By
Helen Keating
Copyright 2014 Helen Keating
The wolves howling woke Charles from a deep slumber. Wolves howled. It was their nature. Charles would have liked to roll over and throw his arm around his wife, comfort her, and fall back asleep. It was his nature.
Unfortunately, the other side of his bed was smooth, the heavy quilt still pulled up, empty.
The wolves howling weren’t a terrible noise. There was a time — when Charles had first hacked the outpost out of the forest around it — that the howling frightened him. He thought it meant the wolves were coming for him.
How dare he set up his livelihood on their precious land? Inanely, he’d barred the door, worried for the horses in the small barn and then sat by the fire with his rifle across the knees, trying to estimate how close the pack was.
Now, he thought maybe the wolves howled because they were lonely. Many a night, he’d listened to one lone animal calling out and others answering it. The forest was big — a place that Charles both loved and respected. The solitary wolf had to know his pack was out there, waiting for him, searching for him.
Charles sometimes wished that he could simply open the door and howl out into the world, looking for companionship. Why couldn’t someone share his existence out here in the wild, listening to the wolves call to one another?
He doubted such a woman existed.
Though he knew it was wicked and useless, he sometimes envied the families who regularly stopped by the outpost for supplies, things they couldn’t grow or cut out of the forest. One couple — Lars and Joann — were particularly close.
Lars had the blond hair and blue eyes of his parentage while Joann was smaller and darker. They made their living deep in the forest, trapping and trading furs. They often paid him with the finest pelts he’d ever felt.
The couple understood about the forest, held it in the same esteem that Charles did. Joann recognized and used the many plants of the region and could season a meal or make a poultice equally well. Lars was an expert at snares and traps, could skin an animal nearly as well as he could breathe, and could track better than anyone Charles knew.
They worked perfectly together and Charles envied his friends for it. He knew it was wrong, knew that he shouldn’t compare lives with them. He felt they were so lucky to have found each other, lucky to fit together like they did.
All Charles wanted was a woman like Joann, one who would listen to the wolves with him and wonder what they were saying.
It was no use. The wolves were quite close to the outpost and Charles couldn’t sleep, the pervasive loneliness he was experiencing making a poor bedfellow. Things always seemed worse at night. In the morning, he knew he’d be up, opening the outpost, taking inventory, planning the monthly trip to town, and doing other chores around the place.
Keeping busy was key, he recognized, but there was nothing he could do when the wolves were so close and the night so dark.
Charles stepped out of bed, shivering a little. The nights were downright cold now. He wondered when he’d witness the season’s first snow. It could be any day, really. He wrapped a blanket around himself and added a log on the fire. The flames brightened the room, but he lit a candle all the same. Light helped banish the demons of solitude.
Of course, Charles had harbored no illusions about what kind of life he was going to lead when he decided to come west. He’d picked this area of the country because it was remote.
One day, back when he used to live in St. Louis, he’d realized he was suffocating. It was an almost physical compression of his throat and chest. There were so many people, so many buildings, soot, garbage, boats, carriages. Citizens bustled around in self-importance, completing meaningless tasks.
Did going to the theater every week really enrich their lives? They only endured the show so they could be seen and see other people. It had made Charles panic and seek out solitude.
He could usually find comfort in the Bible, and with prayer. Good Christian folks had raised Charles. That day, the Bible had told him that enough was enough.
“No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man,” Corinthians read. “God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.”
How could Charles escape the follies of St. Louis? There was much temptation in the city — temptation to be frivolous and waste your days with ridiculous pursuits. How could these temptations help him find his escape?
It dawned on him suddenly, as if God himself had whispered into his ear. Charles thought about Oregon. He’d read something about it once, that you could go miles without seeing another living soul.
That sounded exactly what he’d needed. Some place where he could rise above the depravity of a crowd of people who thought in material wealth and not spiritual wealth.
After that incident, he’d hopped on the first wagon train he could find. The moment they went over a rise and left behind the smoke and crowd of the city, his chest had loosened. He found himself on the plains, found God in the Oregon forest.
Lars and Joann had been a part of the wagon train, too.
“Your homestead’s eaten up with trees, friend,” Lars had said, grinning as Charles had picked the place for the outpost.
“Better trees than people,” Charles had replied, staring up at the behemoths reaching their needled branches toward the heavens.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t be happier in town?” Joann teased.
They’d gotten to know one another very well on the journey west. They knew what he sought because it was their goal, too. Solitude. A life away from people.
Lars and Joann had stayed long enough to help him raise the outpost, then they’d gone farther into the forest. Charles had wanted to go with them to help with the cabin, but his friends simply shook their heads.
“I’m the left hand and she’s the right hand,” Lars had tried to explain. “We’re one body, really. She works as well as any man.”
“He works half as well as any woman,” Joann laughed, “which is saying something. I sometimes get a hankering for his cornbread.”
They’d vanished into the trees, promising to visit soon. They’d have to for some supplies.
Watching them go, Charles realized he was lonely for the first time in his life. In St. Louis, he’d choked on people. He realized that perhaps he hadn’t met the right people. In Oregon, he was suddenly bereft of the most meaningful people he’d ever met.
He craved a close connection with someone like Lars and Joann had.
Now, it was very nearly a year to the day since he’d arrived in the forest. The trading post was up and running. He usually got five or ten customers each week, alerting him to the fact that an increasing number of people were finding themselves in the forest.
None of them, of course, were single women. Charles was fairly sure he didn’t have a chance of meeting his future companion from someone needing gunpowder, flour, and sugar.
He pulled a chair closer to the fireplace and opened the Bible. Reading it brought nearly as much comfort as the light and warmth of the room.
“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand,” he read.
Charles knew that God was always with him, even as the wolves howled outside. It wasn’t spiritual loneliness that experienced. The Lord was his soul’s companion.
