Lyn Cote - Frontier Want Ad Bride

She filled him in on the cake trap she’d set to catch the pie-and-shirt thief.

Fear for her, and anger, ricocheted through him. He stood. “You did that without telling me?” he snapped. “What if it hadn’t been children but a man...a tramp? Someone who might have hurt you.” He closed the distance between them.

“I don’t know why I didn’t tell you.” She lifted her hands in a helpless motion. “I guess I’m used to taking care of things myself. Father hasn’t been strong for a long time. My brother was gone to war. I’m the oldest.”

He drew a few deep breaths, calming himself.

“If a man had come, I would have stayed in the springhouse.” She looked up at him—and burst into tears.

He didn’t know what to do. “I didn’t mean to make you cry—”

“You didn’t.” She wept on, waving her hand toward the open door. “They are living in a cave. What are we going to do? Colton can’t be even ten. He can’t take care of Lily all by himself.” She covered her face with both hands. Her weeping intensified.

Her freely expressed emotions pointed out his own hollowed-out aching within. No doubt she’d never before seen ragged, grimy children begging. But he had. Urchins—both white and black—had come into camp begging even for hardtack, the worst food ever.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories. Then he looked at his wife. What did one do with a weeping woman? He recalled the few times he’d seen his mother cry and how his father had handled it.

Uncertain, he put an arm around her and patted her back, mimicking his father’s words. “There, there.”

It worked.

She stepped closer and rested her head against his chest, quieting. The fragrance she always wore, which reminded him of lilacs, floated up from her hair. He nearly bent and kissed the top of her head. But he held himself in check. His father had never kissed his mother when comforting her. And Asa and Judith were married but not close...his fault.

“Asa, what are we going to do? We can’t let two little children continue to live in a cave in the woods.”

She spoke the truth. In the past he could give only what he had in his knapsack to the orphans of the war, but now he had a house and food to share. Yet he didn’t know what to say, so he patted her shoulder some more.

“You were very wise about the pie and chores,” she said, glancing up.

I was? he thought.

“I could see Colton understood that. When I invited them to lunch, he didn’t want to come, but Lily came right along. Someone, some man, has mistreated him. You noticed that, too?”

Asa considered this. “You’re right. He came with me but kept his distance, always out of arm’s reach. And we’re assuming that they are orphans, but they might have run away.”

Judith pressed her face into his shirt again. Then straightened. “I hate to think that, but yes, some parents or guardians can be ill-tempered.”

Asa almost lost himself looking into her eyes, which shone with tears of concern.

“I think the offer of payment by chores reassured him that you—we—weren’t trying to pull something over on him.” She looked at Asa, obviously asking for a reply.

“It worked.” Those were the only words that came to him.

She nodded. And then sighed and wiped her cheeks with her handkerchief. “I’m sorry to break down like that. I just was so shocked to see children living there. And on top of that, I’m worried that I still haven’t heard from home. We sent that letter weeks ago.”

Judith began twisting the hankie in both hands. “Emma wrote Father, too. No reply.”

Asa shifted from foot to foot. He didn’t like talking about family. “What do you think is keeping him from answering?”

She mangled the lacy scrap of linen some more.

“You can tell me, Judith.” His words mocked him. He expected her to trust him, but he didn’t want to trust her. Bile rose in his throat.

She moved to sit at Asa’s work table. “My brother returned from the war with a bride from Kentucky.” She pursed her lips as if hesitant to say more.

Asa said nothing. He couldn’t coax her to talk. It felt dishonest of him.

“My sister-in-law, Mabel Joy, is a contentious woman. That’s all I’ll say.”

“Maybe your father can’t write...” As soon as the words left his mouth, and he saw her stricken look, he knew he’d said exactly the wrong thing. Contrite, he patted her back again. “Might just be that men aren’t good at writing letters.”

Again his own words slapped him. He had yet to write his own parents to tell them he’d married Judith. Guilt froze him in place. What kind of son didn’t even write his parents when he got married? Had his bride noticed that?

Judith touched his sleeve. “You are probably right. Father was never one to write letters. And if Mabel Joy were a kind woman, she’d have written back or coaxed him into doing so.” She sighed.

“Is there a neighbor you could write, or a relative?” Asa suggested.

Judith’s eyes brightened. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?” She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Asa. I’ll write to our neighbor, and I know she’ll write back and give me all the news.” She sent him a trembly smile. “So, what should we do about these children?”

He could do nothing but say the truth. “Let’s both think on it.”

She nodded. “A good idea.” She surprised him by standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. “Thank you, Asa.” Then, as if embarrassed, she hurried out with a wave of one hand.

He stood still, savoring the quick peck on his cheek. With tiny hitching breaths, he was able to relax. It was good to have Judith here. Yet troubling. She caused him to feel his inner lack, his inability to react like a normal man. But so far he’d evidently not revealed his deficiency, his emptiness to her. So far, so good.

* * *

In the back of his mind, Asa recalled that he’d heard a husband and wife in the area had died over the winter and there had been children. So after listening to Judith repeat her worries about the children the previous evening, Asa decided he needed more reconnaissance before he took action. He’d go to the fount of all local news and information, Ned Ashford.

So this morning after breakfast and chores, he entered the shadowy store. A few remaining strings of dried apples hung from the rafters and still faintly scented the air. Two women were just finishing up their purchases. He waited, looking over Ashford’s supply of ammunition.

When the ladies left, jingling the bell on the door, Asa approached the storekeeper. “Morning.”

“Morning. What can I do for you?”

“Could use some more buckshot.” Asa knew he must not appear that he came just for information. He didn’t want Ashford too interested. These two waifs, probably orphans, had come to Asa’s door, and Judith would want to have a hand in deciding what should be done for them. So did he, for that matter. He’d been unable to help orphans in the war-ravaged South, but he could help two here.

As the transaction proceeded, Asa asked in a nonchalant voice, “Didn’t I hear that a couple farther out died over winter?”

Ashford looked up, alert. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

Asa had come prepared. “My wife was wondering if anybody needed help with anything. She likes to be a good neighbor.”

“You got yourself a good wife there,” Ashford said. “Everybody thinks so.”

Asa did not like how this comment revealed that he and Judith were the topic of discussion locally, but he ignored this for now. “Do you know what happened to the couple?” Asa prompted Ashford.

“Well, they were nice young people, name of Farrier, homesteading like you and your wife. We think it might have been pneumonia. Their neighbors, the Smiths, came to church—something they didn’t do often.” Ashford paused to frown at this. “Anyway, the Smiths said that their neighbors had died and before the ground froze deep, they’d buried them.