as thin as the pencil she always kept behind one ear or that the end of her pointed nose had a hook sharper than a hawk’s, it was her voice. Its high-pitched squeak was more irritating than a wheel needing grease and Lord but that woman was nosy. As the town’s one and only reporter, she felt she had a right to know everyone’s business and that it was her duty to write about it. Every picnic and stroll she embarked upon with a possible suitor ended up in the newspaper. His consideration of Abigail as a possible wife hadn’t gone that far for him. He had no desire to read her thoughts about his size or accent.
“Say, Brett,” Teddy said in greeting. “New preacher did a good job, don’t you think?”
“Ya, the brides and grooms sure look happy.”
“Have a right to be, don’t they?” Teddy said with a bit of his own melancholy showing.
“Sure do.” Glancing over to make sure Abigail was still busy talking to the preacher and the mayor, Brett nodded for Teddy to follow him a short distance away. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Sure, what is it?”
With another glance in Abigail’s direction, Brett said, “I need to send a telegram home. A private one.”
Teddy, who didn’t resemble his sister in any way other than the ink stains on his hands, glanced over his shoulder before saying, “Your privacy is safe with me, you know that.”
“I do,” Brett agreed. “And I appreciate it.” Shrugging, he added, “I don’t have a piece of paper handy.”
“That’s all right, just give me the gist of it. Abigail has a habit of reading any notes left lying around. Not that I’d leave yours lying around, but you know what I mean.”
Brett nodded and leaned closer to whisper, “I need to send a message to my mother, Henrietta Blackwell, in Bayfield, Wisconsin.”
Teddy nodded. “Got it. What’s it to say?”
“I want her to send me a woman willing to marry me. Right quick-like.”
“What’s the woman’s name?”
“I don’t know,” Brett admitted. “Whoever she can find.”
Teddy sighed and then nodded. “So you aren’t holding out any hope for Melbourne to produce the other women he promised?”
“No, but even if more do arrive, there’s no guarantee they’ll find me a suitable husband. There’re a lot of men to choose from.”
“Don’t I know it,” Teddy replied. “Think your mother knows two women?”
Brett didn’t want to push his luck but could understand why Teddy asked. “Can’t say,” he replied, “but let’s just start with one.”
“All right.” Teddy glanced over his shoulder again. “I’ll go send it right now. Abigail’s heading straight over to the reception. She plans on writing a special edition of the Gazette about the weddings.”
“I’ll head that way too—keep an eye on her.” Brett dug in his pocket. “How much do I owe you? I’ll pay extra, this being so urgent and all.”
“No charge,” Teddy said, “with the understanding that if your mother sends you a suitable bride, I have your permission to ask her to send one for me. Abigail and I don’t have any family we can ask, and she hasn’t left too many friends in the wake of our travels either.”
“Fair enough,” Brett replied, shaking Teddy’s hand. Rather than express his understanding that Abigail probably hadn’t left any friends anywhere, he simply said, “I’ll see you later.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as it’s sent,” Teddy replied, turning about.
Brett waited until Abigail walked down the church steps and then, keeping one eye on her, for she would surely question Teddy’s absence if she noticed it, he fell in among the crowd of folks making their way to the open meadow where the reception of all five couples was to be held.
There, he made small talk with several folks and ate a plate of food from the tables the women of the town had laden with kettles and platters to go along with the side of beef that Steve Putnam had provided to be roasted over an open fire.
Normally appreciative of every meal he ate, Brett couldn’t say he tasted much of what he put in his mouth. By the time he saw Teddy, who gave him a wave that said the telegram had been sent, Brett had had enough of the party and headed up the road toward home.
His mother would know exactly what type of woman would make a good wife. One who could cook and hopefully wanted a big family. Several boys for sure, but he wouldn’t mind a couple little girls either. Actually, he knew he wouldn’t mind the slightest if they were all girls. As long as he had others to share his home with, he really didn’t care. His businesses provided enough income to feed as many children as his new wife wanted.
He’d closed down both shops in order to attend the weddings, and considering most everyone in town was still at the wedding reception, there was no sense reopening them. Therefore, after crossing the railroad tracks, he rounded the big building he’d built two years ago with lumber brought in on the railroad from his family back home and crossed the little field to the house that had also been built with solid northern pine. Kansas didn’t have enough trees for all the lumber it needed, and after he’d left home, he’d let it be known his family had plenty of good Wisconsin lumber to sell and the railroads made getting that lumber to where it was needed far easier than it ever had been.
He’d set up plenty of accounts for his family’s business back home before and after he hired on the railroad and started looking for a place to call his own.
Not all the lumber in Oak Grove had come from Wisconsin, but a good amount had. Just last month he’d helped unload a train car full of Blackwell Lumber. It had been for the town, so he’d gotten a good deal on it from his older brother. The town was building a few small houses just a ways past his. Hoping to sell them to new residents. Ready-made homes were one sure way to bring in new citizens. That was what the mayor had said, and the town council agreed with him. Just like they’d agreed when Josiah had suggested building the church and the schoolhouse and sending money back east to have brides sent out here.
Done worrying about those brides, Brett collected his fishing pole from the tool shed and headed back toward the tracks that ran along his buildings. A mile south was where he was going. To where the cool water of the Smoky Hill River flowed westward, leaving enough moisture behind for a few trees to shade the grassy banks. There was no better way for a man to collect his thoughts than to spend a few hours fishing.
As he stepped over the first rail of hardened steel, he couldn’t help but remember the work that had gone into laying every inch, and the faint rumble beneath his feet had him looking eastward. A man could see for miles in this country, and though it was little more than a dot on the horizon, a westbound train was making its way into Oak Grove.
Knowing there was no need for him to meet it—there wouldn’t be anyone needing a blacksmith or chicken or horse feed, he turned his gaze southward and continued over the tracks and past the few houses that sat on the east edge of town.
Jackson Miller lived in one of those houses. He’d been lucky enough to marry one of the brides. Maggie McCary. Steve Putnam had married the other McCary sister,
