The Cheyenne Mail Order Bride Changes Her Mind Read online

  The Cheyenne Mail Order Bride

  CHANGES HER MIND

  Iris Kelly

  THE CHEYENNE MAIL ORDER BRIDE CHANGES HER MIND

  Copyright © 2016 by Iris Kelly

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover design by Rebecca Frank

  Editing by Valorie Clifton

  CHAPTER ONE

  Boston, 1885

  It is indescribably comforting to have an escape plan, and an insufferable loss to have that escape plan snatched away. Molly Reynolds examined the almost faded bruise on her cheek, left there two weeks earlier by a blow from her father. It was a painful reminder of the true blow from that day—the loss of her treasure trove of savings that was meant to help her escape from her family.

  It all came about because her older brother, Tobias, had a friend whose sister needed a job. The dreary sewing factory that Molly worked at couldn’t be terribly particular about who they hired—after all, they had hired Molly—so Tobias’s reasoning went. He told his friend to send his sister over and that she would be paid six dollars per week, just as Molly received. However, it was discovered that the workers there were receiving nine dollars per week.

  Molly had long known that her only chance of ever getting away from her father and brothers was to tell them she was getting paid less than she was and to squirrel away that extra amount. She had occasionally dipped into her savings to help out her grandmother, but still, all told, she had over two hundred dollars stashed away under her bedroom floorboards. A dozen dazzling possibilities for a liberating new future danced before her eyes and lulled her to sleep every night.

  Those dreams came to a crashing halt in a single instant. She had returned home from work to find her brothers, Tobias and Franklin, bursting with an evil glee of anticipation. Her father, Lucas Reynolds, had his face twisted in uncontrollable rage.

  “So you been earning nine dollars a week at that place? All this time? And lying to us about it. Is that what you’ve been doing?”

  Molly froze in an absolute panic. She was used to being denigrated and ignored. She was used to having her cooking and housekeeping skills insulted. She was used to having her entire weekly pay taken away from her, receiving only the pittance of an allowance from it in return, and watching her father and brothers spend her hard earned money on booze and gambling. But she had never felt such a threat of violence before—not since she was beaten as a child.

  “You better answer me,” her father continued, grabbing her roughly by the arm. “What did you spend that money on? That money that you were honor bound to share with your family?”

  Molly still couldn’t think of a reply. Perhaps she could lie and say that she had spent the money. Then she could just suffer the consequences and would still have her money to get away with.

  “She didn’t spend the money,” Franklin said. “I’ll bet anything she’s got it in her room right this minute.”

  One look at Molly’s face convinced Lucas that his son had uncovered the truth.

  “Let’s have a look-see, shall we?”

  He pulled and dragged Molly upstairs to her bedroom. “Where is it?”

  He responded to her silence with a hard slap across her face.

  “Don’t make me ask again.”

  Sobbing at the loss of a future even more than the shock of the pain, Molly dropped to her knees and pulled up the wooden floorboard that housed every dollar she had set aside from her job. As elated as her father was to lay eyes on such a windfall, he couldn’t resist giving Molly one last hard smack in the face.

  “That’s so you don’t forget what you owe to your family. That’s what you get for being a liar.”

  He scooped up the bundles of cash and piles of coin. Tobias helpfully grabbed a nearby sack to put it in.

  “Good thing we never had a fire,” Tobias crowed. “All that lovely money would have gone up in smoke.”

  “I can think of a lot better things to do with it,” Franklin chimed in.

  The three men were on the verge of leaving when Tobias turned to sneer at Molly, still sprawled on the floor.”What do you think she was planning on doing with all this money?”

  “Showin’ us her backside, I don’t doubt,” her father snarled. “Guess we’re stuck with her now.”

  That got a big laugh from his sons, and they trooped downstairs to count the bounty and decide which pub would be best to lead off the celebration.

  Now, two weeks later, Molly had received more than enough evidence to know that her situation had worsened from one of dreary exploitation and daily derision to one more approximating a living hell. Her deception was never forgotten, never forgiven, and continually punished. Her comings and goings had always had tight constraints. Other than work, she had been allowed to go to market and to make a weekly visit to her grandmother.

  But she had also been able to seize a bit of free, unmonitored time here and there, particularly in the evenings when the men in her family had finished the supper she had prepared—which they invariably found too tough, or tasteless, or “looks like pig slop, tastes like it too,”—and they would head to the local bars for a little recreation. Molly wasn’t sure why they needed so much restorative time since they were unemployed more often than not.

  Molly would take advantage of their absence for a mid-evening stroll around the neighborhood. The fresh air and the stars and the solitude had been like a daily tonic for her. She might have taken the opportunity to visit a friend in the neighborhood, except that she really hadn’t been allowed to have any. But she had managed to see a live music performance, and a New Year’s Eve fireworks display, and she had once watched a festive bridal party crowding out onto the streets as they exited a reception. Even as removed as she was from them, it was a gratifying secondhand experience of life, and it satisfied her modest expectations for novelty.