He needed a human companion — a wife.
Genesis read, “Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.”
God, in all his infinite wisdom after creating Adam in the Garden of Eden, knew that his creation needed a companion. Thus, Eve was created. Every man needed a second half, a right hand to his left hand, a friend, a partner in the household, a warm body to throw his arm around in the dead of night, listening to wolves.
A man was made to be with a woman, Charles realized. Perhaps it wasn’t good to spend so much time alone. Impulsively, he decided that today was the day he was going to go to town to restock the outpost. It was usually something he did at the end of each month, but he’d only be a week early.
He retrieved his ledger book, where he kept track of the outpost’s inventory, and read through it. It was fairly complete. He took a pencil and erased a couple of amounts, recalculating them in his head. These figures had accounted for what he’d use or sell through next week.
Yes, Charles thought, he had been alone for too long. He snuffed out the candle and got dressed. He put on a heavy coat and boots before pulling a hat over his shaggy hair. He’d started growing it out — along with an almost reddish beard — during autumn for extra warmth.
With a sudden start, Charles realized the wolves had stopped howling.
He took down his rifle from its rack regardless and stepped outside. His little cabin was just feet from the outpost. He liked the separation, reminding himself that he had his own home away from work.
A quick check on the outpost was all he needed to feel secure. He left a small sign on the outside of the door, explaining that he’d gone to town to restock. He didn’t want anyone coming through and thinking something had happened to him.
The forest was already gray ahead of dawn by the time he was on the road. The horses steamed in the morning chill, expelling snorts from their nostrils in twin vapor trails. The wagon bed behind him was full of pelts and other goods he could sell or trade in town.
It was usually a long ride — about twenty-five miles — to town. In some places, the road was little more than wheel divots barely discernible in the grass. The horses knew the way well.
By the afternoon, Charles was in town. He did his trading, selling, and buying in a short time. The town had grown since he’d last seen it. It was nowhere near St. Louis size, but Charles was still glad he didn’t live in it.
When his tasks were complete, Charles went to the post office to collect his mail and the mail of many of his outpost customers. It was easier for them to retrieve their correspondence from Charles than to come all the way into town for it. It was a service he was more than happy to provide.
He picked up a newspaper while he was there and sat in the wagon to relax for a little while. He’d have a bite to eat and head back to the outpost. He wouldn’t make it back before dark, but Charles wasn’t worried. The horses knew the way and he trusted in God.
Later, he could only figure that it was God who had directed his eyes to the advertisement on one of the pages he turned to in the publication. Charles couldn’t fathom how else it could have happened.
“Don’t be lonely any longer,” the ad read. “Do something about it — contact our company, which expertly matches up eligible men and women no matter where they are located.”
The advertisement displayed an address. Would the company really send him a companion tailored to his needs all the way to Oregon?
Something pushed Charles to suspend his skepticism and he was devout enough to recognize the will of God at work. He stepped back into the post office, bought a sheet of paper, envelope and stamp. He borrowed a pen from the postmaster and jotted off a letter.
“My name is Charles Green,” it read. “I live at a remote outpost in Oregon and am looking for a wife. I would like her to be able to live without many modern comforts and to be able to be happy without society. I am a Christian and would like the same in a wife. Looking forward to your response.”
He licked the envelope and sealed it before addressing it and adding the stamp. It was all done in less than five minutes, and it would change the course of his life.
“Ramona, he’s here!”
Mona looked up with a practiced nonchalance despite the racing of her heart. She resisted the urge to look down at herself. Her appearance was perfect, the ringlets of her hair falling artfully into her décolletage. Mona’s ball gown was a pale rose, the straps pushed off her shoulders. She’d gotten long gloves dyed to match the color, knowing that it emphasized her fair, flawless skin.
“Well, go on,” whispered Kitty, Mona’s best friend. “You know he’s waiting for you to approach him.”
“Let him wait,” Mona said haughtily. “He can approach me if there’s something he wants to say.”
Kitty tittered at Mona’s blasé attitude to the most handsome man in New York City.
If Mona was any other girl, she’d be rushing to say her hellos to Mayor David Addams. Mona wasn’t any other girl. She was a Lawson, the youngest member of a prestigious old-wealth family in the city. The mayor would come to her in time, she knew. He had plenty to say to her. His love letters told her as much.
“Ugh, what is she wearing?” Kitty hissed. “Doesn’t she know she shouldn’t go out dressed like that?”
Overall, Mona was nonplussed by the appearance of the mayor’s wife, Margery. They occasionally appeared in public together, like at this benefit. Mona would’ve been more surprised to see the mayor without Margery on his arm.
Margery was pretty enough. Mona wasn’t so arrogant to deny the woman her looks. She just wasn’t the right woman for the mayor of New York City. That shade of gold she’d picked for her gown washed her out terribly.
Everyone agreed that Ramona Lawson was the right woman for David Addams. Well, all of Mona’s friends, at least.
“He’s coming over here!” Kitty whispered excitably in Mona’s ear. Mona waved her friend away like a fly and tried not to preen. Of course, he’d come over here. There was much to talk about.
“Miss Lawson,” David said, taking her hand and kissing it. His lips were soft and seemed to linger on her skin. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Why, good evening, Mayor Addams,” Mona said, smiling coolly. “It should be no surprise at all that the Lawson family is interested helping to raise the funds for those poor orphans.”
Mona did care about orphans in an abstract way. She always prefaced the word with “poor,” anyway. She was usually happier to attend the charity events — usually balls, dinners, and socials — in her parents’ stead. They simply assumed she was passionate about the Lawson family’s philanthropy.
Mona simply liked being around the mayor.
“Of course, Miss Lawson,” David said. “I think I may have a proposal for your family from the city. It would do me great honor if you would see it delivered to your father.”
