Maddie's Quest (Valentine Mail Order Bride 2) Read online

  For most of his twenty two years, he'd lived over at Laramie with his parents where his father was a lawyer, and his social climbing mother expected him to do the same. Not for Hank though. He'd dreamed for years, since he was ten, of becoming a telegraph operator and when he finished his schooling at a boarding school in New York, that's exactly what he did.

  His father didn't mind but to Hank's way of thinking, the ire of his mother regarding the situation was best forgotten. She never forgave him and he expected she would remind him of his error at every available opportunity. She did not disappoint.

  He got his first job as a telegraph operator in Tipton, West of Laramie and went to live with his elderly grandmother a couple of miles out of town. His grandparents were early settlers in the area and received a one hundred and sixty acre land grant. They'd lived hard in the early years but their farm gradually prospered and in time they'd built a cabin from the trees on their property, followed by a sizable barn.

  Some of Hank's happiest memories were of his grandparents and the times he had stayed with them during school holidays. The cabin wasn't fancy like the house his parents lived in, but functional and a place where it was possible to work and relax. There was no need to worry about being reprimanded for breaking ornaments or leaving dirt from his boots on an expensive floor rug. The whole family dynamic was more relaxed and he often wondered why his mother didn't turn out the same as his Gran.

  Instead, she'd left home as soon as possible, married and settled in Laramie with her new husband and never went back to see her parents and the cabin she claimed to detest. She hadn't even gone to visit her father before he died and felt no guilt about leaving her mother to fend for herself afterward, which made Hank's blood boil.

  Hank loved his grandmother and helped her with whatever he could, like weeding the kitchen garden, chopping wood, as well as taking her into Tipton to church on Sundays, and shopping at the mercantile on Saturdays. These occasions were always special and he bought her little treats whenever he could and on workdays, often brought something home from the mercantile for her, such as a loaf of bread or a fruit pie so she wouldn't need to bake.

  Eventually though, she sickened and died during an especially bitter winter. What was equally as bitter, was the way his parents shunned the old woman by not coming to her funeral. He was sure his mother was behind it and as always, his father simply went along with whatever she said. Now, a few years later, he missed his grandmother's company more than ever, not to mention her home cooked meals overflowing with fresh produce from her garden.

  She'd left him the cabin and the farm simply because he loved it and appreciated what the land had to offer. The kitchen garden and the cabin were both in dire need of attention though and he needed a wife to help take care of such things.

  Hank couldn't cook to save his life and he missed the chickens that used to peck their way around the dooryard, as well as provide fresh eggs every day. And he wanted a house cow for milk and a wife would surely know how to make butter from the cream. It was expensive eating out and buying ready cooked food. Besides, in the back of his mind, lurked the knowledge that his grandmother wouldn't be happy with the way he was living.

  He placed an advert in the Matrimonial Times but so far, there'd been no replies. As he finished dressing and readying himself for work at the telegraph office, he sent up a silent prayer that today would be the day he would receive a reply.

  ~#~#~#~

  Hank had grown into a big man, due to his grandmother's cooking and the work she'd directed him to perform around the farm, but he was also a gentle man with kindly brown eyes, and a mop of sandy colored hair graced his handsome cleanly shaved face. He needed a haircut and thought for the thousandth time, how that particular task was one his grandmother used to take care of as well. He was constantly amazed at how much work a farm woman did, saving her husband a lot of money.

  He was also absentminded, but didn't realize it in the way that highly intelligent people often missed the most basic things in life. If someone told him what to do, he would happily do it, like his Gran did before she died. She kept him steered in the right direction and he loved her for it. Kind, generous and dutiful came naturally though and he figured that would always make up for his shortcomings.

  He rationalized that if he had a wife, he'd have more money available to buy materials to repair things like the chicken coop and the fence around the dooryard. And the outhouse would likely fall over soon if he didn't fix it. So many things needed fixing and it all cost money he was fast running out of. As he rode into town and settled his horse in the small lean to barn behind the telegraph office, he prayed one last time that today would be the day he received a reply to his advert.

  "Morning Hank, shaping up to be a lovely day," said Robin Watson, owner of the mercantile and general store as he saw Hank stable his horse.

  "Couldn't be better," Hank called back. "I've got a feeling something good is going to happen today Robin. Give my regards to Rita."

  Hank unlocked the back door of the telegraph office and took off his coat, hanging it on the hook attached to the back of the door. His hat followed suit. The routine was the same every day and his next task was to light the pot belly stove in the main area of the office. It wasn't just to warm the place up, but it provided the means by which he could make his coffee, the one thing he knew how to make for himself.

  One day, he planned on putting one in his cabin because it used less wood but put out plenty of heat and had the added advantage of having a flat top where he could put his coffee pot. He threw the old grounds out the back door, forgetting about the bucket Rita next door had given him for such things.

