Chapter One

Today was not the day, and Charlotte Belcher certainly wasn’t the one for Clance Fenimore. He couldn’t feel it, the electric sparks and thundering heartbeat that he hoped to feel with her. And, though it was almost doubtless, he was hoping that Charlotte, who sat across the table from him, couldn’t feel it herself either. Clance could have bet on Charlotte being more excited about the money under his name than she was about him.

Clance glanced at the young, eligible, and lovely-looking woman before taking another bite of his meat. He couldn’t possibly stomach any more of the food on his plate that he’d ordered. The questions Charlotte and her mother, who sat beside her daughter, threw at Clance made him completely off his feed. He realised what a dreadful mistake it was to request to dine with the women. Much as he’d come to know dining with all the women who’d come before her in the past had also been a mistake.

Now, as the brief silence fell over their table at the town saloon, Clance’s mind started to fill up with running thoughts like dirty water. He wished for a bride who would see him for more than his riches and was afraid to marry one who only cared about his money. When he’d invited Miss Charlotte Belcher and Mrs. Belcher to luncheon, he hoped that maybe Charlotte would be the one who would take Clance away from his loneliness and help him believe that trusting someone again wouldn’t be so bad. But as the time passed during their meal, the conversation proved that both women to be far more interested in Clance’s house and ranch than they were in him.

He’d met quite a few of the small number of eligible women in town in the past, and Clance ought to know that good women with pure, compassionate hearts were rare in Hollow, just like crimson clovers in the Texas desert.

“This meat is tender and delicious,” Charlotte murmured in a soft voice as she smoothed her hands over the fabric of her myrtle green dress. Her words broke the quiet, and Clance stopped being too much in his head.

He looked up and pushed his black hair back from his forehead before replying. “They came straight from my family’s ranch. This saloon and most other saloons in Hollow have been in trade with our ranch ever since I was a little boy.”

“Are there any members of your family that have a share in your ranch, Mr. Fenimore?” Mrs. Belcher asked most brazenly, a scaly smile on her face. From the corner of his eyes, Clance watched as Charlotte peeked at him to judge his response.

For a second then, he didn’t know how to answer the ill-mannered question, as he felt more trapped than ever. Did Mrs. Belcher or her daughter ask Clance how he was faring with keeping up with all his responsibilities around the ranch? Did they give their sympathies on his father’s death even?

Inarguably, all that the women wanted to know about was his ranch was the amount of money he owned, and the reason for such familiar and intrusive inquiries were very clear to Clance.

It was not as if he expected to not be asked anything about his estate. He did want to find a woman who would love his ranch and his home, but most importantly, someone who would love him. Both sides needed to be balanced, and just like all the other women Clance had met, Charlotte and her mother only weighed one side of the scale down. The other sat ignored and empty of any weight, which in turn made Clance feel glum.

All of Hollow knew Clance for the prosperous property that had been left to him, but not many people knew the daily difficulties of keeping the ranch together and going. With all his staff and the ranch hands looking to him for answers and solutions, Clance felt as if he was being stretched thin to keep up with all his responsibilities.

However, the last thing Clance wanted was to be a failure. He didn’t want to fail and not live up to his father and the town’s expectations. It was indeed strange, however, how his hankering to be seen as the man he was, and not the man who was merely doing well financially, could affect his life in many ways.

Clance wanted to take his leave right then and ride off far and fast. But courtesy demanded he stay and respond to what was asked. He swallowed back his emotions and retreated more into himself, deciding that he should probably start asking more about young Charlotte to avoid any more personal inquisitions from Mrs. Belcher.

“No, Mrs. Belcher, it’s only me in the family. I was only respecting the fact that my father put his life’s effort into making it what it is now by not calling it my ranch.” Clance bit back a sigh and leaned back in his chair with heavy shoulders, attempting to hide his discontent.

“And Miss Belcher,” Clance turned his attention to Charlotte, who at once sat up straighter. “I’ve heard you have quite an interest in sewing. I would like to know more about your passion.”

Just like that, meaningless chatter continued until the end of their luncheon, leaving Clance feeling dragged out and dumpish. He wondered if this was a sort of sign from God. It was his duty to protect and keep the Fenimore name in high standing with a good reputation, and although Clance struggled to carry the weight of the world all by himself, he knew that he shouldn’t allow finding love to come in between him and his duties again. The last time he’d let that happen, it hadn’t ended well for him at all. He had to focus on the ranch for now, while still having hope of finding the lady destined to be with him, in time.