The mayor pulled a sealed envelope from his tuxedo pocket and laid it in Mona’s gloved hands. The daring! She knew it was another love letter for her eyes alone and here David was giving it to her in full view of Margery.
“Oh, hello Mrs. Addams!” Mona exclaimed, pretending to only just notice the mayor’s wife. It thrilled her to be holding a love letter from the woman’s husband right in front of her eyes. Mona wondered if Margery even suspected.
“Miss Lawson, a pleasure, as always,” Margery said politely. “We are, of course, grateful for everything the Lawson family does for this wonderful city.”
“Of course,” Mona said, inclining her head.
“Perhaps if your family could deliver a response to that proposal tomorrow, I’d be forever in your debt,” David cut in. “Please see it done.”
“It will be,” Mona promised, staring into the mayor’s eyes. She’d write a searing response to his love letter. It was what she lived for.
The mayor and his wife continued to do their obligatory circuit around the ballroom. Mona knew she’d see them again. She’d dance with him, too. He was an incredible dancer and Margery was only mediocre.
He always sought her hand during the most popular songs.
“Open it,” Kitty prompted. “What does it say?”
“Probably just the same old things,” Mona said, feigning boredom.
Kitty snorted at her friend and snatched the letter, breaking the wax seal.
“Give that back!” Mona squealed, giggling. She swore sometimes that Kitty was more interested in the mayor’s love letters than she was.
“My dear Mona,” the letter began, “I pine for the light caress of your glances. I regret each day that I spend without you. Right now, my advisers tell me that a divorce from Margery would be simply too scandalous, especially with elections coming up. However, after I win the mayor’s seat again, or perhaps when I’m done with holding the office, I feel we can be together as a man and woman should be together.”
Mona frowned. Well, that just wouldn’t do. After he was done with holding the mayor’s seat, she had no interest in him. She wanted to be the mayor’s wife, not David Addams’ wife. Leave that to Margery, if it pleased her.
Mona was already framing the response in her mind.
“My dear mayor,” it’d read. “With a Lawson by your side, you’d be unbeatable at the polls. I’d look good on your arm, you must know that. This city wouldn’t be able to take its eyes off us for a second. Advise your advisers of this. Ramona Lawson is an asset to the campaign. New York City wouldn’t bat an eye at a tiny divorce.”
She wondered how soon she could get to write it.
The evening passed too quickly for Mona’s liking. She only danced with David three times in between bidding on auction items with her parents’ money. One of the items was a lunch date with the mayor, which Mona won handily with an exorbitant bid that discouraged all others. She hoped she wasn’t being too obvious, but the majority of her didn’t care.
Let Margery wonder. Let the city wonder.
“That can’t be the time,” Mona said, squinting at a clock across the room.
“Will your parents be worried?” Kitty asked. “Mine don’t care how late I stay out as long as I have an escort.” Kitty scanned the room until pinpointing a handsome specimen with sandy blond hair. “I choose you, escort,” she said, giggling.
Mona frowned. It was well past midnight. Her parents were somewhat old-fashioned and very much difficult. They liked her to make appearances at these charity events, but they couldn’t seem to understand why she liked to stay until the end.
Signaling to the valet, Mona stood. “Bring me my carriage,” she said.
“Surely you’re not going already?” David approached with Margery nowhere in sight.
“Already?” Mona repeated, laughing behind her gloved hand. “Mayor Addams, it’s the witching hour. A young thing can’t be seen out this late. What will the papers think?”
“At least allow me to escort you home,” David said, taking her elbow. “Maybe I can speak with your father about that proposal.”
Mona didn’t know why the mayor tried to keep up the pretense in front of Kitty. Surely he had to realize that her friend knew every gory detail?
“Where’s Margery?” Mona asked. “The Lawson estate is nowhere near they mayor’s mansion. Wouldn’t she be upset at such a long journey at such a late hour?”
“I sent Mrs. Addams home an hour ago,” he remarked. “She was looking tired.”
“How thoughtful you are,” Mona said, the wheels in her brain turning.
A carriage ride across the city with the mayor during the dead of night. The potential for scandal was great — too great to resist.
“I think I will take that escort,” she said finally. “Kitty, I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.”
“Likewise,” Kitty crowed, making her way across the dance floor to her target.
Mona took David’s arm and grandly made her way across the room. This was what it was like to be the mayor’s wife. People stepped out of their way, ogling the couple. Get used to it, New York, Mona thought. This is going to be a reality soon.
Once they were inside the carriage, David grasped her hands.
“I have waited all night to do this,” he said, kissing her softly on the cheek.
Mona recoiled coquettishly. “Restrain yourself, Mayor,” she said. “You remain a married man.”
“You’ve read my letter already.”
“I have already framed my response.”
“I can’t divorce her, Mona,” he said. “It would look terrible.”
“Not if you made her look terrible,” Mona said. “Set up an affair or something. I’m sure your boys could handle it.”
“You wicked thing,” David breathed, laughing quietly. “Whom do you love more — the man or the mayor?”
Mona smiled enigmatically and said nothing. Let him wonder.
There were no lights on in the estate when the carriage pulled up. Good, Mona thought. No interrogations from her parents.
“I wish that I were taking you to the mayor’s mansion instead of here,” David said wistfully.
“Only you can make that wish come true,” Mona said. “You know what you have to do.”
“I know.”
“Good night, Mayor,” Mona said, smiling sweetly and stepping down from the carriage.
She entered the estate quietly. Not even the servants were still awake. Mona felt daring and exhilarated. She wondered how long it would take the mayor to divorce Margery. Surely, he would do it now.
“Where have you been, young lady?”
Mona froze in the foyer. A lone lamp illuminated her mother and father, sitting in the salon in dressing gowns.
