Please Love Me. Kimberly Tanner Gordon

      Cincinnati, Ohio

      May 1876

      “Margaret, are you crying, again?” Paula asked in an exasperated voice. The sour twenty-nine-year-old placed a hand on her hip in a scolding manner. “When are you going to stop dreaming about what could have been? This is reality for you girl, and you had better learn to live with it.”

      Margaret Roe did not want to hear any more of Paula’s preaching. She ignored her roommate and remained still on her little cot.

      “You’re going to be late,” Paula remarked sharply before leaving the room.

      Margaret heard the door slam shut. She winced on her pillow, and allowed fresh tears to flow. At last, she was alone. To herself, Margaret admitted that she had been feeling sorry for herself lately. But why not? No one else had sympathy for her. And she was miserable. She had lived and worked in this orphanage now for fifteen years.

      Remembering that first day brought back such painful memories. Margaret’s father had removed his hat to give her one last embrace before heading off to war. It was the war, between the North and South, the Civil War. Margaret’s mother had died shortly after Margaret was born. Gerald had never quite recovered from that loss. So with no other relatives to care for her, Gerald had taken eight-year-old Margaret to the orphanage for their care until he returned. Sadly though, he never returned.

      “I’ll see you soon, baby. Don’t worry about your pa. I’ll be thinking of you. I love you,” he had said before walking away. Those were the last words she’d heard him say. He was the last person who had ever loved her.

      Margaret wiped a few tears away. “I can’t stand this place!” she sobbed into her pillow. “I’m sick of it. I want a new life.” She buried her face and cried anew.

      At twenty-three years of age, Margaret knew her chances for a new life were slim. She had no special skills. She knew how to sew, but not well enough to be a seamstress. She knew how to cook, but only a little. She could be a maid somewhere, but she was already a maid for fifty children. This arrangement was how she kept her room and board in this Cincinnati orphanage. There was a small wage, but what on earth was there to spend it on? Margaret did allow herself the special indulgence of buying sweets at the bakeshop. Eating the confections seemed to be the only happy moments she could make for herself. She knew all too well though that her sweet tooth had led to the thickness in her middle. She still had a womanly figure, but her waist was just not as narrow as other women her age. But her lonely, unhappy life simply kept her returning to the bakery time and time again.

      “Maggie, you better get to work!” a voice barked from the other side of the thin door.

      “Yes ma’am,” she replied, recognizing the voice of the head mistress. Regardless of her dislike for the current situation, she still had to eat and have a roof over her head. Reluctantly, Margaret sat up and wiped her red puffy eyes. “I’ll find some way to change things,” she promised herself quietly.

      Margaret pulled her red wavy hair back into a bun. She fastened it with several hairpins and pulled on one of the two blue uniforms she wore every day. Over this she placed a long white apron. She was ready, by all appearances, but certainly dreaded the day’s drudgery. First she would have to help prepare and serve breakfast to the multitude. Then she would have to help wash all those dishes. Secondly, she would tend the children’s sleeping quarters, cleaning the privy, straightening the beds, sweeping the floors and changing soiled sheets. Third, it was her job to haul away the dirty laundry to the wash rooms. Her fourth task was to help with the midday meal, but after that, she was entrusted to run errands for the head mistress. This was a tolerable task because it got her outside into fresh air. Upon her return, she helped with supper and then assisted in putting the children down to bed. This final duty was her least dreaded job, because the children, with their innocent smiles and sweet charm, always cheered her. Margaret and the children imagined all sorts of silly stories to fill their minds with something nice to dream about. They enjoyed her stories the best and thanked her with hugs. These small acts of affection helped fill the enormous void in Margaret’s heart. But it was still left wanting.

      An entire month passed. Nothing had changed. Margaret still cried into her pillow at least twice a week. And at least four times a week, she stopped off at the bakery while running afternoon errands. Usually, she ate one confection right then and there and saved the rest for bedtime snacks. While she was out, Margaret also liked to purchase a newspaper. It was her only connection with the rest of the world, and she had learned to read from her father. She perused the ads for job listings in secret. If word ever got back to Miss Crandle that Margaret was searching for new employment, she would be out on the street for sure. Having to hide her intentions made locating a new job very challenging.

      The ninth of June started out like any other day. Margaret completed her morning chores and received the list of errands from Miss Crandle. When she left the orphanage, Margaret made a bee line for the bakery, stopping only once to buy her daily paper. Taking her pastries to a nearby bench beneath a tree, she sat down to review the advertisements. Margaret’s mouth stopped mid-chew as her eyes read Brides Wanted in bold type. She continued to read: Mail order agency seeks women of hearty stature to be paired with gentlemen on the frontier in holy matrimony. Apply in person or mail inquiry to Simon and Braun Agency, Chicago, Illinois.

      Margaret’s mind spun wildly. Did she dare? Could she even consider it? Being a mail order bride would certainly solve two of her problems. She would finally be able to leave the orphanage and possibly, just possibly, she would find love. The thought made her almost giddy. Would she get paired with a man who would love her? Would he fill the aching void inside her heart? But oh, what if he was mean and cruel? She would be giving up one miserable life for another. Margaret stared at the black print.

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