  After setting up a new pot of coffee on the stove, he opened up the front door ready for business, remembering to flip over the 'closed' sign so folks would know he was open. He sat at his desk then, tidying it first, ensuring his pad and pencils were placed just so, ready to receive any messages that came through. The train was due mid morning and shortly afterward, Jim Baxter from the railway station would bring the days bag of mail.

  "Good morning, Hank. Mail expected on time today?" It was Cora Paine with her new baby in her arms on her way to see Rita, her mother, next door.

  "I've not heard otherwise, so I'm guessing it is Cora. How have you been been keeping since the little one arrived? Looks like he's done some growing."

  Cora glowed at the compliment. "You're right Hank, he has grown and is keeping me busier than ever. I don't know how keep him happy and he never seems to stop crying. I thought mom might know what to do, she's the expert with babies. Bye now."

  Hank watched Cora as she went next door to visit with her mother and he couldn't help thinking that if he was ever lucky enough to have a son, his own mother wouldn't care less. She likely wouldn't want to know his wife either, come to think of it. It was beyond his reasoning why it was so, but no matter, because Rita next door and Robin would love to be honorary grandparents. That is, if he ever received a reply to his advert and found himself a wife.

  ~#~#~#~

  Hank spent a couple of hours sending telegrams for folks and tidying up the pigeon holed shelving that housed the mail for folks hereabout. He always kept a close eye on how long a letter had been sitting so he could send a message via a neighbor to remind the recipient there was a letter to collect next time they were in town. The services he provided were important to members of the community because they facilitated communication with friends and family who were far away.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Jim finally arrived with the mail bag. "How's it goin' Hank? Got the mail here for you."

  "Thanks Jim, and on time as always."

  "Aside from the odd outlaw who gets it into his head to rob the train, there's not much to delay it these days."

  "The West isn't so wild anymore I guess," observed Hank.

  "There's always a few outlaws lurking about and no shortage of cattle rustlers either, but the trains are safer now. Well,
I better get back. Be seein' ya."

  Hank took the mailbag and emptied the contents onto his desk, eager to start sorting it. He knew in his bones the one he was waiting for was somewhere in this pile. After pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee, he sat down to methodically sort through the letters and small packages, always pleased that his job was much easier since the freight office up the street opened up and handled all the large items.

  He was humming under his breath as he sorted the letters and rose to put some into their respective pigeon holes. Nothing yet, but he was only a quarter of the way through the pile. The letters again rose in small piles as he sorted them when the Sheriff came in.

  "Got time to send a wire for me Hank? I need to contact the Sheriff in Laramie pretty urgent like."

  Hank was annoyed a little by the interruption, but remained calm. "What did you have in mind Sheriff and I'll get right on to it for you."

  "I wrote it out for you to save some time. Just let me know how much."

  "Obliged, Sheriff. Now let's see." He silently counted the words. "That'll be $1.25."

  The Sheriff handed over a one dollar bill and some coins. "Thanks Hank. I'll leave you to it."

  "No problem Sheriff. I'll send it now."

  The Sheriff raised his hat in farewell and Hank sent the wire, keen to finish up and go back to sorting through the mail. He needed to find his letter. No sooner had he started than Cora Paine came back in, without her baby this time. "I'm never going to find my letter," he thought to himself. There was no way he was going to keep one of the Paines waiting though, because they were the biggest ranchers in the area.

  "Back again Cora. There were a few for you came in this morning. I'll just get them for you."

  "Thanks Hank and if there are are any for Myra and Jeremy, I'll take those too. Oh, and don't forget Rita and Robin," she finished in a rush.

  "Here you go then and a few parcels among them as well." He handed them to Cora. "If you see Richard and Annie, you might want to let them know they've got mail too."

  "Be happy to, Hank. See you later."

  Again Hank sat at his desk to sort through the mail. He grimaced as he took a sip of his coffee. Cold. He was so excited, he gave up trying to sort the letters, but rummaged wildly instead. Finally, at the bottom of the pile, was an envelope addressed to him, here at the telegraph office. Now he was nervous. Maybe he should wait until he got home to read it. "Don't be a coward Hank." No. He would open it right now.

  He read,

  "Dear Hank,

  I can't tell you how pleased I was to find your advert this morning and feel obliged to tell you a little about myself so you can decide if I would be a suitable candidate for your wife.

  Firstly, I am a good Christian woman and live my life according to God's Word. I am feeling a little worried that at nineteen years of age, I might be a little young for what you had in mind, but then again, hard work needs a strong young body mostly. I am not afraid of hard work and take pleasure in it, as I take pleasure in Sunday as a day of rest.

  I was born on a small farm out of Saratoga, New York and lived there with my parents until age ten, when they died unexpectedly . During that time I assisted my mother (and father) with all manner of farm duties and believe I would be able to help you in a similar manner, albeit on a greater scale because I can do more work now I am older.

  Yes I am thrifty and have always been so as God has seen fit to encourage me to live my life in what is probably best described as poor circumstances. I have never objected to this and am content with my lot and would assure you that 'fancy living' is not something I am accustomed to, or aspire to.