Clance remembered what his father had said to him once when he was younger. The words were etched on his mind. “Matches are made in heaven, dear boy. You and the girl promised to you will find a way to each other someday.”

***

Later that evening, Clance found himself at the deputy sheriff’s office. His look fixed on the ray of sunlight that gleamed through the crack in the window and glinted off the surface of a gun that lay on the table in front of him. He braced his elbows on the corner of the desk and rubbed his jaw. The slight stubble on his skin felt rough on his thumb and forefinger.

“How did the luncheon go? I know you’d been looking forward to it,” Clance’s friend, Jack Coffee asked. He was also a competent ranger. But it had taken no longer than two minutes with Jack for Clance to know he was as stubborn as a mule. Clance looked up to meet his gaze and then quickly looked away to the side, steering clear of his friend’s watchful eyes.

“They were a bag of nails. I don’t want to say a word about it,” Clance muttered in response and slouched back in his chair. His fingers lazily drummed on the side arm.

“Ah, you’ve finally met the right woman for you to wed. This is excellent news,” Jack uttered in a sarcastic tone and stretched his long legs in front of him. Clance rolled his eyes.

“I don’t even want to think about marriage now, especially marriage to Miss Belcher. Her mother was an absolute nightmare as well.”

“You’ve been playing the lone hand since the death of your old man, Clance. I’m sure at one point you’ll have to focus more on a woman’s good qualities than her bad.”

Jack deliberately left out the one seemingly important relationship Clance had after his father’s death. Clance didn’t mind that it wasn’t mentioned. In fact, he was glad that his friend didn’t say anything about it because, to Clance, it never happened. He was trying his best to erase all the memories related to that toxic bond.

“Acknowledge the corn; no man can bear life on his own. I’m shocked you could get even this far without a woman by your side.”

“You know well how rare right-minded women are in Hollow. I’ve met many women here, none of whom I’d like to make my wife. And as for what you said earlier, it’s true to say that the lady I met today had no good to focus on. At least, she had no good in my eyes,” he responded.

Clance squirmed in his seat under the scrutiny of his friend. He knew exactly what Jack was trying to do. It was what Jack did best; read people’s expressions to know what they were thinking about and how they were feeling. Being Jack’s closest friend for many years, Clance had gotten himself caught in this habit of Jack’s many times, and it was strange how Jack always assumed Clance’s feelings correctly.

Clance shook his head and picked up one of the files of paper on the desk, covering his face while he pretended to read. “Stop studying me,” he said with a growl.

“Perhaps you should look for women down east,” Jack suggested after a moment.

“Are you saying I should travel down east only to look for an eligible woman there?” Clance frowned and looked over at Jack’s grinning face from over the top of the file.

“That’s not what I’m saying. Post an ad for a mail-order bride in the paper down east.”

“Jack, I’m not so sure about that.” Clance sighed, knowing he wasn’t so sure if that was the right way to go through with his difficulty.

“Don’t you need a woman to help you with the ranch? Don’t you need a woman to cook you a decent meal? Don’t you need a woman like every man needs a woman?” Jack pressed.

“Yes, but…”

“You’ve met my wife, haven’t you? Isn’t she a sweetheart?”  Jack interjected.

“Yes Jack, it’s tha…”

But the deputy’s voice interrupted, growing louder with each word. “Look at you. You have a ranch full of cattle and you’ve been getting skinnier since your father’s death. And now look at me. I’m always full as a tick.”  He spread his arms wide on both sides for emphasis.

“It’s true that it worked for you, but who said it would work for me?” Clance said and threw the file down with a soft thud. The pain at the side of his temples increased, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve the pounding ache he felt. He needed to get back to the ranch and finish up his work there before the sun went down, but something in him made him want to stay a while longer and hear what Jack had to say.

“It worked for Vince Pruitt,” Jack said, this time with a lower tone.

Clance said nothing. He couldn’t deny that Jack’s proposition would bring him some good. His hesitation to post an ad made no sense to him now. It had worked well for Jack as well as for Sheriff Vince, and Clance knew very well how happy they both were with their wives. He’d seen the love the couples shared for each other and had always envied their affection. What if Jack was right and this worked out for him too? What if the bride he found down east was nowhere close to being like the other women he had known?

“Vince, you know him. The stuffy sheriff,” Jack spoke when Clance sat wordlessly, lost in his thoughts and the possible outcomes an ad would bring him.

“Yes, I know him, Jack.” He let out a breath.

“If Vince could get himself a dedicated wife who could bear him, I can’t see how a respected man like you wouldn’t.”

