West For Love (A Mail Order Romance Novel) (3 page)

The thirty minute travel into town
left Anna plagued by her own thoughts and worries some more. Once in town, Anna
decided to walk more than she had to. She needed to experience life and people.
To experience something outside of her house, outside of the guilt, the regret,
the pain. She walked by eggs, knowing she needed to buy eggs. She walked by the
store where she could get more material for her father’s pants, also doing so
on purpose. At the post office, she paused and admired some of the people
walking in and out. Some smiled at Anna. Others acknowledged who she was by offering
snide remarks and scoffing at her.

But one thing caught her attention.

A man stood just inside the post
office.

He was dressed in the most
beautiful suit Anna had ever seen. A golden chain hung from his pocket and he
held a small hat in his hand. When he turned his head and whistled, Anna saw a
thin black mustache on the man’s face. He had his right hand on the counter and
tapped his fingers, without a care in the world.

Anna took a step, ready to leave
the post office when she heard the man clear his throat.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you
looking at me.”

Anna froze. Her eyes went wide. She
slowly turned and saw the man stepping towards her.

“I apologize,” Anna said. “I heard
you whistling...”

“Terrible, isn’t it?”

“Whistling?”

“Yes.”

“The habit?”

“No,” the man said. “My whistling.
Terrible.”

“No... not so much...”

“Your cheeks are red,” the man
said. “That means you’re lying.”

He took another step towards Anna.
And another. And another. He now stood close enough to touch. He offered his
hand and Anna shook it.

“Do you know who I am?” the man
asked.

“I apologize, but no, I don’t,”
Anna said.

“Well, I know who you are.”

A woman appeared in the doorway and
called, “Henry! Here’s what you needed!”

“Excuse me,” the man - Henry -
said.

He retrieved a small bag of what
Anna assumed to be letters. He then came back to Anna and put his hat on. With
his free hand, the very tips of his fingers touched her back.

“Would you like to meet my sister?
We’re just up the street. We have a small office. We run and distribute
newspapers.”

“Your sister?” Anna asked. “Why?”

“If I may be honest, Miss Anna, we
can help you.”

Anna wasn’t sure whether to
question how this man knew her name or what he meant by help. Either way Anna
found herself slowly walking with him. Something about the man seemed trusting.
Was it the twinkle in his eyes, or the way his mustache moved with his lips?

“Can you whistle?” Henry asked.

“Yes,” Anna said.

“Serenade me, while we walk,” Henry
said. “If it’s no trouble, of course.”

Anna licked her lips and whistled a
few notes.

“Ah!” Henry cried out. “That’s how
music is supposed to sound. Keep going.”

Anna began to whistle, struggling
against a smile that demanded to be seen. By the time she and Henry reached the
small shop on the corner, Anna was giggling like a schoolgirl, covering her
mouth and wishing the redness in her cheeks would go away.

Henry opened the door and held it
for Anna.

“Please, come in,” he said and
smiled.

Anna stepped into the office and
for the first time since William announced their divorce, she felt somewhat at
peace.

Chapter Four

The woman sitting at the table had
big hair and even bigger glasses. She was beautiful, middle aged, and when she
saw Anna, she hurried to stand, tearing the glasses off her face. She smiled
big and rushed to meet Anna and embraced her as though they were old friends
that hadn’t seen one another in decades.

“I’m sorry,” Anna said as the hug
ended. “But I don’t...”

“Of course you don’t know me,” the
woman said. “I’m sure my brother didn’t tell you my name.”

“I leave introductions to be done
in person,” Henry said. He took his hat off and smiled. “Anna, this is my
sister, Mary Roberts.”

“Mary, a pleasure,” Anna said.

“Same here. And I’m hoping my
brother introduced himself. Henry Belles.”

“Yes,” Anna said.

The first thing that came to mind
was
Roberts
and
Belles
.
They were brother and sister with different last names. That left the
assumption that Mary was married.

“I’m going to assume Henry tracked
you down and dragged you here,” Mary said.

“Actually, it was Anna who spotted
me,” Henry said. “I was whistling...”

“Oh, you didn’t,” Mary said. “My
Aunt Martha could whistle better than Henry and she’s been deceased for ten
years now.”

Anna gasped and then laughed.

“Now, come with me,” Mary said.
“Let’s get settled. Have a cup of tea together and chat.”

“Tea?”

“Or anything else you’d like to
drink. We have everything you’d like.”

“Even something strong,” Henry
said. He dropped the bag from the post office on the table and walked away.
“You two ladies can chat in private.”

