In Search Of Love: The Story of A Mail Order Bride (Mail Order Bride Series) (2 page)

Patrick Murphy was born June 9, 1850, in Greenfield, Indiana. He was the youngest of five children, consisting of three boys and two girls. He was the son of Michael and Margaret Murphy, who immigrated from Ireland in 1848.

During the period from 1845 to 1852, Ireland was plagued with a potato crop failure. Because one-third of the population was then solely relying on this cheap crop, the failure brought on a period of famine and starvation among the masses. The population of Ireland dropped by 20 to 25% during this period, with most of those leaving for the United States. Michael and Margaret and their three children were among those fleeing their homeland to settle in Greenfield, Indiana.

Through a family friend, Michael seized the opportunity to work the land as a share cropper with one of the gentry of Greenfield. It was a meager existence at best, their resources were further depleted by the arrival of two more children, with Patrick the youngest and last child in 1850.

In April of 1855, a tornado ripped through central Indiana, flattening everything in its path for a 125 mile path, at times becoming one mile wide. The home and outbuildings being used by the Murphy were completely demolished. The family cringed in a root cellar while the storm tore the buildings above them to splinters, leaving them homeless.

Michael determined it was time for safer environs. Having heard tales of the fertile grounds of Wyoming, Montana and Nebraska, he hired on to drive one of two wagons for one of the migrating families. There were stories told of free land being available as homesteads. All a person had to do was live on the land for five years and make improvements indicating the intent of living there permanently. This was called “proving up”. Michael filed a claim for 600 acres under the act. After five years, the land was yours, free and clear.

Under provisions of the Donation Land Act of 1850, the Murphys were able to claim 600 acres of land. When any of their male children reached eighteen, they would be able to claim 320 acres of their own. The Murphys were now owners of 600 acres of prime farm land. With timber plentiful, they built a log house large enough to accommodate their family. The Irish are a people to whom land ownership is a sign of making it and Michael and Margaret were now making it.

Under Irish customs, the eldest sons inherit family lands, Patrick realized he must seek his fortune outside the family lines, and he filed a claim of his own for 640 acres. (The set amount for a claim had been raised from 600 acres, and then later reduced to 160 acres by the Homestead Act.)

With the assistance of his family and neighbors, Patrick had harvested lumber from the plentiful forests of Oregon and built a cabin and barn. By his twentieth birthday, Michael was a farmer, and a property owner. By his twenty-fifth birthday his farm was prospering. In the spring of 1875, a grasshopper plague wiped out his wheat crop along with the crops of his neighbors.

An oppressing loneliness came over Patrick. Since he had finished school, there had been no female companions. He discovered no prospects for marriage. There was a dearth of women his age. On the few times he attended services at St Mary’s Catholic Church, he saw few unattached girls. Born out of desperation, he found The Matrimonial News and placed an ad for a bride in hopes of finding someone interested in marriage.

The Ad:

Poor but honest and lonely farmer, homesteading 640 acres, age 25, 5’10”, weight 150 lbs seeking correspondence with a female of same approximate age. Object: Matrimony if compatible. Reference #1892

This is a pathetic description of a desperate man,
he thought.
Why would any woman of sound mind respond to such a description?

Patrick found his ad in the newspaper. Three weeks later, he had received no responses.
I’m not surprised. There was nothing there to interest anyone. I’m going to give it two more weeks.
His two week deadline passed with no success. Placement of an ad was for one edition of the paper only. Patrick decided to spend the money to run the ad one more time. Allowing one week for his request to be displayed, he began his mail watch again.

The third week following the appearance of his second ad, he received a letter from the newspaper. He had received one answer! At last. Included with the letter was a reminder of the way the paper operated. His address would not be revealed to the responder until he chose to do do. In turn, he would not get the identity of his correspondent until she gave permission to the editor. Also included was a caution. He should beware of the possibility of fraudulent information. The paper did not vet the subscribers, so it was
caveat emptor,
Latin for “let the buyer beware.”

He laid the letter by his bed in his cabin, unopened. It was still there the morning after he had picked it up. After a long day in his field, walking beside a harrow, he was frazzled. He heated some beans, the main staple of his diet and picked up the letter. With a sigh of resignation, he opened the letter.

