“I can’t today. I rode in for an order at the mercantile and, well . . .” She looked at the mess on the counter with a skeptical eye. “Anyhow, I need to get back to help George. Unless you’d prefer I stay?”
Faith’s heart squeezed. Josie was like a little sister to her. They were as different as could be—Faith being ever the lady and Josie as wild as one of the bulls on the ranch where she was raised—but Josie had taken to Faith soon after she’d arrived in town with Aaron and Celia and Celia’s late husband Ned. Despite her tendency for men’s clothing and her penchant for speaking first and thinking later, Josie had quickly endeared herself to Faith, and Faith greatly looked forward to Josie’s rides into town.
“I’m fine,” Faith said truthfully. Only a few months ago, that would have been a lie, but with the onset of spring and the relief that came with having the missing men’s bodies found and a proper memorial service held, some of the grief had given away to short little bursts of feeling almost normal. And the funny thing was, Faith rarely realized she’d reached one of those moments until something triggered the sadness again.
“I’m glad,” Josie said with the sweet smile she gave genuinely to anyone who deserved it. “I should be back in town in a couple of days. I’ll make time to visit a while then.”
Faith bid goodbye to her friend and turned her attention to the envelopes again. In searching for Josie’s name, she’d found herself also looking for her own name on the envelopes. But none had been addressed to Faith.
She pulled out two envelopes that had been forwarded from the matrimonial newspaper in New York. It had been several months since the widows in town had placed their advertisement for grooms, and yet letters still straggled in. All for the best though, considering some of the ladies were still looking for husbands.
But not Faith.
No man could ever replace Aaron, not in her life and certainly not in her heart. Although Pastor Collins was becoming more and more insistent that Faith choose a husband, she stood steadfast in her absolute refusal.
She set aside the sorted mail, propped open the door that led from the office to the rest of her home, and walked the short hallway to the kitchen. The building was a mere three rooms—a kitchen, a bedroom, and the front room, which served as both the parlor and the post and telegraph office. In the kitchen, she lit the stove and set the pot of water leftover from breakfast to heat for tea.
As she sat at the table to wait, a piece of paper rustled in the pocket of her skirt. Her heart thumping at the sound, Faith retrieved the letter and spread it out on the table before her. She read it again, her eyes traveling over the familiar words and a smile lifting her lips.
Mr. Beau Landry wrote the most entertaining letters. Never once had he failed to make her laugh, which was a feat rarely accomplished since Aaron had died. Faith didn’t know what had possessed her to open that first letter on a cold February afternoon. Perhaps it was the address in New Orleans, so close to her childhood home in Mississippi, or maybe it was the fine handwriting on the envelope. She figured she would carefully slice open the letter forwarded from the New York newspaper, read it, and then simply reseal it and drop it into the stack of the other letters from potential grooms, which would be dispersed among the remaining widows in town.
But she hadn’t put it back. Instead, his letter had brought a spark of joy to her broken heart, and she felt compelled to write to him. She’d sent the letter off to New Orleans with a nagging guilt. After all, Mr. Landry had written in search of a wife, and she certainly didn’t want a husband.
She kept her missives short at first, just enough to convince him to write her in return. But her letters had grown steadily longer, and she’d found herself telling him things she’d not even shared with Celia or Josie. While her friends in town heard her reminiscences about Aaron and her great remorse at never having children with him, Mr. Landry heard about her childhood memories, funny instances around town, and dreams she’d buried with Aaron.
His letters—and hers to him—were an escape. And whether it was right or not, Faith thoroughly enjoyed them. Mr. Landry hadn’t broached the subject of marriage at all, and because of that, Faith continued the correspondence.
And she would continue, so long as he didn’t mention marriage.
And so long as he didn’t simply show up in town the way Celia’s now-husband, Jack Wendler, did, expecting to be married.