“What are you doing still awake?” she blurted out stupidly.
“How could we sleep when we knew our daughter was still in the city?” her mother demanded. “Do you think so little of your parents?”
“I was at the orphans’ charity ball,” Mona said. “You both knew that. It was for the good of the family.”
“The good of the family?” her father echoed incredulously. “It is after two in the morning. You’re soiling the Lawson name with your habits.”
“Who escorted you home?” her mother demanded. “That wasn’t our carriage out front.”
“Why, the mayor himself,” Mona said. “I hope you appreciate the connections I’m making for this family.”
“You rode across the city alone in a carriage with a married man,” her father groaned. “Think, girl. Did anyone see you?”
Just everyone at the ball, Mona thought, but assumed it would be better to keep her silence.
“Your love for scandal is going to ruin this family,” her mother said, “but we won’t allow it. Turn out your purse.”
“Why would you need to see what I keep inside my purse?” Mona asked, casting about quickly for a way to avoid it. The mayor’s note was in her purse. “My purse is private. How can a daughter have respect for her parents if they have no respect for her?”
“Turn out your purse,” her father commanded.
“No.”
“Disobedient wretch,” her mother said, rising from her chair and snatching the bag from Mona’s grasp.
All Mona could do was watch as her mother drew the letter out from its envelope as her father brought the lamp closer.
“Well, at least we’re blessed with the fact that you still haven’t convinced the mayor to divorce his wife,” her father spat after they’d scrutinized the paper.
Mona stood with her mouth agape. How could they have known?
Her mother held up a bundle of letters as an explanation. “We found the others.”
“How could you?” Mona exclaimed, tears of anger springing to her eyes. “How dare you go through my things?”
“It’s our duty as parents to protect you,” her father said. “Only we’d never guessed we would someday have to protect you from yourself.”
“We’re sending you away,” her mother said. “No Lawson is going to marry a divorced man, even if he is the mayor.”
“No Lawson would ever scheme for a man still married,” her father added.
“Marriage is what you need, but so is a change of scenery,” her mother continued. “We’ve found you a husband.”
Mona swallowed, her mouth dry. “Who is he?” she asked. “He better not be one of those dull law students you’ve been trying to force on me.”
Her father laughed humorlessly. “One of those dull law students could very well have been mayor or even governor one day, especially with you at his side,” he said. “No, we found something very different.”
“You will be going to Oregon,” her mother said. “Your husband to be is a trader. His name is Charles Green. He is a good Christian man in need of companionship. I pray to God that you will come to your senses out west.”
Mona spluttered for a few seconds before tapping into her full fury.
“You sold your daughter into marriage!” she shouted. “You have dishonored the Lawson name! You have dishonored me! This family’s place in society is over!”
Tears fell down her mother’s cheeks. “It is not good to eat much honey, nor is it glorious to seek one's own glory,” she said. “That’s from Proverbs. You are out of control, Ramona. I don’t know where we have gone wrong with you.”
“You have destroyed our family name,” Mona hissed. “This marriage will never bring our lineage honor.”
“So be it,” her father said quietly. “I would rather the world never hear the name ‘Lawson’ again than witness my daughter harm it any longer.”
Weeping, Mona fled the room. Her life was over, she was sure of it.
Charles wished it were spring or summer. He wanted a bouquet of wildflowers that he could present to Ramona Lawson — soon to be Ramona Green. He’d spruced up the wagon as best as he could, given the horses a good brushing and even trimmed his hair. His ears were cold, but his anticipation kept him warm.
He’d received a letter from the matchmaking company nearly three weeks ago, telling him that his bride to be was placed on a train. Ramona Lawson. He bet she was beautiful.
The train station was in the second nearest town. Charles had never been before, so he set out a day early. He wanted to make sure he was early for Ramona’s arrival.
He sat in the wagon at the train station, blowing on his hands to keep them warm. Charles worried that this winter would be worse than anyone feared. There was no real way to anticipate it.
Joann had said during hers and Lars’ last visit to the outpost that the thicker the fur on the woolly worms he found outside climbing the walls, the more severe the season would be. The coats had been very thick indeed.
Charles supposed all he could do was chop firewood, stock supplies, and pray.
He had been doing much praying since he sent the letter to the matchmaking company and received a response. The company’s advertisement claimed that it would take a number of things into consideration while searching for the right match. Would Ramona truly love him? Would she love the forest?
Reading the Bible had, of course, given him comfort, particularly the portion of Ephesians about marriage.
“Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church, his body, and is himself its Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit in everything to their husbands.
Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word.”
It went to show that men and women were made for each other, made to be with each other. He hoped Ramona was as eager as he was to start sharing their lives together.
He heard the train whistle a ways off. Charles offered up a quick prayer.
“Please, Lord,” he whispered, “let her love me.”
The train rounded a bend and came into plain sight. Charles wasn’t the only one at the station waiting. The excitement in the air at the train’s arrival was palpable. He wondered if anyone else was waiting for a soon to be spouse.
Charles removed the letter he’d been carrying around in his breast pocket, suddenly eager to reread it.
“My name is Ramona Lawson,” it said, the ink faded and the page limp from so much handling. “I come from an old New York family. I am ready to wed. I will be bringing several trunks of belongings with me. Please dispatch a wagon to the station. You will know me by my blonde hair, and the rose I will wear in my hat.”
Charles wished for a little more information about her, but it was almost enough to run his fingers over the refined cursive script and think about the woman who put pen to paper to agree to be with him.
She was the last one off the train.
The rose in her hat was wilted, but he saw its color as if it were freshly blooming.
As he approached her, she looked around — everywhere but at him.
“Ramona?” he asked.
She winced as if something physically pained her. “Charles?”
