Thread: Desperate Bride (Saul & Chanti)

Thud. Squeak. Thud. Squeak. Thudsqueakthudsqueakthud. Ooooh.. Thudsqueakthudsqueakthud. Pretty little whore. Thudsqueakthudsqueakthud. Rose snapped her eyes open, staring up at the dark wooden ceiling as her cheeks flushed scarlet in the late night darkness. Oh lord. Thatstreetwalker in the room next to hers was doing business again. As the iron bed next door groaned and squeaked and slammed into the wall Rose shared with her new neighbor, Rose sat up and rubbed her face tiredly. She was exhausted, but who could sleep with that noise going on? Reaching over she lit a candle and picked up her breakfast, a small apple. As she crunched down on it she picked up the paper, scanning it carefully. She needed a job desperately. Her funds were running dangerously low. Without a job she MAY last two more months before she would be penniless and on the street. But it was difficult to get a job when your only experience was hosting a dinner party or tea party, something she had been performing for the last three years since she was 15 for her father. Perhaps someone would be in desperate need of charming conversation from a former debutante, and willing to pay for it. She half grimaced, half giggled at the idea. Her last attempt at a job had been as a clerk in a mercantile store. She knew mathematics, and was good with the customers. But when in the second week the proprietor had tried to lift her skirts in the back store-room and she had slapped him and stomped on his booted foot, she had been told not to come back. She was desperate. But not THAT desperate. Thudsqueakthudsqueakthud. Rose shook her head. Not yet, anyway. If she ever became that desperate she knew who to turn to for business advice. Thudsqueakthudsqueakthud. Rose noted an advertisement for a dressmaker for a dollar a day. She would apply for that. So what if she didnt know how to sew? How hard could it be? She had seen her former servants sew. Pull a needle out, push a needle in. It seemed easy enough. And a dollar a day would allow her to save up money over the next couple months to get out of Boston. Somewhere where she could walk down the street without looking over her shoulder. Somewhere where she could perhaps get a job as a governess or a teacher, something she was far more suitable for without worrying about being discovered and murdered in some dark wet alley somewhere in the city. Her rent here in this hellhole was a mere 4 a month, and she could eat light enough. Yes, perhaps in a few months she would be able to save enough. She kept looking, hoping for a job she actually knew how to do. Successful rancher in the Colorado territory seeking hard-working and capable mature wife. Must love children and be comfortable around animals. Travel expenses provided if we suit. Send a picture along with your response to. She stopped reading, giggling out loud. The poor man! She had heard that out in the west there were pitifully few women, but to have to advertise for a wife! Such boldness! Thudsqueakthudsqueakthud. Ooooooh! The loud grunt had Rose blushing again as she chewed on her apple. One business transaction was finished, it seemed. Sure enough she heard a few murmuring sounds, some shuffling sounds, then a door slamming. Then a few minutes later Thud. Squeak. Thud. Squeak. Business was good, it seemed. Elizabeth Carter looked up sharply as her shop door opened. She took in the girl standing there in one glance. A slender, elegant figure that bespoke of aristocracy. She had on a fine pale blue gown in last seasons fashion, carefully cleaned and pressed. The girls black hair was clean and shiny, carefully braided and put up in a knot on the back of her head. Her face was sweet and fresh, heart-shaped with big pale gray-blue eyes framed with thick black lashes. High arched cheekbones, a slender elegant nose, and a full pink mouth. A fine looking girl, and Mrs. Carter quickly decided she was a customer. So she put on her finest smile and hustled forward to greet the girl. Good day, Miss! How may I help you? Good day! The girl smiled back at her, her youthful cheer instantly irritating to the seamstress. My name is Rose. I saw an advertisement for a dressmaker. Are you still hiring? A dressmaker? Mrs. Carter drew back, the warm welcome on her face instantly cooling. I see. And what is your experience in dress making? The sunny smile on the girls face didnt waver at Mrs. Carters change in attitude. Oh, I have great experience with seasonal fashion. Why this dress I am wearing was sewn in my own home last year. I think it would have been better in a richer shade of blue to offset the darkness of my hair, dont you think? Mrs. Carter looked over the gown with a careful eye. Indeed, it was a well-made garment. The stitches were hardly visible, but those she could see were neat and perfectly placed. You made this? Her voice was doubtful. You like it? Pft, this was no difficult job at all for me. The girl smiled so warmly that Mrs. Carter found herself thawing. Very