“Good. I’ll arrange for your departure, send a telegram, then you’ll take a train first thing tomorrow morning.” Aunt Tia arose from the table and made her way out the door.
Turning back to the desk, Josie picked up the letter again and held it in her hands. The money was too much—too much for a farmer. The savings she had set aside would be enough for two trips. She’d return Travis’s money because it wasn’t hers to take. After all, he would need it when a tiny, unexpected member joined his family in six months.
Chapter Three
SweattrickleddownTravis’sforehead as he stood under the hot sun, rereading the yellowed paper in his grasp. Ronan Walsh, his neighbor and friend, had brought the telegram from town. Like Travis, the man had a steady number of chores to tackle on his farm before harvest, so whenever they went to town, they checked each other’s mail to avoid extra trips.
Travis’s chest tightened, processing the message. Never did he expect his world would change in a single day. Miss Callahan was coming soon. He had anticipated waiting another month for a reply, but her swift response showed she was eager—eager to marry him. Travis exhaled and wiped his forehead. He admired the woman’s determination, yet his doubts taunted him. Did he truly want her in their family, with all the complexities her arrival would bring?
A part of him found her decision relieving, that way, he couldn’t back out of the marriage. Miss Callahan could be already on her way, boarding a train, full of hope she’d comehome to a husband and children, and it would be wrong for Travis to send her back. When Travis went out of his way to place an advertisement, he had no idea how costly a mail-order bride would be. He hoped a woman would respond close by, but it had to be North Carolina. The state lay thousands of miles away and would take her at least six months to reach by wagon train. But to arrive faster and safer, she’d have to take several train passages to Cheyenne then a stagecoach that was more than four hundred miles.
The money Travis had sent amounted to nearly half of his earnings from the last two harvests. Sending money to a stranger was a risk, but Josephine Callahan left a promising impression on him with her honesty and willingness to come out west.
Miss Callahan would need to be strong to endure the journey and life on the homestead. But in those long weeks of travel, she might begin to acclimate. Or Travis prayed so. The woman constantly occupied his mind, the mystery torturing him. Travis overheard rumors once mail-order brides were usually old maids seeking out husbands, but how old wastoo old? Travis turned thirty only three months ago. What if he was too old forher?
When Travis and Sophie married, she had been eighteen, but Travis was close to her age, being twenty. Now, being a decade older, a sour pit formed in his stomach. Travis crumbled the telegram. How could a young girl mother three children and a baby? Let alone, how could he marry a mere child? He wasn’t like those bawdy old men seeking a young, pretty thing to warm their beds. He needed a woman of strength and resilience, someone with a humble mind and a heart big enough to love the children he already had. He didn’t need more, and he certainly didn’t need a blushing bride.
Even now, the telegram itched at his curiosity more intensely than ever. Not even meeting her yet, Travis didn’t know how their arrangement could work. All he knew was Josephine would be his wife, but in name only. Nothing in the advertisement promised romance. Maybe that was why he hadn’t received a reply at first. But what was different about this Josephine Callahan? Was she desperate? Or did she pity him? What if Travis couldn’t take his vows seriously with Josephine, given his heart was loyal to another?
Travis wiped his face with a bandana before stepping inside the cabin. Upon entering, his senses were met by the strong smell of venison stew. Travis scrunched the yellow paper into his pocket.
Now that Miss Callahan was on her way, he’d have to break the news he pained to admit to himself. How would he tell the children? How would they feel about having a new mother, only eight months after Sophie’s death? Betrayed of course. And confused. How could Lillian comprehend this at four years old? Ivy and Jonas could protest all they wanted, but they needed a mother, one who could be there for them beyond the grave.
Travis removed his hat and hung it on the hook beside the door.
“Pa!” his three children shrieked, running towards him. They gathered around him, hugging his legs tightly. Seeing his children after a long day of weeding and fertilizing the wheat fields made Travis smile. After Sophie’s passing, he found little to smile about—except when his children came near. He kissed each of their heads, holding them close.
He looked up to see Aunt Polly holding Gideon on her hip. Travis swallowed a lump in his throat. Gideon smiled, revealing his two bottom teeth, and held his arms out to Travis. Each time Travis stomached to look at the boy, he seemed to double in size.
Six-year-old Jonas took Travis’s hand, tugging it in the opposite direction. “Pa, come to the table. See what I drew.”
Ivy pushed Travis towards the table. “Come see, Pa.”
Travis looked at the picture Jonas held, and he couldn’t resist grinning. Jonas appeared so proud of his drawing, his head held high and chest out. Lillian held hers up next, which was just squiggly lines, and Ivy held up her picture of a tree. She had improved so much over the years.
“Nice job, children. I’m very proud.”
Jonas pointed at his picture. “It’s your horse, Pa. Can’t ya tell?”
“I thought so.” Travis knew nothing about art. He couldn’t tell Jonas’s drawing from a clump of random shapes, but he patted the boy’s head with pride.
Aunt Polly clapped, interrupting the moment. “All right, you three, clear this table for supper.”
The children swiftly removed their pencils and paper and headed down the tiny hallway into their bedroom. Adjusting Gideon on her hip, Aunt Polly pulled down the bowls and spoons from their usual spots on the shelf above the stove.
Travis set Jonas’s drawing down on the table “Let me help with that.”
His aunt shook her head in protest. “Sit down, Travis. Relax while I set the table.”
Gideon’s green eyes met Travis’s, and he quickly looked away, his heart sinking. “I hate that you work so hard for us, Auntie.”
“Nonsense!” Aunt Polly declared, setting the last bowl down. “It’s always a joy to care for a family again.”
Before Travis could open his mouth to speak again, the children rushed back. Travis pulled out the chair for little Lillian, who was too small to do it herself.
“What did you young’uns do today?” Travis asked as Aunt Polly scooped the stew into their bowls.
“I got the eggs!” Lillian exclaimed.