“Yes, yes, it’s me,” he said, fighting and failing to conceal his giddy grin into something a little more genteel. She was incredibly beautiful. She was petite and flawless, marble-colored skin made rosy by the chill in the air. Her piercing blue eyes matched the cloudless sky. She pursed her lips.
“It’s hard to see your face with the beard,” she remarked.
“It keeps me warm during the winter,” he explained happily. “Last year’s cold was brutal, but they’re saying this year could be even worse.”
“Lovely.” She shaded her eyes against the sun’s glare, each dainty finger encased in a silk glove. “Where are the porters?”
“This town isn’t as fancy as New York City, I’m afraid,” Charles explained. “I’ll be able to get your trunks to the wagon myself.”
They approached the luggage car and Charles stared. No less than ten matching trunks were waiting for them.
“I wasn’t sure what to pack for,” she said dismissively. “You said yourself the winter might be bad, so I’m happy I brought along three furs instead of one.”
Three fur coats? The letter had explained that Ramona came from an old family, but Charles was starting to assume that they were exorbitantly wealthy, as well.
“I’m not sure that these will all fit in the wagon, Ramona,” he said uncertainly. “I already have some supplies for the outpost in there.”
“I’m sure we’ll make them fit,” she said cheerfully, “and please, it’s Mona.”
Charles brought the wagon over and started loading the trunks. He had to cram two beneath the wagon bench, but they all fit, miraculously.
“See that?” Mona said, dusting her hands off as if she’d helped him. “You just have to have a little faith.”
Charles helped her onto the wagon seat before climbing up himself and taking the reins. The horses strained to get the wagon going at first, but they were able to maintain their momentum after a few paces.
“Are you a Christian?” he asked.
“I go to church, if that’s what you mean,” she said. She pointed at a steeple in the distance. “Is that it? Oh, how darling.”
“I suppose that’s the church for this town,” Charles said. “It’s my first time here. I never have much of a reason to come out all this way.”
“This isn’t where you live?” Mona asked, her smooth brow wrinkled in consternation.
Charles shook his head. “No, that’s still a ways off.”
“Is it bigger or smaller than this town?”
“Smaller.”
“Oh.”
Charles glanced over at Mona. “Then the outpost is even farther out.”
She was quiet for a while, the snorts from the horses and jingling from their harnesses the only noise punctuating the cold air.
“So, you don’t live in town,” Mona said.
“No.”
“What do you do?”
“Do?”
She gestured impatiently. “You know. Do. For fun.”
Fun? Hadn’t she read his letter? Was she expecting a theater or music hall at a trading outpost?
“I take care of my horses,” Charles said, hope draining from him. “I make sure the outpost is stocked with things people might need. I hunt. I keep a small garden. I do chores. I read the Bible.”
“Interesting.”
They’d already made the next town before Charles spoke again.
“What do you do?” he asked. “For fun.”
“Well,” Mona said, perking up, “in New York, I had dozens of friends. We’d see a show or go shopping some days. Most of my time was spent going to charity events and raising funds for different causes my family endorsed.”
A cloud seemed to pass over her face for a few moments while she reflected over what she’d said.
“That’s very charitable of you,” Charles prompted, seeing if she’d say anything else.
“Thank you.”
Night fell when they were still several miles from the outpost. Charles had had to stop just at the edge of the forest to retrieve one of Mona’s fur coats for her to wear. She burrowed down into it, shivering. He would have liked to put his arm around her, scoot her close to him to stop her shaking, but she seemed so foreign to his way of life.
Charles was having doubts about the matchmaking company. What had they seen in him to give him this strange, exotic creature? How could she adapt to life out here when she had known nothing but parties, balls, and charity events?
It still felt good to be home once they pulled up to the outpost. The stars shone vibrantly through the trees and Charles could see his breath under the light of the moon.
“It’s freezing,” Mona said, her teeth chattering.
“I’ll put the horses in the barn and unload the wagon,” Charles said. “Go on inside the cabin and light a fire. You’ll warm up in no time.”
“Is lighting a fire terribly difficult?” she asked, her face as pale as the moon above them.
The question confused him. “Well, no, unless you’re outside and the wood is wet.”
“Good,” she said, smiling.
When Charles hefted the first trunk inside the house, the fireplace was still dark. She’d lit every candle she could find, but she was crouching next to the hearth, shoving a lit match at a log.
She looked over her shoulder at the thump of her trunk on the floor.
“This wood is very dry, but I seem to be having some trouble lighting it,” she remarked.
Charles tried not to look stunned. Had the woman never started a fire before? Was she that privileged?
“Let me show you,” he said. “First you have to start with something small.”
He removed the log from the fireplace and added a few twists of newspaper and kindling. They blazed at a touch from one of the candles. Charles gingerly added some twigs and branches, blowing a bit to encourage them to catch. When he was sure the fire could sustain itself, he set the log on top.
They warmed their hands over the flames, both kneeling on the hearth.
“Well, you made it look very easy,” Mona said, laughing lightly. “I bet I’ll be able to do it next time.”
Charles finally dragged the last trunk in, marveling at the fact that there was still space to move around in the cabin. Would he have to build on to his home to accommodate all of her possessions?
“What’s for supper?” she asked brightly. She’d removed her hat to reveal her blonde curls, some of which tumbled to her shoulders. “I’m starved.”
If Mona hadn’t known how to light a fire, Charles harbored no illusions about her cooking abilities. He fried up some salt pork and cornbread over his stove he’d bought ahead of Mona coming out here. He’d wanted things nice for her, but he hadn’t known how nice she was used to having them.
Maybe he should’ve bought a servant, instead.
They ate at the kitchen table, saying little. When their plates were clean, Mona sighed.
“The food was very simple but delicious,” she said, folding her hands. “I believe that’s how food should be — you shouldn’t drown it in condiments and sauces. It should stand up for itself.”