“Thank you,” Mary said.

She retrieved a chair for Anna and
patted it.

Anna sat. She looked at the bag and
then at Mary.

“You want to see what’s in the
bag?” Mary asked.

“It’s none of my business,” Anna
said. “I do apologize, but my family is expecting me...”

“Everyone is expecting someone,”
Mary said. She leaned and grabbed the bag. She held it by the bottom and shook
it. Out poured what had to be two dozen letters - no, three dozen or more.
“This is the proof.”

“Letters?” Anna asked.

“Not just letters,” Mary said.
“These are letters from men looking for wives.”

Instantly, Anna’s cheeks began to
flush.

“I’m not here to pressure you,”
Mary said. “Into anything. Henry and myself are well aware of what happened to
you.” Mary looked around and leaned towards Anna. She placed her hands on her
knees and whispered, “If it means a thing, I fault William, not you. He’s
always been more of a bully... a bully with a good smile.”

Anna was in disbelief until she
thought about how nice of a suit Henry wore. Of course he’d be associated with
William somehow. Anna should have known better than to stop and stare.

“I heard it was because you
couldn’t carry a child,” Mary said.

“Well, yes,” Anna said. She felt
cornered and started to feel embarrassed.

“That’s okay,” Mary said. “You
know, these letters have all kinds of stories to them. All kinds of men. You
can read one if you want.”

Anna looked at the letters. She
wasn’t sure what to do. Images of Abigail popped into her head. How let down
she had been over everything. One little look at a letter wouldn’t hurt a
thing, would it?

Anna nodded.

Mary opened a letter. She read it
first and then handed it to Anna.

“Look at this one.”

Man
of 6’ height, 200lbs, seeking young, energetic woman, early twenties, please.
Needs to care for home, myself, and willing to start a family right away. I
have land, stand to inherit $20,000.

It was a short letter.

Very short.

Anna turned page over and back
again. “That’s it?”

“Sometimes that’s it,” Mary said.
“These are usually the ones we print. Others are longer letters and we take
more care to find someone to match with. Not all are like that. I did have a longer
letter come a month ago. A heartbreaking letter at that. Would you like to read
that one?”

“I guess,” Anna said.

Mary shifted through organized
piles of papers and then handed Anna the letter. “I’ll leave you to read this.
I’ll go check on our drinks. If I know Henry like I think I do, he’s off on
another project and has completely forgotten about us.”

Anna nodded and Mary left the room.

Anna opened the letter and first
admired the neat penmanship.

Then she read it.

My
name is Josephine (you can call me Jo if you make me laugh once) and I’m
writing not for the benefit of myself but for the benefit of a broken hearted,
lonely man who deserves a clearer path in life. A path to share hand in hand
with the right woman, who I firmly believe in all my faith exists.

His
name is Thomas Calhor and my affiliation is that I am the wet nurse to his two
month old son, Thomas Jr. I call him that too - Thomas Jr. Just like that.
Thomas Jr. is a healthy baby, a beautiful boy with the brightest blue eyes, the
happiest of smiles, and is perhaps a mirror image of his father. They share the
same eyes and I know they would share the same smile if only Thomas would
smile.

As
you can assume by now, my job as a wet nurse implies something with Thomas
Jr.’s mother. The tragic end to her life came in the first moment of Thomas
Jr.’s life.

Anna stopped reading and folded the
letter. She put it on the table and put a hand to her mouth. Mary hadn’t been
kidding when she said that the letters came from all kinds of men. Anna had
just assumed
all kinds of
men
meant tall, short, lean, robust, rich, poor, blue eyes, brown
eyes, and features of that nature. She hadn’t considered men who had suffered
in a way it appeared Thomas Calhor had.

Anna looked over her shoulder,
wishing Mary would come back into the room so she could politely exit and go get
the eggs and cloth she needed. However, she couldn’t help but think of the
letter.

I
should finish it
,
Anna told herself.

She mentally counted to ten and
Mary still hadn’t returned. With her hands shaking, Anna finished the letter.

Shortly
after the birth of Thomas Jr. I was called to nurse the baby for the obvious
reasons. The moment I looked into his eyes and then into the tear filled eyes
of the baby’s father, I knew I couldn’t leave them. I also couldn’t love Thomas
like he was meant to be loved. I’m too old for him and in my mind I picture the
woman he deserves. A fair skinned woman with blonde hair and almost matching
blue eyes. Perhaps a shade of a darker blue, hinting at the understanding of
pain. A woman who can handle the circumstances. One able to step into not just
the role of wife but mother. I, of course, will be here as long as Thomas Jr.
needs me. But I cannot help Thomas anymore than I have. I’ve slowly taken on
the role of housekeeper, at no cost to Thomas, but I feel it’s not my proper
duty.