It read:

Dear #1892, I take pen in hand to answer your ad. I am a school teacher. I am an avid reader and enjoy mathematics and geography. I have never married. I am twenty-four years of age. I am 5’ 4” tall and weigh 110 pounds. I have blond hair and blue eyes. I don’t believe I am unattractive, based on the opinion of my parents. I would like to correspond if you have interest. Sincerely, #1968
.

It is a nice letter,
he decided.
It is the only letter, so I will answer.
He had no paper with which he could answer. Rather than ride into Oregon City again, he rode to his father’s farm instead. In so doing, he would have the luxury of eating a meal other than beans.

“I don’t know whether we have any paper or not,” his father said, “ask your Mama. I don’t have much use for paper. Your Mama uses it to keep track of what we need from town. I guess you do that too.”

Not wanting to give the real reason for his need of paper, especially with his brother and sister around, he simply nodded. If they knew, he would never hear the end of it, since they could be merciless in their teasing.

His mother gave him two sheets of paper. “I only have three, so I’ll keep one back for my list and get some more on our next trip into town.

“You look tired. Are you getting enough rest.?” She asked.

“Probably not,” he answered, “it’s planting time, and there’s no time in the day to rest. I’ll catch up after I get it all in and covered,” he answered.

After enjoying the evening meal with his family, he slid the paper inside his shirt, kissed his mother, hugged his father and siblings and headed home.
It’s too late, and I’m too tired to answer it tonight. I’m going straight to bed.

In 1873,
Katerina Hauser completed the course of study at Columbus Teaching College.  She was one of three females in the class.  When the college president presented her diploma, he announced she had finished with the highest grades of any student in the ten year history of the college.  Along with her diploma, she received a form certifying her as an accredited teacher in the state of Ohio.  She accepted a teaching position with the Columbus school, as did most of her classmates.

After accepting the teaching position, Katerina told her father, “The school doesn’t pay enough for me to move away from home yet, as I wanted. 

“Papa, the school requires female teachers to remain unmarried.  Not being able to have a family and children of my own is not a life I look forward to.” 

Adler Mercantile was the largest store in Columbus’s Das Alte Südende, a predominantly German section of town.  Looking at bolts of fabric, Katerina found a newspaper someone had left on the fabric table.  “Do you know who this belongs to?” she asked the clerk.

The clerk, a balding man in his thirties, had remained near the strikingly beautiful blonde young lady since she had walked into the store.  At last, a chance to speak to her.  “Why no, a lady was in earlier and left it on the table.  If you want it, please take it, since it was abandoned.”

She smiled, revealing straight, white, perfect teeth.  “Thank you,” she said.  “I will take it.”  She picked up several pieces of fabric and along with the buttons, ribbons and lace she had already selected, and said, “I believe this will be all today.”

“Yes, ma’am.  Uhh, er… my name is Reinold Kahler.  I wonder if I might call on you?”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Kahler, but thank you for asking,” she smiled again.  “I really must be going, if you would get these things for me.”

* * *

The relationship between Katerina and her mother was such, she almost never engaged her in conversation.  Instead, it was her father to whom she turned, as she did this day. “Papa, I was shopping for material to make some new clothes for school.  Look in this newspaper I found in Adler’s yesterday.  There is nothing in the paper except ads posted by men and women in search of someone to marry.”  She handed the paper to her father.

Karl’s old country nature looked at the ads in disbelief.  “Women do such things?” he asked.  “What could bring someone to do this?”

“Desperation can cause a person to do desperate things.  Someone circled several of the ads.  Mama has never allowed a young man to call on me, let alone court me.  All of the men my age are too intimidated to even try.  I could do something like this, Papa.” 

Her father turned back to his last and the shoe he was making.  “Liebchen, I don’t know what to say or do.  The thought of you going off to the frontier to make marriage with someone you don’t know terrifies me.”

“The thought of growing old without ever having lived life or felt love terrifies me, Papa,” she said.

Katerina had begun making dresses to wear to class.  She was in a chair by the window one afternoon, taking advantage of the light, to sew lace around the edge of the sleeves of a new dress, when her mother came into the room, without knocking, as usual.  “Where did this come from, young lady,” she asked, waving the tattered copy of The Matrimonial News in front of her.

“Mama, why are you rummaging around in my room?” Katerina asked.