“I’m happy you liked it,” Charles said. “I can teach you what I know about the stove, if you’d want.”
“I’d love to,” Mona said, leaning forward, “but tonight I’m simply exhausted. Where should I sleep?”
“In the bed, of course.”
“Where are you going to sleep?”
Charles inhaled and reminded himself that they weren’t married yet.
“I’ll manage here by the fire,” he said. “The rocking chair is quite comfortable.”
“Superb.”
Mona stood up from the table and walked around her trunks to the bed. The stacked containers made a partition in the room.
“Good night, then, Charles,” she called.
He looked at the mess she’d left on the table.
“Good night.”
He listened to the rustle of the covers on the other side of the trunks, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. Had Mona never done a chore in her life? He was starting to believe it was a real possibility.
Charles cleaned the plates himself in a tub of water, dumping the greasy liquid outside. He took up his business ledger by the fire, making sure he’d recorded everything correctly. Then he opened the Bible. He needed God’s guidance now more than ever.
The Good Word fell open to Philippians.
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
He took the passage to heart.
“Please, God,” Charles prayed silently. “Let me understand your will. Show me what I must do to make this woman love me. You made her so beautiful, but she must think I’m dull. Please be merciful. Please show me what to do.”
He continued to read, absorbed in the chapters and verses. He lost track of the passage of time and the fire got low.
With a jump, Charles awoke. He hadn’t even realized her had fallen asleep in the rocking chair, the Bible open in his lap.
Mona stood in front of him, her fur coat bundled around her body.
“There’s something outside,” she said, her voice a terrified whisper.
Charles put a log on the fire before retrieving the rifle from the rack.
“What’s outside?” he asked her.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I think there are more than one. It sounds ghastly.”
It was then that Charles realized the wolves were howling. The wolves were howling and the woman who was supposed to be his wife didn’t know what they were.
“Those are wolves,” he said. “There are one or two packs who patrol this territory. They get a little noisy some nights, but it’s nothing to concern yourself with.”
Mona shivered and shook her head. “They frighten me. I couldn’t think of sleeping now.”
Charles gave up the rocking chair and pulled another one from the table to rest in front of the fire.
“What’s this you’re reading?” Mona asked, picking up the Bible. “Oh, of course. Do you have any other books that I could read?”
“You can read from that, if you like,” Charles said. “Read aloud. It’ll help take your mind off the wolves.”
Mona cleared her throat and peered at the page.
“I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.”
“What book is that from?” Charles asked. Her voice had been beautiful, like birdsong.
“Romans,” Mona said. “What do you think it means? It sounds barbaric, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not barbaric,” Charles said. “The Lord wants us to dedicate ourselves to pleasing him. He wants us to do good things and to be good people. Like your family’s charity work and what you did in New York City.”
Mona frowned at this and stared into the flames. He wanted to ask her more about her life in the city, but something about him mentioning it troubled her.
“Here, now you read,” she said. “I’ll rest my eyes while you do.”
Charles took the book from her outstretched hand and opened it at random.
“He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him; as far as the East is from the West, so far does he remove our transgressions from us. As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust.”
“What is that?” Mona murmured sleepily.
“It’s part of a psalm,” Charles said.
“What does it mean?”
“That God always forgives us,” Charles said. “He knows we’re not perfect.”
“Are you sure?”
Charles looked over at Mona, but she was dead asleep, lightly snoring. He realized the wolves had stopped their howling and wondered when they’d finished what they had to say to each other.
He closed the book and took Mona in his arms. She was light, almost fragile. The fur coat probably doubled her weight. Charles set her gently into the bed and drew the quilt over her.
He returned to the rocking chair and stared into the flames until he joined her in slumber.
Mona stretched as she woke up, and then scowled when she realized she’d slept in her furs. That was not how you treated a mink coat. She got up from the bed and realized she was alone. Where was Charles? Better yet, where was breakfast?
As angry as she was with her parents for shipping her off to Oregon, Mona longed for home. The estate would be snug and warm, breakfast served to her in bed, her day full of possibilities.
She found a cloth-covered plate on the table with a few pieces of cold bacon and two biscuits. How had he cooked up breakfast without her waking up? Maybe she really had been exhausted last night.
Mona wolfed it down cold before finding the pot of coffee. It was lukewarm, but just what she needed to get the lead out of her bones. She felt downright hopeful after the coffee.
Now, what to wear on her first full day in the wilderness? Feeling chipper, Mona opened a trunk to see what it contained. Ah, the furs. She shoved that one aside and opened another. Her shoes. She pulled out a pair of fur-lined boots and closed it again. The third trunk revealed expanses and expanses of satin and lace, which would become her wedding dress.
Mona put her face in her hands. How was she supposed to get married to a man she’d just met? Kitty had been enthralled with the adventure and mystery of Mona’s exile to Oregon, but the reality was much more terrible. Charles’ beard looked like something alive.
In addition, the way he’d looked at her when she couldn’t get that blasted fire to start, like she was a helpless, mentally deficient child. How was she supposed to survive out here?
Mona finally found one of the trunks that contained her dresses. She picked a smart wool number and pulled it on after splashing herself with some cold water she found in a basin by the bed. She pinned her hair back and pulled on the boots. There. Fresh clothes always made her feel better.
Walking around the tiny cabin — the majority of which was occupied by her trunks — Mona spied the Bible. She’d told Charles she went to church, but she couldn’t honestly say she paid attention. She mostly thought of where she’d meet Kitty or another of her friends afterward for brunch, and who’d they be most likely to see at each possibility.
She opened the Bible and read the first passage her eyes fell upon.
“If we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.”
What did it mean? If Mona had to guess, it would encourage people to keep going until their prayers were answered. Maybe she’d ask Charles about it later.
