The Widow Finds Love (Mail Order Bride Series) (2 page)

It was late July, 1863 and a blustery damp day.  She had learned the day before, that James, John’s younger brother had been killed during a battle at Fredericksburg, Virginia.  The sole surviving son of the Thomas family was William, who was with the Confederate forces somewhere in Virginia.  There had not been a letter from him in quite some time.  His name had not been found in the roles of the dead or wounded.  Rebecca and Sarah were having dinner with John’s devastated parents following the loss of their second son.

“I just wish this war would hurry up and be over.  There’s been so much death already.  Just end it now,” John’s mother said.

“If it ended now, then John and James’s deaths would have been for nothing.  They were fighting for the South, because they believed in our way of life,” her husband, Malachi, said.

“I don’t want to seem disloyal, but I agree with Mama.  There’s been too much killing already,” said Sarah.

“The preacher told us the South cannot win because all of the manufacturing plants are in the North, and all we have is cotton.  The cotton has to be sold to foreign countries in exchange for guns and ammunition.  They have to run past a blockade to even get away from Charleston,” Sarah said.

“The preacher doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” her father-in-law said. 

“He’s travelled all over the country, Papa.  The Yankees have ships guarding Charleston and either sink or capture a lot of those trying to get out.  He says most of the gun plants are in New Jersey and the mills are all up north.”

“I don’t want to hear any more talk like that in my house.  It borders on sedition, that’s what,” he said.

“Yes, Papa,” she said and fell silent.

Sarah changed the subject.  “Papa, what do you think about me trying to get a share cropper to help me with the farm?”

“I don’t know where you would find one,” he said.  “And if you find one, I don’t know that I would trust him.  They would try to cheat you, just because you’re a widow woman.  We’ll get by, just like we did last year.  Maybe William will be back by picking time.”

“I don’t know if I can hang on, Papa.  We didn’t get near as many bales last year as we did before John went to war.  And remember, he did the planting last year.  Things didn’t get cultivated this year the way they did when John was doing it.  Now the government wants us to cut back on planting and grow more food.  That might not be a bad idea, since the general store hardly has anything.  If we don’t grow it, we might not have enough to eat.”

“You’ll hang on, Sarah, I’ll see to that, so you can stop worrying.”  The subject was closed.

Three weeks later, on the tenth of August, they would find William had died July 3, 1863 on the third day of the battle at Gettysburg.  They had made a greater sacrifice than any other family in York County, having given all three of their sons to the cause.  Rebecca was now the last in this line of Hutchisons..

* * *

As Sarah had predicted, the 1863 crop was smaller and the 1864 crop was even thinner.  Her garden was productive so there was no shortage of food.  Her hands had paid the price for all of the manual labor.  They were as calloused as those of a field hand. 

Malachi Hutchison was Sarah’s father-in-law, and he, along with some of their fellow church members formed a group of farmers that went from farm to farm, planted and later picking the cotton.  There were a lot of households without a male present, and most of them needed help.

* * *

The news flashed across the telegraph wires on April 9, 1865.  The bloody conflict was over.  Robert E. Lee had surrendered at Appomattox Courthouse.  Many people chose not to believe it, and saying  “Bobby Lee would never surrender.  In spite of all of the bad news, and the long casualty lists, I believe the South’s cause is right, and we will prevail in the end.” 

Many more rejoiced in it being over.  A great price had been paid.  None paid a higher price than the price paid by the Hutchison family of Yorkville.  A stark reminder of the terrible toll was the parade of the exhausted, the crippled and the sick veterans that paraded past the farm belonging to  Sarah Hutchison.  She fed all who stopped, she allowed all who asked, to sleep in the barn as they made their way back to their families. 

Other than in the faces of the men, there was little evidence of a war in Yorkville.  Sherman had planned to pass through on his way to Georgia, but was persuaded by the CSA deployment to take another route.

By August, the carpetbaggers and the scalawags descended on Yorkville, looking for ways to capitalize on the plight of the impoverished farmers.  They made ridiculous offers for the farms and in many cases, the destitute accepted the offers.  On more than one occasion, well dressed black men came by, with an air about them, suggesting they believed it was their right to take the land.

Taxes were raised to exorbitant figures, when payment could not be made, the land was seized.  The sheriff came to Sarah’s farm.  “Miz Thomas, I come to collect the back taxes on your farm,” he said. 

I paid all my taxes.  Wait, I’ll get the receipts,” Sarah said.  She returned with the receipts.  “Here’s my receipts, Sheriff.  All marked paid.” 

“Ma’am, them’s the receipts for the regular taxes.  What I need now is the money for the new taxes that was just passed,” the sheriff said.

“Sheriff, I don’t have the money to pay any more taxes.  I paid all I owed.”

“As I told you, you need to pay the new taxes.  If you don’t pay by the end of the month, I’ll have to evict you and take the farm and equipment.” 

At the end of the month, they took her farm, along with the furnishings.  With no other options, she and Rebecca moved in with her parents on their farm.  With the little bit of money Sarah had left, her father had managed to avoid foreclosure and was able to keep his farm.

Sarah was beaten.  “I can’t do it anymore, Papa.  I have to do something.  I don’t know what, but I am going to do something,” she said.

“Sarah, it’s going to be all right.  Things will return to normal next year.  You wait.  There will be a lot of people looking for work and we will get a bigger cotton crop than we’ve had in years.  It’s going to be easy to sell at a good price too.  There will be a big market for it.  You’ll forget about all of the unpleasantness before you know it,” he said.