  But recently, her ongoing punishment included the stripping away of any potential sphere of freedom. When her family now left her alone in the evenings, her father would assign a large task to her, which was closely examined beforehand and afterward, its completion assuring that she had to stay in the house.

  It was an irony that going to work became her only solace. It was no one’s idea of a warm haven. It was lowly sewing factory work, both tedious and demanding. The shift managers were harsh. But it was in that dubious refuge that Molly had had her only taste of friendship—first with Beatrice Kirby, a smart, elegant young woman who was too good for the likes of this place, and who was now Beatrice Martin, married to a lawyer in Cheyenne in Wyoming Territory, and who, by all accounts, was happier than any of them could have envisioned.

  The only consolation for the loss of her friend, aside from her cheering and inspiring letters, was the second and only other friend that Molly had, Abigail Norris. Abigail was the only one to whom Molly could turn to commiserate over the devastation of all her future plans.

  “How much was it?” Abigail demanded.

  “Almost two hundred and fifty dollars. I’d been putting it aside from the moment I started working here. And now it’s all gone.”

  “Hmmph. And he’s the one who hit you, when he is the one who deserves a stiff beating. Oh, Molly, you have got to get away from them.”

  “It’s too late, Abby. No matter how long I work, no matter how many years . . . I’ll never be able to put any more money aside. I am trapped. I am a lost cause.”

  Abigail waved a familiar-looking envelope at Molly. “You are forgetting one obvious s
olution.”

  “Beatrice? How could she possibly help me? She’s gone now, and she is happy, and I’m happy for her. I truly am. She deserves it.”

  “As do you. What I meant to say was that she became a catalogue bride, and you can do the same. You can marry one of these Western men and get away from your family for good.”

  It was an extraordinary suggestion, particularly because of who it was coming from. Abigail was a divorcee who openly and loudly decried the institution of marriage as a stifling and abominable servitude for modern women.

  “Me? Marriage? You never have anything good to say about marriage.”

  “I have this to say: It cannot be as bad as your life is now. Now, there have to be a good number of situations out West where you can live comfortably, without such a daily assault of insult and abuse.”

  Molly let the possibility sink in. “Couldn’t anything be worse than my family. Maybe there’s a man out there who won’t mind if I don’t do things perfectly, who has a kind word to share every now and again.”

  “Precisely. Of course, I should not like to have your expectations overly influenced by Beatrice’s experiences,” Abigail warned. “Her marriage resembles nothing so much as an unfathomable fairytale. She is so obscenely happy. I don’t know what to make of it.”

  “He’s handsome. We both could see that for ourselves. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were the most handsome man in Cheyenne.”

  Their friend, Beatrice, had sent a small wedding photo to share with Molly and Abigail. There was no denying—Beatrice had found herself a looker.

  “And he’s well-educated, and has a high position in society. Beatrice had all the makings of a real high society lady. That’s exactly the kind of gentleman she should be with. I know I can’t expect much. I’m certainly no prize myself.”

  “Enough of that talk. I won’t stand for it. We’re going to find you someone who is worthy and decent. Despite my reservations about marriage, I do believe this is your best possible option. It even has the potential for real security and contentment.” She squeezed her friend’s hand. “And better you than me.”

  And so the plan was hatched. Abigail had to procure and read the matrimonial ads in half a dozen papers, in order that Molly’s family never became suspicious. Abigail would circle the most promising ads and they would hurriedly review them at work during their brief lunch hours. At first glance, there was a near embarrassment of riches. Every man sounded like a thoughtful, hard working, good provider who was also a churchgoer who loved children and was free of vices of any kind.

  “The real trick is to figure out who’s lying.”

  “How can we know that?” Molly wondered.

  “Well, if he says he’s a well-to-do businessman, and he’s looking for a woman who can cook and sew, and feed the animals and do laundry . . . that is a man who does not have the hired help that one would expect from a well-to-do businessman. That man . . . is a liar.”

  “Ah . . . well, I sure don’t want a liar. Although I don’t mind hard work, as long as it gets just a little bit of appreciation . . . how about this one?

  “Absolutely not. He’s a miner, which means he could have a very short life span. And where would that leave you? And your children, if you have any by then?”

  “A dead husband? That’s your favorite kind, isn’t it?” Molly gently teased her friend. They were going to miss each other.

  “Oh, I would have much preferred widowhood to divorce. There’s more money in it. And more respectability. But I didn’t have the foresight to marry a man whose days were numbered.”

  “Abigail!”

  “Back to your concerns—a farmer or a rancher is a much safer bet. Or a store owner. That would be my top priority for you.”

  But there was another factor that Molly hadn’t even dared to hope for. Abigail had circled one particular ad, not because it was the most remarkable, but because it contained one word that had an inexplicably magical effect on both of them: Cheyenne.

  “Beatrice!”

  “Yes. Our dear friend, Beatrice. I confess, I hesitated to draw your attention to that particular one, because it is the quality of the man and the situation that must be weighed most heavily. But because it was a respectable offer, I thought it was worthy of consideration. Now, regardless of the pleasures of living so close to Beatrice, you must read it over carefully and judge it on its own merits.”

