Lyn Cote - Frontier Want Ad Bride

“Sunny and I didn’t know each other very well when we wed,” Noah said, checking his reflection in the small shaving mirror on the wall and smoothing back his hair. “Being married is a special relationship. It might help to know a woman well before one weds, but many other couples have met on their wedding day.”

Asa appreciated Noah’s calm voice. He also knew that Noah was a Union veteran like himself. Asa’s deep-down worry thrust up into his throat, preventing him from speaking. He’d spent four long years during the war killing men, destroying everything in his path. He’d seen things no man should see. How did a soldier put that behind him and become a husband and maybe a father? He felt himself seize up inside as battle memories surged through his mind and his arteries pumped his blood hard. He wished he could ask Noah how he’d come to a place of peace. But men didn’t ask other men those kind of questions.

He drew in a deep breath. He’d come this far and he couldn’t back out, couldn’t jilt a sweet-looking, scared-looking woman like Judith. This was harder for her. She was putting her life in his hands, trusting him to be her provider and protector. He could do that, offer her that. But he had nothing more to offer. Did she sense that?

“The ladies are busy in my upstairs,” Ashford, the storekeeper, came in, rubbing his hands together. “Wish we had nicer weather for the wedding. But we’ll manage. We’ll manage.”

And that was what Asa must do—manage. He had gone along with Mason Chandler’s suggestion that they advertise for wives. No one had forced him. He’d done it of his own free will. He recalled Judith’s hesitant, shy letters and how he’d come to look forward to them, how he’d read and reread them. Straightening his back, he faced life. He would marry Judith today. He just wished that he was a better man for her and that his heart would stop pounding as if scolding him for not telling her what a poor husband he would make her.

* * *

Soon Mrs. Ashford knocked on the guest bedroom door and reentered. She and Emma helped Judith into the royal-blue dress with tiny mother-of-pearl buttons and hand-tatted lace at the high collar. Judith had labored over it for several weeks. She’d decided on a classic style, which, though it followed the new fashion of a slimmer profile, would indeed last her many years.

“Such fine stitching,” Mrs. Ashford remarked. “You are quite a seamstress.”

Judith managed a smile. Finally dressed, she was led to the hallway to a full-length wall mirror.

“You look beautiful,” exclaimed the young daughter, Amanda, and Emma echoed the sentiment.

Judith could only hope Asa Brant thought so. She’d never been deemed pretty, as Emma was, something people had found necessary to point out all through her childhood and teens.

“Every bride is beautiful, but Miss Jones, you do look lovely,” Mrs. Ashford agreed.

Judith finally let herself examine her reflection. She did indeed look well in her dress, but also stunned. Didn’t anybody notice that?

Soon they were layering up coats, gloves, shawls to meet the winter cold that still lingered and then walking out to the church-schoolhouse combination.

There the women paused just inside the cloakroom and shed their outerwear. After handing both twins bouquets of dried flowers that had been waiting on the shelf, Mrs. Ashford and Amanda hurried on inside to take seats, while Mr. Ashford offered to walk Judith down the aisle to her groom. He told them there would be no “Wedding March” since there was no organ or piano.

The urge to bolt shot through Judith like lightning. But she could not go back home, so she had to go forward. She mastered herself and took the man’s arm.

Emma slipped in front of them. “Ready, sister?”

Judith nodded, unable to speak.

Emma stepped into the open doorway to the large classroom, lifting her shoulders, and then she began to walk sedately down the aisle toward the front.

Mr. Ashford paused with Judith and then started after her sister.

From nerves, Judith’s vision wavered, but she was able to see the preacher holding an open book in front of the room, flanked by Asa Brant, obviously in his Sunday best. Another man stood beside him, no doubt the best man.

Emma arrived at the front and moved to one side to leave room for Judith next to Asa. Mr. Ashford squeezed her arm, released her and moved to sit with his family in the front row.

Judith’s heart was leaping beneath her breastbone. She felt a bit light-headed.

“Please join hands,” the pastor said. “Miss Jones, I am Noah Whitmore, and it’s my honor to join you in holy matrimony to Asa Brant.”

The man’s calm voice soothed her. She managed a smile but could not bring herself to look up into her groom’s face. If she did, then she might panic, so she concentrated on Noah Whitmore’s voice and Asa Brant’s firm grip on her icy kid-gloved hand.

* * *

Asa held on to his bride’s hand like a lifeline. His mind brought up the face of a woman whom he’d courted before the war and who’d sent him a letter in 1862 telling him she’d married another and was bound for California to leave the dreadful war behind. She’d wished him well. He’d been sitting in an army tent buffeted with cold wind and rain, exhausted from burying dead comrades.

He shoved this memory out of his mind. He barely remembered her except for that moment when she’d cut their connection. That day he’d been hoping for a consoling letter. He’d burned hers.

He forced himself back to this important occasion. The wedding ceremony proceeded along the usual lines. He faced his bride, determined.

Noah’s words penetrated. “Asa, repeat after me, please.”

Asa swallowed to clear his throat and voiced this pledge. “I, Asa, take thee, Judith, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honor and cherish till death do us part.” He felt guilty promising things he might not be able to do. But he’d do his best.

In a voice that trembled on some words, his bride voiced her vows to him. And she accepted the simple gold band he slipped on her finger.

“Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder,” the pastor intoned.

Behind him, Asa felt a relaxation of tension. Had the assembly expected his bride to flee? He couldn’t blame them. The pastor continued, “Forasmuch as Judith and Asa have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company of witnesses, and thereto have given their pledge, each to the other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving a ring, and by joining hands, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The pastor beamed. “You many now kiss your bride, Asa.”

Asa leaned down slowly, self-consciously. He hadn’t kissed a woman in so long. His bride gazed up at him as if stunned. He pressed his lips to hers lightly. The unexpected shock of the contact whipped through him. He ended the kiss and tightened his hold on her hand. He couldn’t stop himself from whispering, “I’ll do right by you, Judith.”

His bride barely nodded in reply.

The pastor brought him back with “Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Asa Brant.”

There was loud applause and some foot-stomping, and a few children shouted, “Hurray!”

Asa couldn’t help himself. In the face of everyone’s obvious enthusiasm, he smiled though his lips felt tight, unused to the expression.

The next few hours passed in a blur of a festive meal; a special and delicious cake provided by the local baker, Mrs. Rachel Merriday; and many well wishes and gifts. Finally, just as darkness was stealing over the sky, Asa brought the wagon to take his bride home.