Mail-Order Bride Ink: Dear Mr. Weaver (2 page)

Y
ours truly
,

Daniel Weaver

E
bba looked
up from the letter. “He says ‘we’. What ‘we’ is he talking about?”

“Perhaps his mother?” Mrs. Pettigrew suggested. “Since he mentions her in the letter, who else could it be? You would then have another woman in the house to talk to.”

Ebba absently nodded. “Yes, I suppose.”

“Ah, a quiet country life! I always dreamt of such a thing, to live in the French countryside on a lovely little farm … but alas, it was not to be.”

Ebba noted the faraway look on her face and grimaced. “You
wanted
to live on a farm?”

“But of course,
ma petite
. Who wouldn’t want a peaceful life in the country? But my work is here, and it is here where I can do the most good.”

“Good?”

“Of course, by helping young women like yourself find good husbands. It is my true joy!”

Ebba smiled half-heartedly. Mrs. Pettigrew had a reputation for being an odd duck. But she was also supposed to be a superb matchmaker, be it through her mail-order bride agency or otherwise. Which made Ebba wonder. “Why aren’t you married?”

Mrs. Pettigrew put a hand to her chest and sighed. “I was,
ma belle
, I was – to a wonderful man. But he died.” She hung her head. “However, he did leave me a considerable fortune, one that makes it possible for me to do what I am best at. Matchmaking!”

That made sense. Ebba and her parents had heard about the Pettigrew fortune not long after coming to Denver. But it wasn’t Mrs. Pettigrew’s money that so often had her in the social gossip pages – it was her eccentric behavior, and speculation about her past. Though no one seemed to know what that past consisted of. “I put my trust in your good judgment, Mrs. Pettigrew.”

“Of course you do! Now you must write the young gentleman back!” She opened a drawer of the desk, pulled out a sheet of paper, then shoved it and the pen and inkwell at her. “Go ahead, don’t take long.”

“What do I tell him?”

“About yourself, of course! Your skills, your pretty eyes and hair, your wonderful figure … well, perhaps not that. He will see for himself,
oui
?”

Ebba grimaced again. Yes, she knew she wasn’t hard to look at, but would her future groom think so when she was red-faced and sneezing? And yet, what other choice did she have but to risk it? She picked up the pen, dipped it into the ink and started to write.

D
ear Mr. Weaver
:

M
y name is Ebba Knudsen
. Mrs. Pettigrew of the Pettigrew Bridal Agency has assured me that you would make a good match. Let me tell you a little about myself and you can be the judge.

I
am twenty years old
. My parents came to America from Sweden, and our family moved to Denver from Chicago about a year ago because their doctor thought the air here would be good for them. Alas, they are now dead. Because of this, I have decided to become a mail-order bride. Mrs. Pettigrew comes highly recommended, so I sought her help.

I
am
five feet and three inches tall with blonde hair and green eyes. I am a hard worker and would keep your house clean and can sew for you. I am a fair cook, though my parents thought I was excellent. I learned to cook from both my mother and my
mormor
(Swedish for grandmother). I have no brothers or sisters and no family left to me in this country. I don’t like being alone, which is another reason I wanted to become a mail-order bride and start a family. I can read and write and am very good with numbers …

M
rs. Pettigrew noticed
Ebba had stopped. She frowned at her as she filed a fingernail. “Whatever is the matter?”

“I’m not sure what else to say.”

“Did you tell him you can cook, sew, clean, read, write …”

“Yes, I told him all of that.”

“Tell him you have all of your teeth. That is always a good selling point.”

“Selling point?”

“
Oui.
He will know you are healthy at least.”

Ebba shrugged.

…
a
nd I have
all my teeth.
I hope you have all of yours. I look forward to hearing from you and what you think about the two of us becoming husband and wife.

S
incerely
,

Ebba Knudsen

S
he put the pen down
, turned the paper around and slid it back across the desk.

Mrs. Pettigrew picked it up, gave it a quick read and set it back down. “This will do nicely.”

Ebba sighed in relief. “Good. Now what do I do?”

“Now we wait until he sends another letter. If he likes yours, he will likely send train and stage fare as well. Then off you go.”

Ebba blinked in astonishment. “Just like that?”

Mrs. Pettigrew snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”

“I had no idea it was so easy.”

“
Oui
, very easy. Now leave everything to me!” Mrs. Pettigrew said with a wide smile and stood. Ebba got up as the woman came around the desk. She took Ebba’s hands in hers and gave them both a squeeze. “You will be very happy as the new Mrs. Weaver!”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Trust me,
ma petite
! I know these things!”

Ebba smiled. “I trust you.”

“
Tres bien!
Now off you go!” Mrs. Pettigrew began to usher her to the door.

“When will I hear back from him?”

“It usually takes about a month. Until then, concentrate on making yourself a beautiful bride!”