  Molly read eagerly.

  Kind-hearted, gentle, hardworking 30-year-old businessman seeks a loving wife who’s a good housekeeper and enjoys good literature and music. I live in the blossoming city of Cheyenne in Wyoming Territory, and I have a spacious and comfortable home to offer. If you are experiencing any financial difficulties, it would be my pleasure to provide financial assistance to help with this transition. Of course, I’ll cover traveling and clothing expenses. If you honor me with a response, a photograph would be greatly appreciated.

  Ellwood Butler

  “Abigail! He sounds too good to be true.”

  “He does sound as if he might do very nicely. I wonder if Beatrice or her husband might even be acquainted with him? It’s not a large city. You must write her and ask. But you must also respond to Mr. Butler before he directs his attentions elsewhere.”

  It took a few days to obtain a photograph—it was the first that Molly had ever taken, and it had to be quickly managed in the middle of a shopping afternoon. Both of the letters were quickly dispatched. Molly felt obliged to disclose that she had provided some financial assistance to her grandmother and would feel uncomfortable leaving town without leaving her with some cash resources. She hoped that Mr. Butler was generous. She hoped that he liked her photograph.

  But most of all, she hoped that he wouldn’t mind if she wasn’t very special. As excessively mean as her father and brothers were, she knew there had to be a core of truth behind their criticisms. Perhaps she was a bit clumsy, or didn’t cook very well, or wasn’t incredibly smart. She certainly didn’t have her friend, Beatrice’s confidence and knowledge of high culture. Perhaps Mr. Butler could forgive all of her limitations as long as he could see that she was working her hardest.

  The thought of having children was especially promising, because they would love her no matter what, wouldn’t they? And that was something she had long ago lost all hope of experiencing. Not since her own mother died when she was ten. How Mr. Butler treated her was of paramount importance. Her children would take their lead from him, just as her brothers modeled themselves after their father’s harsh, belittling ways.

  The prospect of being part of a loving family was worth every risk. Most importantly, she had to leave her father and brothers behind, or they would surely send her to an early grave.

  *****

  Events unfolded at an unbearably slow pace. Beatrice wrote back, elated at the prospect of Molly moving to the same city. She and her husband had never heard of Ellwood Butler, but she agreed that it sounded like a most promising situation. She offered to pick Molly up at the train station. From her own experience, a day or two of rest and preparation were useful before taking on the most important meeting of one’s life.

  She said that she would take care of lodging arrangements for Molly, and she assured Molly that no matter how complicated or awkward it was to meet a husband in this manner, Beatrice and her other mail order bride friends could all but promise her that things would work out well in the end.

  As for the man himself, he proved to be both generous and enthusiastic. Her picture had apparently pleased him, and he was very sympathetic about her obligations to her grandmother. In fact, he sent two hundred dollars to help in that regard. Molly was flabbergasted and moved almost to tears. What a kind and thoughtful man this was. His letter also included her train ticket. All of a sudden, her new future went from being a possibility to being a certainty.

  Of course, her family suspected nothing. How could they? Stupid, dull, timid Molly would give them the shock of their lives. Sometimes, it wa
s all she could do not to break out into a laugh at the thought of it. The expressions on their faces. The fury and the helplessness. Because she would leave without a trace, and they wouldn’t even begin to know where to find her.

  She wrote out a brief letter explaining her impending marriage. It seemed advisable to mislead them, so she said that she was going to an Oregon ranch. That sounded sufficiently remote that they would have no enthusiasm for coming after her. It was also imperative that she tell her grandmother the exact same lie, so that there was no chance that they could squeeze the truth out of her.

  On her final day, Molly served her family breakfast and cleaned away the dishes. She took one last look around her prison of a home and her pathetic excuse for a family and left in a giddy state of excitement. She was, of course, not going to go to work. She stopped by her grandmother’s house and gave her the letter intended for her father, for he would surely end up there by the end of the day, demanding to know why Molly had never returned home. She also left the bulk of the money she had been sent, one hundred and fifty dollars, for her grandmother. It would help supplement her living expenses for many months to come.

  “Don’t tell my father that I left you any money. He will just lie and say that it was money that I stole from him, and he’ll demand that you give it back to him.”

  “I believe you’re right. He’s mean through and through. It was his unkindness that wore my daughter down and took the life right out of her. I was so afraid he’d do the same thing to you.”

  “I’m not going to let him. I think my husband is going to be kind to me. I really do.”

  “Don’t you dare miss your train. Now give me a kiss and get out of here.”

  Molly embraced the old woman and left with tears in her eyes—happy tears. She stopped by Abigail’s boarding house to pick up the baggage with all the clothes and belongings she would be taking with her. It had taken many days to slowly sneak all of those items out of the house. Abigail was already gone to work, and Molly could only send out a silent message of gratitude for the dear friend who had set her on this new path.