“I’ll never forget it as long as I live here, Papa.  There are too many ghosts.  I need to get away from all of these memories.  Rebecca needs a father,  but all of the men my age are gone.  I heard someone say that one in five Yorkville males was killed.  One in five, Papa, and look at the Hutchisons.  All three sons gone.  There’s just too many reminders here.” 

Calvary Baptist Church, September 1868…

A typical September day in Yorkville.  The weather was clear, without the oppressive humidity seen in August.  Prior to the war, the Hutchisons and the Walters were members of the Calvary Baptist Church.  The congregation was small and did not have a full time preacher.  They were served by the Reverend Deas, a circuit preacher who pastored four churches, despite being sixty years old.  He had performed the ceremony when Sarah and John had been married.

“Sarah, how are you and Rebecca getting along?” Reverend Deas asked.  “I heard about you losing the farm.  I’ve seen that happen too many times lately.  It’s just downright sinful what them scalawags are doing.  It was a blessing to see the war end, but these people come in here and take advantage of the widows.  Sinful, that’s what it is.  The Lord will see they get their desserts.”

“I tell you, Preacher, it’s been tough.  We were lucky enough to save Papa’s farm, but them having to support Becky and me puts a strain on them.

“Preacher, when you look around the church, there are more widows than unmarried men.  Is it that way all over?” she asked.

“It is,” he said.  “The war took a terrible toll.  York District lost most of its twenty and thirty year old men, leaving a lot of destitute widows behind.  I’m afraid those who don’t have family are on the brink of starvation.  The church does what it can to help, but we don’t have much ourselves.”

“Are you performing any marriages  on your circuit,?”

“There’s no one to marry,” he said.  “I see women doing desperate things.  Things that were unheard of a few years back.”

“What kind of things?” she asked.

“A widow over at Antioch, left her family and went out west to marry a man she had never even seen,” he said.  “That is a mark of desperation in my book.  They don’t have the slightest idea of the character of the man they are going to meet and marry.  I’ve heard tell there have been others doing pretty much the same thing.”

“Where do they hear about these men?” she asked.

He said, “They’re mostly from the mining and farming country out west.  I heard mention of a newspaper that runs advertisements for both men and women.  Surely you aren’t thinking of doing such a thing are you?”

“Desperate times call for desperate things, Preacher,” she answered.  “Mama and Papa are getting up in years.  I don’t want to live my life out alone.  I might be tempted by something like that.  Do you happen to know the name of the paper?”

“I believe it was called The Matrimonial News out of Kansas City,” he said.  “I guess you could write them, but be careful, Sarah.”

“I will, Preacher, and thank you,” she responded.

Later that evening…

It probably wouldn’t be too smart to tell Mama and Papa about this, s
he thought as she penned a letter to the matrimonial paper.  Her letter read in part:

“I learned of your newspaper today and as I am in need of a husband, I would be grateful if you could provide me with some information about the process.  I am a
twenty five year old widow.  I have brown hair and brown eyes.  I am five feet six inches and my weight is proportional.  I do not think I am unattractive.  I have limited means and I have a five year old daughter, but I have lived on a cotton farm most of my life.  I would like to correspond with those of approximately the same age with normal size and weight, with marriage as a possibility.  Children would be no hindrance.

“I don’t know what your requirements are, since I have never seen your newspaper.  If there is a fee, please notify me and I will send same.  (s) Sarah Hutchison, Yorkville,  SC.”

After posting the letter, Sarah thought,
I wonder if this was such a good idea?  Oh well, I don’t have to do anything about it even if I get an answer.

Two weeks after mailing her letter, Sarah received two pieces of mail.  One was a copy of The Matrimonial News.  The other was a letter from the editor that explained the way the paper operated: No names or addresses revealed without the owner's permission.  All mail would go through the editor until permission was given for direct mail.

The editor’s letter went on to say “You provided all of the information normally used in an advertisement, so I have taken the liberty of creating an ad for you.  Ads submitted by ladies are free, so there will be no fee.  Should you have questions, please ask.  It closed with, “To date, our ads have resulted in over 1,500 marriages. Our sincerest hope is for your similar success.”

Well, that sounds encouraging.  Now all I have to do is wait and see what happens.  It would be wonderful if… 
She allowed herself the luxury of daydreaming about what might happen. Opening the paper, she went through the ads, and found her post near the front of the paper.  She was assigned reference number 2920.  The wording was essentially what she had written in her letter.  Going through the ads, she found most of them were either from widowers in their forties seeking companionship or from men in their twenties looking to end their loneliness.  She did not see any from farmers, but there were a lot of ranchers.

She laid the paper aside, to go through later, but now she had to help her mother prepare the evening meal.

“Mama, at church today, I saw there were more widows than single men and asked the preacher about it.  He said it was the same all over his circuit.  The men are all gone, and I want a husband, and Rebecca needs a father.”

“I know, dear.  I don’t know what to tell you.  It’s going to be the same throughout the South and more than likely the same up north.

“Have you visited the Hutchisons recently?,” she asked.

“I spoke with them at church today.  Becky and I are going over on Wednesday for a visit.  We need to go more often, but it’s just so sad.  The pictures of John, James, and William are a constant reminder to them.  I really don’t know how they stand it.  No parent should outlive their son, let alone three of them.”