Ebba couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s enthusiasm. “What if he doesn’t think I’m beautiful?”

Mrs. Pettigrew smiled. “Trust me,
ma cherie
, he will love you from the moment he sees you!”

“You sound so confident. I wish I was.”

“Nonsense, you will see! Now run along.” Mrs. Pettigrew opened the door of her office.

“Oh no.” Ebba took a step toward the door.

“What is this
oh no
?”

“I … I have no wedding dress. What if he says yes and … oh dear.”

“You sew, yes? So you make one.”

“Oh, but Mrs. Pettigrew … I’m afraid I can’t, not on what I earn. Even if I did have the time, I could never afford the fabric for a proper dress.”

“No dress?!” the woman squeaked. “What bride gets married in anything but a wedding dress? This will never do!”

Ebba stared at her wide-eyed as Mrs. Pettigrew began to pace around her office. “But there’s nothing I can do,” she said weakly.

Mrs. Pettigrew stopped her pacing and pointed at her. “Leave everything to me!”

“But …”

“No buts! You leave, go home and do as I say. Make yourself beautiful!” She shoved Ebba out the door and into the hall. “I will send word as soon as I hear from Mr. Weaver.”

“But Mrs. Pettigrew …”

The door slammed shut.

Ebba slumped. “… I don’t know how to be beautiful.” With a sigh, she turned and trudged down the hall. It was time to go to work. She hoped Mr. Weaver thought raw hands were a thing of beauty, because after a month of her doing laundry for Mrs. Feldnick, that’s what he would get.

M
rs. Pettigrew
slowly opened the door to her office and peeked into the hall. She caught sight of Ebba as she turned the corner toward the staircase that led to the first floor of the building. With a satisfied smile, she closed the door and hurried to her desk. She picked up the letter Ebba had penned and read it once more.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Oh,
ma belle
, this will never light a spark in his eyes. Hmmm …” She set the letter on the desk, snatched up the pen, dipped it in the ink and began to scribble something under Ebba’s signature. “There!
That
will get his attention! Ha!” She chuckled to herself then rubbed her hands together in satisfaction. “Now I must see about a wedding dress for the poor girl.”

She crossed the office to a coat tree, removed her cloak and hat, donned them and went out the door. It was also time for Adelia Pettigrew to go to work.

N
owhere
, Washington Territory, two weeks later …

D
aniel Weaver stood
at the counter of the mercantile and tore open the letter his cousin Matthew Quinn had just handed him. His eyes began to water, and he wiped his arm across them to clear his vision. “I’m so nervous, I cain’t read it!”

“Give it to me,” Matthew said from behind the counter and held out his hand.

Daniel complied. “What’s it say? No, wait! Maybe you oughta read it to yerself first, then just tell me if’n she said no.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “If she said no, she’d have done it at the bridal agency.”

Daniel glanced at him. “Aw yeah …”

Matthew shoved his spectacles up his nose and perused the letter.
“Dear Mr. Weaver…”

“I said not out loud!” Daniel whined.

Matthew rolled his eyes again. “For Heaven’s sake, Daniel, what are you afraid of? No mail-order bride ever sends a letter of rejection to a man. Unless he’s already proposed, which you haven’t.” He shook the letter in his hand and resumed. “Dear Mr. Weaver …”

“Just get to the good part.”

Matthew frowned. “Good part?”

“Yeah.”

Matthew rubbed his face with his free hand and looked as if he was counting to ten. He looked at the letter again, then proceeded to read rapidly aloud:

M
y name is Ebba Knudsen
. Mrs. Pettigrew of the Pettigrew Bridal Agency has assured me that you would make a good match. Let me tell you a little about myself and you can be the judge.

I
am twenty years old
. My parents came to America from Sweden, and our family moved to Denver from Chicago about a year ago because their doctor thought the air here would be good for them. Alas, they are now dead …

M
atthew and Daniel
exchanged a look of alarm. Matthew swallowed hard and continued:

…
B
ecause of this
, I have decided to become a mail-order bride. Mrs. Pettigrew comes highly recommended, so I sought her help.

I
am
five feet and three inches tall with blonde hair and green eyes. I am a hard worker and would keep your house clean and can sew for you. I am a fair cook, though my parents thought I was excellent. I learned to cook from both my mother and my
mormor
(Swedish for grandmother) …

“
S
wedish – that’s interesting
,” Matthew said.

“Is that anythin’ like Eye-talian?” Daniel asked. “You know, like Bella, Calvin’s wife?”

“Well … they’re both from Europe, but other than that, no. Completely different.” Matthew cleared his throat and went on:

…
I
have
no brothers or sisters and no family left to me in this country. I don’t like being alone, which is another reason I wanted to become a mail-order bride and start a family. I can read and write and am very good with numbers and I have all my teeth …

H
e stopped
and began to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Daniel demanded.

