perhaps.”

Mr. Fitch seemed to take his time to reply as he walked out of the factory. Bethany had no choice but to walk out with him as he headed toward the main office. Not wanting to run into Richie, Bethany hesitated as she stepped inside.

It seemed quiet, she noticed, her gaze fleeting nervously toward the door to Richie’s office. Mr. Fitch went on to sit at his desk and gestured for her to take a seat.

“That is not for me to decide. I cannot just extend the deadline if you pay me half of what you borrowed, which would be what, a hundred dollars if I remember correctly?”

“Yes. Can you talk to Mr. Richard about it? Do you think he’ll-“

Her words were squashed by loud voices and shouts coming from behind the door.

“But sir, your tax evasions have not gone unnoticed. The authorities are constantly badgering us to show our files. We have orders from above, the head tax collector, to keep them hidden but they won’t be for long. He’s been fired and someone else has replaced him.”

“CAN’T YOU PEOPLE DO ANYTHING RIGHT, YOU INCESSANT HOARDERS?! I DO NOT NEED ANY MORE REMINDERS FROM YOU LOT. I CAN NOT PAY THE TAXES. JUST GET OUT AND LEAVE ME BE!”

Horrified at his outburst, Bethany stood up as the door to his room opened. A young tax officer scurried out of the room, looking shaken, barely looking at them as he left the building. Feeling a bit terrified, she made to follow the man out but was stopped by his snippy tone.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“Mr. Fitch and I were just done talking. My shift is finished so I’m headed home.” Keeping her voice calm, she breathed through her nose, not making eye contact with Richie who had now emerged from his room.

“Why don’t you come inside? I don’t suppose you came all the way here to talk to Mr. Fitch.” He emphasized his words at her.

Looking over at Mr. Fitch she realized he was just as helpless as her. Stepping into his room, she coughed at the smell of cigar surrounding her. “Actually I did, but he said it isn’t up to him to decide.”

“That is correct. It isn’t. ”

“Well then I guess I should go on with what I came to ask. I want to pay back half of the loan now so that I can get my deadline extended,” she said warily and added “if you would allow it.”

Avoiding his eyes, she made to sit down but was stopped by Richie as she felt him grasp her arm tightly. Alarmed, she struggled to free herself but his grip was firm.

“Let go of me!”

“What is it with everyone today? Thinking I would agree to your wishes.” Gritting his teeth, he let go of her, pushing her away as his eyes raked over her body.  “I’m sorry to tell you this but there’s no way I would agree to that.”

“I c-can’t pay you back all I took. I need more time.”

“You should have thought about it before you signed that agreement, you foolish girl.” His eyes darkened as he closed in on her again. Bethany stepped back, her body itching to escape his presence. “Of course, we could make a deal.”

Bethany did not want to know but asked anyway, hoping there might be a way out. “What kind of a deal?’

“I’ll relieve you of your dues if you become my mistress,” he said, a nasty smirk playing on his lips.

Feeling disgusted at his offer, she slapped him hard across his face. There was anger in her voice as she spoke, “I would never accept that.”

“Careful! I wouldn’t have done that if I were you.”

Ignoring his words, she escaped from his room, wishing to never see his face again.