well. A dollar a day, and you shall be here promptly at seven in the morning. Can you start immediately? I will pay you a full dollar for the days work. Oh, certainly! The girl was delighted, and Mrs. Carter promptly thrust a half done bodice in sea-green silk at her to complete, and then returned to her own work. It appeared sewing was a far more difficult job than Rose had first estimated. Lord, but that woman had gotten angry when she had checked on Rose a half later, only to find the expensive silk smeared with blood drops from where Rose had jabbed herself with the needle with what felt like 100 times. And that was after it had taken her twenty minutes to get the stupid needle threaded! It was a dejected, hungry Rose that hauled herself up the three flights of rickety stairs to her tiny garrett apartment, having spent an entire day out with not a single coin to show for it. She had bought a small meat pie from a street vendor which she ate sitting on the edge of her rickety iron bed, staring blankly at the newspaper she had set on the bedside table. She would never be able to save up the money she needed. She would die here in Boston, at the hands of the man who .Travel expenses provided if we suit. She stared at those words, the flaky crust of the handpie dissolving in her mouth, the meaty juices dripping over her hand. .Travel expenses provided if we suit. She smiled grimly. Colorado was a very long way from Boston. Oh we will suit, Sir. We will suit very well indeed. She dressed for her photograph carefully. The man was looking for a mature woman. Rose sleected her plainest, darkest blue gown, and drew her hair back in a severe bun that aged her appearance by a good five years or so. Gathering up her few remaining coins, she swept down the stairs to the closest store that sold paper and pen, and then stopped to see a photographer. Dear Sir, I take up my pen in hand as I gather my courage in my heart. It seems quite bold of me to write a man I do not know with the interest of pursuing a marriage. But I am freshly widowed, and while I miss my husband dearly I find that being a woman alone is difficult. Well, part of that was true anyway. Being a woman alone WAS difficult. Extremely so. Rose pursed her lips, considering her claim of being widowed. It was a risk. Some men did not care for what they considered the leavings of another man. But the rancher had specifically requested a mature woman, and Rose suspected he would approve of a woman with experience being married over a girl barely out of the schoolroom. I noticed in your advertisement you mentioned children. Do you have children? I miss my nieces and nephews very much, and adored spending time with them. But they went to England last year with their parents and I have not seen them since. My youngest neice, three year old Eliza, was my favorite. She was an adorable little thing who would have a temper tantrum everytime I left. I often wished I could take her home with me! Rose DID adore children, but the only experience she had with them was with her friends little brothers and sisters. Eliza was actually Ellens little sister. Ellen was once Roses best friend, and Eliza had taken to toddling after Rose every time Rose had come to visit. Rose angrily brushed a tear away and bent to write. It would do no good remembering a past she could not return too. I must confess I have never lived in the west, but I grew up on a farm and have much experience milking cows and tending to chickens and gardens. The closest Rose had come to milking a cow was drinking it out of her glass. But she had seen it done once as a child, and it looked easy enough. Pull the teat, milk squirts out. Easy. And how hard could it be to toss some chickens some feed, or throw some seed on the ground? As a young girl I dreamed of living in the west. Such romance! Wide open spaces, the fresh closeness of nature. Are the Indians dangerous? I have heard they go on the warpath every summer, but I am not familiar with Colorado Indians. Are they different from other Indians? Indians was definitely a concern. It seemed every-time she splurged and bought a paper she read about some poor settler family being butchered in their beds by wild savages. It would not due to run straight from the reach of one murderer into the arms of another. I understand there may not be churches nearby, but I trust you are a God-fearing man, and seeking to raise your children should you have some to be civilized, responsible Christians. THAT seemed like something a responsible, mature woman would say. I pray this letter reaches you swiftly and in good health. While I confess this method of seeking marriage seems scandalous, I believe it is appropriate for two adults in our positions. If my letter pleases you, I hope to hear more about your home and your family. Sincerely yours, Rose Marie Madden She deliberately used a false last name. If she were to go to Colorado, she wanted no trace of her trail that the man seeking to murder her could follow.