“Don’t change the subject,” her mother said.  “What are you doing with this… this rag?”

“My room is supposed to be private, Mama, you have no reason in here when I’m not here.  I am an adult and entitled to privacy.”

“You are living in my house and I determine what you are entitled to,” her mother said.

Katerina had never stood up to her mother before and this is where she decided to make her stand.  “It’s Papa’s house too, Mama, and I am paying for the privilege of living here now that I have work.”

“A pittance.  You pay a pittance,” her mother said.

“As soon as I can make other arrangements, I will move, Mama.  I hope you are satisfied.  For your  information, I found the paper in Adler’s store when I was getting the fabric.  I didn’t buy it, someone left it there and I asked if I might have it.  I find it interesting reading.  Now, I would like to have my paper, please,” she said.

Her mother threw the paper on the bed and left the room, but not without a last parting shot, “You should show the proper respect to the mother that gave you birth, and after all I have done for you.”

Katerina went downstairs to the shop, where she found her father putting the finishing touches on shoes he had been commissioned to make for the wife of one of the community leaders.  Upon seeing the expression on his daughter’s face, he stopped what he was doing to talk to her.

“What is it, my little Katerina?  What is upsetting you so much you appear on the verge of being ill.  Tell your Papa, and I will make it right.”

“Mama and I just had a bad argument.  She’s been searching my room and found the newspaper I showed you the other day.  She was furious, and demanded to know what I was doing with it.  She said as long as I live in her house, I will do what she says.

“Papa, I’m an adult, working person.  It isn’t much, but I pay to live here.  She has no right to go through my room when I’m not here.

“I told her I will move as soon as I can make arrangements.  I might be able to stay with Berta Sundheim. She was in my class at Teachers College and teaches in the same school I do.  She’s a nice girl.”

“Ach, Gott, please don’t move yet.  Let me try to talk to her again, will you?” her father pleaded.

“For you, Papa, I will do it,” she said. 

Katerina had read and reread the newspaper until it was limp.  She read all of the ads, for both men and women.  She found the ads from women extremely interesting.  Many were from widows, who had lost their mates in the recent war, and having no local prospects for a relationship, went beyond their local borders. 
Such courage to do that.  Do I dare take that chance?  I do. I’m going to place an ad.   If I’m going to live my own life, I must take a chance somewhere.

After several attempts at writing the ad, her final composition read:

“23 year old lady, Height: 5’ 4”, Weight: 110lbs.  She is attractive, has limited means and would like to hear from an educated, established gentleman of same approximate age, desirous of a wife
.  She is well educated, a successful teacher and affectionate.”

Read, reread, and rewritten, she placed the ad in an envelope and sent it off to the Kansas City office of The Matrimonial News.  Two weeks later, she saw her ad in the paper and not without trepidations, she waited for the results.

Two more weeks, and she had a letter from the newspaper, with four letters answering the ad.  The first one was from a man saying he was 27 years old, a miner in need of a grubstake, who asked about the extent of her means. 
This I’m not interested in,
she decided.  Two others were widowers, with small children looking for a wife and mother. 
I’m not ready for that kind of burden starting out. 
The fourth letter was from a man in his mid thirties. 
Too much of an age gap,
she decided.

After another two weeks, with no promising results, she decided she might be better off looking at ads advertising for a wife.  She went back to the original paper and carefully read through the ads by men searching for wives.  Many were from widowers, most were from men beyond an age she found acceptable.  One ad caught her eye:  “Poor but honest and lonely farmer, homesteading 640 acres,  age 25, 5’10”, weight 150 lbs  seeking correspondence with a female of same approximate age.  Object: Matrimony, if compatible.  Reference #1892”

This sounds like an honest person might talk
. 
It sounds interesting, but the paper is so old, he had probably found someone.
  The ad was missing from the next 2 editions of the paper, so she assumed his search was over. 

  After school, she had gone into Adler’s to see if she could buy the latest issue of The Matrimonial News.  She was pleased it was a different clerk helping her this time.  At home, after dinner, she settled back  to read the ads in the new paper.  Most were new, but she saw the same ad from the person she had come to think of as “the poor farmer”.  He must have had no success so far.  Without further thought, she began to write:

“Dear 1892, I take pen in hand…”