Page 4 of The Rancher's Wedding
“In his own way,” Estelle said, cautiously.
“I expect I’d remember him if he was handsome.”
Estelle was struggling to find the words. He wasn’t particularly unattractive, but that wasn’t the part that bothered her. There was another element to him that simply rubbed her the wrong way. She didn’t have the words, and the ones she did have made her seem silly. Maybe it was the way he looked at her. When his eyes fixed on her, they didn’t blink. The stare was so intense that she felt as though it might never leave.
He frightened her. He sent a chill down her spine just being in the same room as her. She hadn’t been lying to her father when she’d told him she wasn’t feeling well. Her stomach was, indeed, turning.
But that sounded melodramatic. She’d have to say something simpler.
“He’s pleasant enough to look at, but is it too much to want to be wooed by a man rather than just assigned to him?”
“Perhaps he will try to woo you if you’d only give him a chance.”
“Or, perhaps I don’t wish to be wooed by him.”
Megan nodded. “This, I understand.” She reached inside of her picnic basket and pulled out a large pamphlet, which she handed to Estelle. “I think I may have a solution for you.”
Estelle looked at the pamphlet, unsure of how it could possibly help her.
“What is this?”
“Are you familiar with the concept of a mail-order bride?” Megan asked.
A mail-order bride?“Is that what it sounds like?”
“A man corresponds with you via post, then, if you reach an agreement, he sends to have you shipped to him and you marry.”
The very notion of marrying a man sight unseen sounded wrong to Estelle. It felt elicit, like a game of chance. Her cheeks burned. She was both aghast and, secretly, intrigued.
“This is something you’re thinking of doing?” Estelle asked.
“I’m considering it. It never hurts to see what options are available. These are men from all over the country just looking for wives. They’ll pay for transportation and provide room and board—all in exchange for marrying them.”
Estelle couldn’t deny her interest in the subject. Part of it sounded so romantic, to marry a man based only on correspondence, but she had to admit that she was a woman who cared about appearance, as well.
“How do I know what they look like?”
“Here,” Megan said, pointing to one of the entries. “They describe themselves sometimes.Brown hair and moustache, 35 years old, 6 feet 2 inches tall.”
Estelle laughed. “They can say whatever they want. How am I to know they’re telling the truth?”
“I suppose, but why would they lie? If they’re paying for you to go all the way across the country, I imagine they don’t want you to be disappointed when you arrive.”
“Fine, let’s see what we have here.” Estelle perused the long list of descriptions. “60-year-old gentleman widower seeking a good cook between the age of 20 and 25 in Louisville, Kentucky.I suppose at sixty, he wouldn’t be here much longer, either.”
“I agree, they’re not all diamonds, but there are some men in here who genuinely sound good.” She took the pamphlet from Estelle. “Like this one,25-year-old eligible well-kempt bachelor seeking spouse in San Francisco, California.He doesn’t sound so bad, does he?”
“I just wonder, if he’s so eligible, why must he put an advertisement in a paper like this? Why can’t he find himself a wife on his own? Particularly in such a big place like San Francisco.”
“If you don’t like the man, perhaps settle for the lifestyle.24-year-old rancher in Grafton Town, Utah. Spend the days tending cattle and the evenings around the firepit, looking at stars. Humble, quiet home with horses and dogs. Looking for spouse who enjoys the outdoors and adventure.”
Estelle felt a tiny ember in her heart. She imagined herself on the back of a horse, riding through the mountains, wrangling up cattle, alongside a man with a light tan and a Stetson hat. She couldn’t quite make out his face, though it also didn’t matter to her. What mattered was the sun onherface and the feel of clothes that weren’t so tight. More than anything, she found herself excited by the sense of freedom that the brief mental image evoked in her. Was it really her on the horse? It was her face, but with a genuine smile, the likes of which she hadn’t felt for years.
“Let me see that,” Estelle said.
She read through the advertisement again.
“It seems that one piqued your interest.”