At
night, after Thomas Jr. is asleep, I often find Thomas standing on the porch,
looking into the distant night, lost. I know he thinks of his wife and so the
woman who will take Thomas’s strong hand in marriage will understand she will
not replace Thomas’s wife but instead be a new wife. Someone to care for Thomas.
Someone to care for Thomas Jr. Someone who wants the opportunity to have a
beautiful life.

Anna closed the letter and placed
it on the table. An overwhelming urge to cry hit her. She tried to imagine what
it must have been like. To carry a child all that time, only to never see the
baby after birth. To never hold it. To never smell its fresh, warm skin. To never
feed the baby.

And poor Thomas. To go through
something like that. To lose a wife was troubling enough but then to have
someone hand him a baby...

“It’s pretty hard, right?”

Anna sniffled and turned to see
Mary standing with a tissue. Anna took it and nodded.

“Losing love is hard,” Mary said.

“Losing in general is hard,” Anna
said.

“Which is where we’ve all been
before. But seeing your reaction to that letter gives me faith in this one...”

Mary had another letter for Anna to
read.

Anna shook her head. “No. No more
sad stories. I can’t. You don’t understand what it’s like for me...”

“No, this isn’t a new one,” Mary
said. “A week after receiving the first letter, I received a second. This one
from Thomas himself.”

Anna almost jumped out of her chair
to get the letter. She couldn’t believe she was eager to read something from a
stranger. But Josephine’s letter had been so poignant and heartfelt that Anna
wanted to read it and feel it from Thomas’s broken heart. Maybe it would help
her. Nothing more. Just to read... just to know someone else felt pain and
loneliness too.

“I’m going to be honest with you,
Anna,” Mary said. “Besides myself, I believe your eyes will be the only other
eyes to see this. I haven’t shown it to Henry. And I have not shown it to
anyone looking for a groom. Something about this touches me and I have been
looking for the right woman.”

With that said, Mary handed Anna
the letter. She took two steps back but didn’t leave the room. This time, Anna
didn’t care one bit. She wanted to read what Thomas had to say.

I
am Thomas, as previously indicated in the first letter. I will first say that
the previous letter was sent without my permission. While I tried to insist
Josephine leave my house right away for her careless actions, it was my son,
Thomas Jr., who saved her employment. She is the only one Thomas will bond
with. The sight is truly miraculous but also heartbreaking. Each time his small
lips latch to Josephine, I feel more of my heart shedding its own tears. You
see, when my son receives the milk God has given Josephine, he receives the
nourishment to grow. To become strong. To be healthy. And perhaps with that
will come one day an understanding of what happened to his mother. That gives
me hope. At the same time, in the same breath of my own air (mind you, the air
my deceased wife cannot breathe), I feel a wretched feeling. Because when Thomas
Jr. latches to Josephine, pain and anger hits me like none I’ve ever felt. I’m
inclined to sometimes tear the baby from Josephine’s giving breast and tell her
that she’s not his mother. While she does not try to be his mother, there’s
something that leaves me compelled to do so. It’s something Josephine has
sensed in me and something she’s spoken out loud to me about before. Which is
why she wrote the letter she did. I’m in understanding that Thomas Jr. deserves
a woman to care for him completely. To nurture, to love, to raise. Josephine won’t
be that woman but it’s Josephine who believes that I should have the same as
Thomas Jr. That is, a woman to nurture me and to love me. While I don’t fear
love, I fear that a woman may not understand my heart, my eyes, and the way
pain comes and goes, like a breeze on a cool April eve. Josephine explained all
she wrote in her letter and I do hope that if a response should come, if ever,
it would be from a woman who understands pain. A woman who is perhaps widowed,
jilted, even divorced. A woman who can be a good mother. Thinking this, writing
this, and reading it leaves me smiling in a heartbroken, foolish way because I
know the task is daunting and odds are next to impossible. But with this letter
comes my hope and if that at all means anything - to know my heart is still
beating - then I beg of the woman who reads this... the woman who could
nurture, love, and grow... please respond. I am a man of capable means with a
successful farm and moderate wealth. There is no need to come worried of
shelter nor food. There is only need to come with an open heart, an open mind,
and open eyes.