Travis winced as he took another sip of coffee, his eyes landing on the letter in front of him. Would he write back? His fingers gripped around his cup. How could he? He stared at the words, trying to imagine Josephine stepping into this house and caring for his children. Except he couldn’t picture her in his mind. How old was she? Her writing was legible, displaying her education, but did she know anything about homesteading? Could she cook? Clean? What about tending to livestock and harvesting wheat? Miss Callahan might become a wonderful homemaker and mother, but what about a farmer’s wife?
Travis stared at the name, written in elegant cursive penmanship. He chewed his bottom lip. This was driving him crazy! This woman was a mystery. Why would she give up everything to come out west and marry him of all people? And she didn’t even know him! Travis could be an evil brute or a drunkard, yet she was willing to sacrifice everything to stand by his side, in sickness and in health. It didn’t make sense.
“Who are you, Josephine Callahan?”
Chapter Two
Charlotte, North Carolina; June 1872
Josiesatonherbed, nervously fidgeting with her cameo brooch. It had been over a month since the accident, and no warrant had yet been issued for her arrest or a death announcement mentioned in the newspapers. Nothing felt right. Mammy told her she wouldn’t announce the death until Josie was safe, but how long could a body be kept secret?
Even if there was a search warrant, would they be able to find her in this confined space? She had gone unnoticed when she arrived, cloaked and discreet. None of Aunt Tia’s servants had seen her. Marcus forced Josie to cut ties with her aunt, so why would Aunt Tia be suspected?
Josie never left the attic, not even for fresh air. Aunt Tia encouraged her to roam the grounds at nightfall, but Josie wouldn’t budge. She spent her nights and mornings in this confined space, safe and secure. The room wasn’t a prison cell; she was only a prisoner to herself and the threats that lurked outside.
Aunt Tia had brought Josie tea earlier that morning, along with some preserves and biscuits, but Josie could hardly stomach anything but the tea. Anything that looked like food nauseated her. She rose, poured herself a cup of tea, and peered through the small crack in the window, observing the city of Charlotte from the attic’s height.
Her aunt’s home was larger than Josie’s childhood home,Belle Vallée, and the horrid mansion in the city of Statesville, where she had been forced to play the role of a frightened and fragile wife. From the attic window, Josie quickly took notice of the police roaming the streets in their navy blue uniforms and hats. She turned away from the crack, her back pressed firm against the wall. Though they couldn’t see her, their presence made her shudder.
The door squeaked open, and Josie jumped. To her relief, it was Aunt Tia again. She exhaled, her hand resting on her chest.
“Josephine, I have news,” Aunt Tia announced softly, stumbling in while balancing herself on a cane. She held up a letter. “Mr. Blythe has replied.”
Josie’s mouth fell open. After waiting nearly two months, the response she both dreaded and hoped for had arrived. One thing in that letter was for certain—an answer. Josie didn’t know which response to fear more. Rejection stung like a bee, but a proposal filled her with dread.
Aunt Tia settled herself at the corner desk, and Josie took the letter into her possession. Her teacup rattled on its saucer from her trembling hands. Josie set the cup down, suckingin a steadying breath. She stared at the return address and name, hardly able to make out the penmanship because of her quivering limbs.Travis Blythe. Willow Grove, Montana.
“Well, open it for goodness’ sake,” Aunt Tia instructed impatiently.
Exhaling, Josie broke the seal, her pulse racing. Carefully, she pulled the letter from its envelope and scanned the handwriting. The penmanship was unlike the neat script of the upper-class men she knew, but what could she expect from a man out West? However, the mystery drew her in. What words would a man shaped by the untamed frontier say? Would he speak proper and educated, or would he be a disastrous, uneducated buffoon?
Dear Miss Callahan,
I’d like to express how pleased I am to have received your reply. My name is Travis Blythe. I’m thirty years old and from Willow Grove, Montana, a small wheat farming town twenty miles east of Bozeman. Of course, you already gathered where I live from the advertisement. I just didn’t know how else to introduce myself. I will admit, this is strange for me, too. I confess I never wrote to a stranger either, let alone anyone in North Carolina.
My children and I live in a modest cabin in a valley, surrounded by a background of snow-capped mountains and a blooming meadow where my children like to play. We have a two-decade old farm that hasn’t failed our family thus far. I grew up in a dugout with my parents, and ten years ago I built my own place. My mother passed on six years ago, so now it’s just us.
I hope this doesn’t frighten you away, knowing we don’t have much. Our life includes hard labor, but it is worth it when we have each other. My aunt has pitched in since my wife’s passingand volunteered to stay a little longer to help you settle in if you accept my proposal.
If you choose to decline, I understand, but I wanted to be honest with you as you have with me. If you choose to marry me, my children will be very glad to have a mother again. I have enclosed the money to fund your journey. It is long and expensive, but I trust you’ll use it wisely.
Sincerely,
Travis Blythe
Josie dug deeper into the envelope, finding the money Travis set. Her face burned hot as a rush of shock overcame her.
“Money? Why would this man send you money?” Aunt Tia asked.
“It’s to pay for my fare,” Josie explained, her throat dry. She swallowed. “He wants me to come.”
Aunt Tia poured herself a cup of tea. “Hmm, you must have left quite an impression for him to trust you with his money.”
Josie folded the letter and returned both it and the money to the envelope. “I’m sending it back.”
Aunt Tia’s brows arched and lips pursed. “You are not! You’re going to Montana to marry this man.”
Josie sat at her desk and took out a blank sheet of paper. “I won’t,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “Him choosing me is a mistake. I was honest with him, saying I lack experience with mothering, and he wants to marry me.”
