Finally, Clara set the letter down. “Her name is Hannah, and she comes from a small town in Georgia. She’s rather . . .” Clara trailed off, as if she were searching for the right word. “I believe she might be too fanciful for you.”
Fanciful. Another word for flighty, Jeremiah imagined. He shook his head, and Clara set the letter aside and picked up the next envelope. He needed someone practical, and yet cheerful.
Like himself.
“This lady here . . .” Clara squinted at the letter again. “If I’m not mistaken, I think she might be in some kind of trouble with the law.”
“Definitely not,” Jeremiah said as Roman plucked the letter from his wife’s hand.
“It isn’t addressed to you!” Clara said as Roman stepped back.
“Yes, but it sounds entertaining.”
“What’s the next one?” Jeremiah turned his attention to the next envelope, wondering what fascination might lie inside. None of these ladies were marriage material yet, but at least this was turning into an interesting way to pass the evening.
Clara read through more letters, sharing snippets here and there, and casting aside missives from a destitute socialite (“too prim”), a widow with six children (“too much responsibility”), a lady recently arrived from Germany (“she’ll expect you to eat fermented cabbage”), and a woman recently released from prison (“absolutely not”).
They’d come to the last letter, and Jeremiah wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved.
“I expect this one rides with a sideshow,” Roman said as he chewed on one of the bread rolls left over from their supper. “She can probably shoot a man from a mile away. Or perhaps she’s one of those bearded ladies?”
Jeremiah stifled a laugh. “How was it that you found Clara in one of these stacks of letters?” It seemed rather hopeless at this point that he’d find a suitable woman. Or was he being too choosy? Perhaps that lady from Germany wouldn’t be so bad. He could stomach fermented cabbage. Or the socialite, if she became accustomed to a regular sort of life. At least she might be nice to look at.
No, he thought as Clara sliced open the last envelope. He couldn’t resign himself to something less than what he’d hoped for. Not for something like this, not for a woman he needed to introduce to his parents. And not for someone who’d stand beside him for the rest of his life.
For the millionth time, Deirdre’s image found its way into his mind. He needed a girl like her. Sweet, friendly, quick to laugh and amenable to take on hard work without complaint. But one who didn’t have a brother who would likely send him packing the second he showed an interest.
Clara was silent as she read the last letter. She set it down and said nothing.
“Well?” Roman prompted, brushing the crumbs from his hands. “Is she a sideshow sharpshooter?”
“No,” Clara said slowly. “Jeremiah, I believe you should read this one in its entirety.” She handed him the letter.
He scanned it quickly, taking in neat feminine handwriting that covered most of the page.
Dear Mr. Wiley, it began. He read the rest aloud.
“I am writing to you in the hopes that you might begin a correspondence with me regarding your recent advertisement for a wife. I am twenty-one years old, and I wish to begin a life with a good man. Your advertisement caught my interest because you mentioned an interest in a livery stable—”
“An interest?” Roman interrupted with raised eyebrows.
Jeremiah shifted uncomfortably. “I may have said that. It’ll be true come September.” September, when his parents would arrive from Denver to visit and hear his request for a loan to supplement the money he’d saved. Their help would round out the funding he needed to purchase half the livery from Roman. He would be a partner in the business, rather than simply Roman’s most reliable stablehand.
His friend smiled as he bit into another roll, and Jeremiah relaxed. He returned his attention to the letter. The lady went on to say that she enjoyed riding and caring for horses. She also loved to cook and bake, enjoyed reading tales of adventure, cherished conversation with good friends, and wasn’t afraid to begin life in a rough-and-tumble town.
Jeremiah sat back, the letter still in his hand. He glanced down at the words again as if they might scramble up into something entirely different. “She sounds . . .”
“Promising,” Clara filled in for him.
“What’s her name?” Roman asked, looking only slightly disappointed that the lady wasn’t a traveling sharpshooter.
“Dee,” Jeremiah replied. She’d signed her name simply, with no surname attached. He looked at the envelope, but the return address contained no name. It was odd, but not enough to make him hesitate. Perhaps it simply meant the lady didn’t stand on formality. “She comes from New York.”
Clara stood and moved to sweep the crumbs from Roman’s shirt. “You ought to write to her.”
Jeremiah nodded as he folded the letter back into its envelope. “I believe I will.”
And for the first time that evening, he feltgood. Confident, even.