On a whim, she clasped her hands together and closed her eyes, as she regularly did in church and hardly did outside of it.
“Please help me see what I’m supposed to be doing here,” she prayed silently. “Please help me understand.”
Mona went outside, her mouth dropping open in awe. The trees were enormous — so much taller than those in Central Park. They made her feel tiny. There were so many. She realized they were truly in the wilderness. The cabin and outpost stood in a small clearing. Beyond that, it was just forest.
It was beautiful in a scary way.
Mona imagined the wolves last night, darting around the trunks and slavering at the mouth. She tried to remember the image, thinking about how she’d put it down in words if she wrote a letter to Kitty today.
Smoke poured from a chimney in the large building — what Mona assumed was the outpost. She picked her way over the grass, the heels of her boots sinking into the soft ground.
She opened the door and bells attached to the knob jingled merrily. It reminded her of Christmas, especially paired with the weather. Mona couldn’t help but smile.
“Good morning — well, nearly afternoon,” Charles said from behind the counter. A ledger was spread in front of him, a pencil behind his ear. He was giving her that lunatic’s grin that had scared her at the train station yesterday.
“It’s afternoon already?” Mona asked. “How did it get to be so late?”
“You must have been tired,” he said, closing the ledger with a snap. “You did journey all the way across the country.”
“Have you had any customers today?” Mona asked, looking around at the shelves. It was no comparison to the offerings of New York City, but Charles seemed to keep it stocked fairly well. There were barrels of flour, sugar, salted meats, rice, and beans, as well as bolts of fabric, boxes of bullets and gunpowder, several rifles, and even a jar of peppermint sticks.
“None yet. Would you like one?” Charles asked, watching her eye the peppermint. He unscrewed the top and plucked one out for her. Mona smiled in thanks, savoring the sweet treat.
“Do you have customers every day?” she asked.
“Not every day, no,” Charles said. “It’s hit or miss. Although, some days I’ll have five all at once, as if something told them all to go to the outpost together.”
“So what do you do while you’re waiting?” Mona asked.
“There’s plenty to do. I just double-checked my numbers for how much I ordered and how much I sold so I know what to get next time I go into town. Other than that, there are always chores to be done. Sometimes too many to do in a day by myself.”
Mona steeled herself before smiling. “Well, you’re not by yourself anymore,” she said. “We’ll get them all done. What should I do first?”
She had never cleaned anything in her life and for the first time, she felt ashamed of it. She’d been pampered and coddled her entire childhood. Mona knew she couldn’t blame her parents. They had only raised her the best way they knew how. Couldn’t they have made her clean one of two windows in that massive estate?
Charles held out a broom. “Would you like to sweep the shop?” he asked, that lunatic grin back on his face. Mona found herself grinning back. She liked the way his green eyes crinkled when he was truly happy.
“I would love to sweep the shop.”
She took the broom in her hands. This would be simple. She’d watched the maids do it a dozen times when she was a child and didn’t have anything better to do. One of them had even let Mona hold the dustpan to collect the dirt, which had lasted about as long as it took for her parents to find out and fire the girl.
Mona dragged the broom across the wood floor. Why wasn’t it sweeping up the specks and dirt? She scowled in concentration, pulling the broom slowly across the floor. Was there some secret she had missed? The bristles caught the larger debris, like grains of rice and little pieces of gravel, but it only spread the flour and other small particles.
She looked up and froze. The expression on Charles’ face was one of utter dismay.
Mona pouted. “I don’t have much experience with sweeping,” she admitted. “I can learn, I swear it.”
“What do you have experience in?” Charles asked, folding his arms across his chest.
Mona didn’t like his tone. “I dance well,” she said stupidly. “I’m an excellent event planner. Which reminds me — when and where should we have our nuptials? I can handle all the details if you give me a date and place.”
Charles held his hands up. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said. “I’m not convinced that Oregon is the right place for you.”
Mona thought her stomach had dropped from her body. Was Charles trying to reject her?
“What do you mean?”
He gave a long sigh. “You came to live here with ten trunks stuffed with fine clothes, I’m sure. They would work in New York, but they won’t work here. There’s nowhere to wear a fur coat to, let alone three. You don’t know how to light a fire, how to cook, how to clean up after yourself, or how to sweep.
You can dance and plan parties and raise money for charitable causes. I need a wife, Mona. A partner. Someone who can pull her weight out here.”
“I’m new to this,” she protested, not sure why she was defending her inexperience. Who cared if she couldn’t handle Oregon? “I can learn. I can.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Charles looked at her levelly. “It’s obvious that you’ve led a privileged life until now. You haven’t had to work a day since you’ve been born. People have taken care of you, cleaned up in your wake.”
With each eerily accurate observation, Mona felt worse and worse. Why was she being punished by this man she was supposed to marry? How was she supposed to know everything about cooking, cleaning, and chores?
“What made you want to come out here to marry me in the first place?”
Mona recoiled like she’d been slapped. She couldn’t tell him that the marriage was intended as a punishment, could she? It would cut him to the quick.
“Your letter seemed sweet,” she hazarded.
Charles shook his head grimly. “You’re lying. I can tell.”
What was wrong with her? Usually she could make anyone see the truth she wanted them to see. It was essential to survive in society. Somehow, she couldn’t be dishonest with him.
“My parents thought you would be good for me,” she said brokenly. “They thought Oregon would be better for me than New York.”
Charles gripped the edge of the counter. “So, it was your parents who chose me. Not you.”
“Not me,” Mona said, her voice hitching with emotion. Why was her heart breaking? She’d only known this man for two days, even if he was supposed to marry her.
“Maybe it would be best if you went back to New York,” Charles said quietly. “Go pack your trunks again. We’ll leave at first light.”