Matthew grinned. “
And I hope you have all of yours
,” he recited slowly.

Daniel smiled brilliantly.

Matthew laughed and returned to the letter. “Ah, let’s see …
I look forward to hearing from you and what you think about the two of us becoming husband and wife. Sincerely, Ebba Knudsen. P.S. …
” Then his eyes went wide as his smile faded. He shook his head. “Good heavens, what the …” He looked at Daniel as his mouth opened, then back at the letter. “I don’t believe it!”

“Believe what? What’s it say?” Daniel asked as he leaned over the counter.

Matthew took a few steps back. “What the Sam Hill was this woman thinking?!”

“What?!”

Matthew gaped at him. “I … I … oh my …” He raised an eyebrow and stared at the letter again.

“What’s the dangblasted letter say?!” Daniel demanded. He was ready to climb over the counter if Matthew didn’t answer.

But just then Betsy Quinn, Matthew’s mother and Daniel’s aunt, entered from the hall that led to the family’s living quarters. Matthew quickly hid the letter behind his back, his face red. “Hello, Mother.”

“Why, Daniel! It’s so nice to see you!” she said, ignoring her son.

“Howdy, Aunt Betsy. I just came into town to fetch a few supplies and get the mail.”

“You’ll be spending the night, of course?”

“Sure will. Don’t fancy drivin’ the wagon home in the dark.”

She glanced around the mercantile that she and her husband ran with Matthew and his wife Charlotte. “Did anyone else come with you?”

“No, ma’am, just me.”

“Ah, I see,” she said with a smile. “Anxious to get your mail, I presume?”

Now it was Daniel’s turn to blush. “Ah shucks, Aunt Betsy, ya know I am. Speakin’ of which …” He turned to Matthew, who was shaking his head “no” vigorously. “… er … I was kinda hopin’ somethin’ came for me. Maybe tomorrow.” He shot his cousin a warning look, then quickly turned back to his aunt.

“You never know,” she said. “Of course, if you do get a letter from a mail-order bride, you know the sheriff will have no problem sending Deputy Turner out to your place to deliver it. That man loves going out there.”

“Him and Rose both do,” Daniel agreed.

His aunt smiled. “You know, sometimes I wonder what would have happened if Charlotte had married Deputy Turner instead of Matthew.”

“Perish the thought,” Matthew said in protest.

She turned to him. “It could have happened.”

“It almost did,” Matthew replied accusingly.

Daniel remembered
that
mess. About five years ago, Aunt Betsy had ordered poor Cousin Matty a mail-order bride without telling him. Matty returned home from college, eager to reunite with Charlotte Davis, the local girl he’d grown up with, only to find a mail-order bride on his doorstep the next day. He was furious, but his mother was determined to have her way.

“Well … it all turned out,” Aunt Betsy said with a placating smile. “And Matthew, I’m glad you and Charlotte are so happy. Now if you’d just give me some grandchildren,
I’d
be happy too!” With a swish of her skirts, she disappeared back down the hall before either man could comment.

“It’s not for lack of trying,” Matthew mumbled under his breath. Then he recalled the letter in his hand, and craned his neck to make sure his mother was truly gone before re-reading the postscript. “Wow.”

Daniel was still frustrated. “What’s that ‘wow’ supposed to mean?”

Matthew folded the letter, put it back in its envelope and handed it to Daniel. “Just what I said. Wow.”

Daniel glanced between his cousin and the letter. “If’n ya say so, Matty.” Now he was more curious than ever. “Did she say she was pretty?”

Matthew tried to stifle a chuckle. “Something like that. I think you should write her back right away. She sounds … like an interesting match. Just what you’re looking for.”

“She does? Well, that’s good news!”

“Indeed it is,” Matthew agreed, turning to the shelves behind the counter. He grabbed a feather duster and set to work. “Oh, did Aunt Mary give you a list for me to fill?”

“Aw yeah.” Daniel searched his pockets. “Hmmm, I know it’s here somewhere …”

“Well, when you find it, just set it on the counter.”

“Doggone, where’d I put that thing?” Daniel lamented as he patted his shirt pocket. He shrugged and went through them all again. “Oh, here it is!”

Matthew glanced at him over his shoulder. “I’ll fill it tomorrow before you leave, how’s that?”

“Sounds good to me. I’m kinda hungry. Think I’ll go see what Aunt Betsy has on the stove if’n ya don’t mind.”

“Sure. Supper will be ready soon. Don’t eat too much or she’ll take a stick to you.”

“I won’t.” Daniel headed for the hallway that led to the kitchen. “After supper, can ya help me write a letter back?”

Matthew smiled. He’d helped three of his Weaver cousins write their letters to prospective brides; what was one more? Besides, he was willing to do just about anything to get his boisterous cousins to settle down. Then they wouldn’t be in his hair so much every time they came to town for supplies.