  I believe a partner in marriage is a gift from God and as such, should be founded in friendship and companionship with a view to developing love and respect throughout the duration of the marriage.

  The only additional information I would impart, is that I spent eight years after my parents died in an orphanage in New York and for the last year have worked as a seamstress pieceworker for a factory owner.

  My heart pines for the sounds and smell of a farm, the comfort of farm animals and I yearn for clean open pastures to be my neighbors. I am tired of the tenements and factories of New York that have done their best (but failed) to blind me from the beauty that God has so abundantly provided outside of the city environment. In short, I long to live and work on a farm, regardless of its condition and am available to travel at short notice.

  My return address is:

  Miss. Madeline Burns

  Apartment 1, The Faircloth Building

  220 Westerly St.

  Queens, New York

  I sincerely hope you consider my application and am looking forward very much to hearing from you in the near future.

  My humble regards,

  Maddie Burns"

  "Thank you, Lord. This sounds like a fine woman." Hank visibly relaxed and decided to sent her a telegram right away, then go to the railway station to organise a one way ticket leaving from Grand Central station in New York.

  ~#~#~#~

  Chapter Three

  A week and a half had passed since Maddie had posted her letter and not understanding how long it would take for letters to travel back and forth between New York City and Tipton, she wasn't expecting a reply anytime soon. Life had been quiet again in the streets around her building, something she thanked God for on a daily basis. Even so, she was uncomfortable about being on the streets and spent as much time in her room as possible, having Mr. Friedman deliver and collect her piecework. At least she was completing more pieces and earning more money.

  She used some of the extra money to pay Mrs. O'Brien to buy in food for her, a task for which the woman was grateful. Since her husband's murder, she was destitute without a man to provide for her and her two children. Taking a job at the sewing factory was looking like the only way she would be able to feed her children in the future.

  Maddie heard a gentle knocking at her door. It was Mrs. O'Brien. "I've brought your shopping for you Maddie," she said when the door opened.

  "Thank you. Did you get something for yourself too?"

  "I got some food for the little ones, bless you for a good woman."

  Maddie had the Matrimonial Times in her left hand. "I'd like you to take this, because you might find ad advert in here, like I did and find a husband somewhere out West. The wide open spaces would be much better for the children too."

  "I don't know if I would be brave enough to do something like that, but then again, a husband I never met couldn't be any worse than the lazy man that drank his wages and then borrowed money to feed his children... and met his end for doing so."

  "Please think about it, Mrs. O'Brien. It could be the answer to all your problems."

  "To be sure so I will then." She took the paper from Maddie and went back to her dingy room.

  February was coming to a close and she wondered how long she would have to wait before she had a reply one way or the other, from Hank Shelby in Tipton. Since she had poured her heart into the letter she sent, surely he understood how much she wanted to be his wife. "OK Lord, all in your good time, I know... but could you please hurry..."

  She turned back to her sewing, thinking to do as much as she could while the light held. While she sewed, images of a cabin and a farm filled her mind and she could see herself there, feeding chickens and milking a cow. Her reveries were interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. It frightened her because she wasn't expecting anyone. The knock came again and she rose, moved towards it and called out, "Who is it?"

  "If you are Miss. Madeline Burns, I have a telegram for you," came the answer.

  Her thoughts raced. "Telegrams bring bad news and who in the world would send me a telegram."

  "Ma'am, I can't stand here all afternoon. If you want it, you'll need to open the door."

  "Who's it from?"

  "Open the door Ma'am and you'll find out. My job is delivering it to you."

  Slowly Maddie the door,
relieved to see that it was indeed a telegraph boy with a satchel over his arm containing more.

  "Here you go and could you please sign here for it." He handed her a pencil and clipboard, indicating where she should sign. "Thank you Ma'am. You have a nice day now."

  Never in her life had Maddie had received a telegram and she wasn't sure what to do with it. The voice in her head couldn't resist, "Opening it would be a good start."

  She turned it over and lifted the flap, delicately removing the piece of paper inside. With increasing trepidation she started to read it.

  Application accepted stop Ticket waiting for you at New York Central Station stop Travel 28 Feb 8 am stop Will meet you in Tipton stop

  Maddie was lost for words. The day after tomorrow she was to take a train to Tipton, Wyoming. She was going to be married to the man who sent her the telegram, in a matter of days.

  "Oh Lord, that was fast. What am I going to do? Breathe Maddie, sit down and do some planning, it will be alright. You can do this."

  ~#~#~#~

  Maddie settled down after her initial panic and started to plan for her trip, making a preliminary list of the things she would take with her. She didn't own much but her carry-all would not be adequate for the things she wanted to take, although it would be ideal for taking a few things in the train with her. Mrs. O'Brien would be the recipient of the items she could not take with her and she would visit the charity shop first thing in the morning for a thick winter coat and some dresses she could make over, not forgetting an apron or two. Perhaps they could advise where she might find a trunk for her belongings.