First, her parents had rejected her, sending her across the country for trying to pursue the mayor. Now, the man they’d sent her to was rejecting her again. Where was Mona going to go when she got back to the city? Who would take her in?
“I never unpacked them,” she sobbed, flinging the broom down and fleeing the shop.
The sky had clouded up since she stepped outside, some part of her noted. It was bitterly cold — too cold even for her wool dress. She didn’t have to wait for Charles to take her to the train station. Mona couldn’t bear to stay here another moment.
She pushed the door open to the little cabin. Grabbing the fur she’d slept in off the bed, she looked around. There was nothing in the trunks she wanted to take. It was all from a life she didn’t belong to anymore and there was no place for it in Oregon. Why had she dragged all this stuff out here, anyway?
Disgusted with herself, Mona put her arms through the fur and left the cabin.
Mona marched down the road. Town couldn’t be that far, could it? She was sure she’d make it before nightfall. All she had to do was follow the road, pretend she was out on a pleasant walk in the fresh air. Maybe she couldn’t start a fire, cook, or sweep, but she could find her way to town.
It started to snow. Beautiful, Mona thought. It reminded her of Central Park around Christmastime.
Why would Mona’s parents send her out to Oregon? Charles couldn’t fathom his situation. When Mona couldn’t so much as sweep a floor, he had to find out why. Why did she want to be with him?
Turns out, she didn’t.
“Lord, I thought you sent her,” he prayed silently. “I thought she was an angel. Why is this happening?”
He didn’t understand why she’d been so upset. Charles was sure she wanted to go back to her luxurious city life after roughing it in the wilderness with him.
He didn’t understand why he was so upset. Better end things now than get married and find out then they wouldn’t work together.
Charles lowered his face into his hands. He’d loved her since he saw her get down from that train. He couldn’t deny it. Why did this have to be so hard?
The bell jingled on the door. He couldn’t force himself to look up at the woman who didn’t want to be with him.
“Everything all right, friend?”
Charles jerked his head out of his hands. Lars and Joann stood in the doorway, staring at him. Behind them, Charles could see the snow pouring out of the sky.
“We wanted to come and meet your new bride,” Joann said, “but I’m afraid we misjudged the weather. All right if we stay the night?”
“Of course,” Charles said, “but there’s not going to be a new bride. It didn’t work out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lars said sincerely. “Where is she now?”
“In the cabin, packing her things,” Charles said. “I was going to take her to the station tomorrow, but I hope she can tolerate things for a few days with this weather.”
Lars and Joann exchanged a look. “There’s no one in the cabin,” Joann said. “The door was wide open. We checked for you in there, first.”
“Another thing,” Lars said. “There were tracks on the road to town. We didn’t think anything of them because we knew you wouldn’t go out in the blizzard, but do you think she would have left here for any reason?”
“God have mercy,” Charles breathed, wrestling on his coat. “Please help me find her.”
They all three ran out the door. The snow blinded Charles, drove the breath from his body.
“Everyone hold hands,” Lars shouted over the howling of the wind. Charles shuddered. It sounded worse than wolves.
“She can’t have gone far!” Joann shouted.
They ran down the road, Lars in the lead, following the swiftly disappearing tracks. Charles prayed the entire time. They ran through the trees, trusting Lars’ sharp eye even in the storm.
Lars shouted and they skidded to a stop. “Bear!”
Charles peered through the snow. He saw blonde curls. “No!” he yelled. “It’s her! It’s Mona!”
She felt so tired. It was too much.
“Wake up, Mona,” a kind voice said. “We’re getting you warm. You need to have some of this.”
She choked on a trickle of whiskey, her coughs lighting her lungs on fire.
“Good,” the voice encouraged. “A little more.”
Mona opened her eyes, flames blooming in her belly. Charles stood above her, along with another man and woman.
“You almost froze to death in the blizzard,” Charles said, his voice breaking. “It was a miracle we found you. If Lars and Joann hadn’t been here …”
Mona smiled tiredly, patting his hand. “It’ll be all right,” she said.
“I don’t want you to go back to New York,” he said, tears running down his face. “I don’t care if you can’t cook or sweep or build a fire. I love you, Mona. I prayed you would come and God sent you to me.”
“I can build a fire,” she said. “You showed me how.”
Charles smiled through his tears. “Will you stay with me?” he asked.
“I want to, if you’ll have me,” she said, her fingers and toes tingling painfully. How close had she been to death? The snowstorm had escalated so quickly. “You must know something.”
“What is it?”
“The reason my parents sent me out here,” Mona said, choking on an embarrassed sob. “It’s too shameful to say, but you must know it. I — I nearly caused a scandal — did dishonor to my family — and you’re too good for me. You’re too good.”
Charles fell to his knees beside the bed, enveloping her in his arms. He held her tight, absorbing her weeping.
“We are all sinners and I’m not better than the rest,” he said. “I doubt God, question his plan. He forgives everyone. He made us. He knows we’re not perfect. He just requires us to love him, love each other, and try to do good.”
“I want to do good for you,” Mona said, taking in shuddering gulps of air. “I want to learn new things. I want to be your wife. Please be patient with me.”
Charles nearly crushed her to his chest, kissing her on her forehead.
“I’ll teach you everything you want to know,” he said.
Mona smiled through her tears. “I envision a winter wedding for us,” she said. “Snow will provide the perfect backdrop for renewal. It’ll be a small ceremony, just a reverend and a few very close friends.”
Charles gave that lunatic grin she loved so well. “Lars and Joann will be here, of course.”
“Of course,” Mona said. “You’ll all help me learn what I need to in order to survive in Oregon.”
Charles put his arms around her and kissed her deeply on her red lips. Here was his companion, his wife, his right hand to his left.
The wolves were howling, but nobody noticed.