Jack shuffled through the piles of paper on his desk, and then pulled out a newspaper. He slapped it in front of Clance, pointing to a section filled with similar ads to the one he was to write. “You pen down your ad and it will be in a fine spot that will go down east, right to your future bride’s hands.” Jack smirked.

“Mail-order bride, huh?” Clance said, feeling the nervousness and anxiety bubbling up in him. He kept telling himself that this ad might bring him luck, and he would finally find someone who would love him for who he was rather than for his deep pockets.

“Enough with the sighs. Take a pen.” Jack pushed a blank piece of paper and waited patiently until Clance finished writing his advertisement.

Clance passed the note to Jack.

“Lonely hearts. Looking for an eligible young woman, a mail-order bride for a rancher who owns land in Hollow, Texas. She must be well-mannered, educated, and raised well. She would be asked to help around the ranch if needed. A good outlook and an ardent desire to learn are preferred, and of course, a woman who doesn’t possess a fear of horses or any other ranch animals.” Jack chuckled after reading the final line. “You won’t regret this, Clance,” he said. “And let me know if you ever hear back.”

Clance couldn’t help the small smile that played on his lips. He ran his shaky hands through his hair and placed his hat back over his head. Jack had nearly entirely convinced him that this would lead him down the right road to the future he wanted to live in. But the thought of marriage and being legally bonded to someone also made him feel a little sick.

Clance knew what the nervousness of getting married felt like, and he knew what the pain of heartbreak and deceit felt like as well. Clance’s chair creaked as he leaned back. The constant weight he always felt bearing down on him was now seemingly lighter, but still ever present.

Chapter Two

“After months of absence, he appears at her door, and she can’t get herself to breathe air into her lungs, nor can she help the joyful tears that fill her eyes. When she finally inhales the evening air, the smell of him surrounds her completely. Her knees buckle and she finds herself in his arms. She feels his hands around her waist, and his smile pressing against her cheek as she’s being lifted to the horse’s bare back. The two of them, together again, riding through the meadow along with the blustery win—”

“Fern! I need you to come to the kitchen right this instance.” Her mother called from the bottom of the staircase, as she always did. She looked up from the pages of her book for a moment and replied, “I’m coming right now, Ma.”

“—riding through the meadow along with the blustery winds, to the warm shelter up east where they’d spent the night and made lo—”

“Fern Baker, don’t make me come up to your room and get you down here myself.”

Fern shut her book quickly and ran downstairs. She knew that the tone her mother had just used could not be ignored—unless she wanted to be yelled at. Lifting the hem of her coral pink dress, she ran faster through the hallway and finally entered the kitchen, where she found her mother and two younger sisters. Fern smoothed down her hair and hoped that the flush on her cheeks from what she had been reading earlier wasn’t so visible.

“Mama.” She kissed her mother’s powdery cheek before stealing a raisin from the small basket on the kitchen counter and popping it in her mouth. “What did you want me down here for?” she asked and grinned when her mother slapped her hands away from her next attempt to take more fruit.

“Help your sisters lay the table for supper, Fern, and then your father and I would like to talk to you.” Fern’s smile instantly fell as she thought of what her parents could possibly want to talk about. She hoped it wasn’t another lecture about her spending hours reading instead of helping around the house as much as she was expected to. Fern couldn’t keep herself away from the stories. She was drawn to the sweeping romances and thrilling adventures lived by the characters in the books, and she hoped she could live a great life just like that someday. But her reality held no adventure or glamour. She was simply a twenty-three-year-old girl, with absolutely no great prospects.

Fern placed the basket of freshly baked bread on the dining table and took a seat across from her mother. She squeezed her father’s hand with a soft smile and then turned her attention to her other side, where Clare, her younger sister by two years, sat. She nudged Fern’s shoulder with her own before leaning in to whisper in her ear, “You aren’t in trouble again, are you?”

Fern frowned. “Of course not,” she said in response, which Clare only giggled at.

Of all her four sisters, Fern was closest to Clare. The two girls shared the smallest age gap between them and had always been the best of friends ever since they were young. As children, their mother would dress Fern and Clare in the same coloured frocks and ribbons tied around their piggy tails. The people in town would confuse themselves when trying to figure out which girl was which. Apart from having the same looks as each other—brown hair, big, innocent brown eyes, and creamy white skin—the two sisters had nothing else in common.

Fern always tried to push Clare’s nose into a book, but Clare was more interested in baking the newest recipe for banana bread instead. Her mother used to say that Fern was the dreamer and Clare was the realist. Her mother was right, and though sometimes Fern wished she were more like Clare, she also knew that she would never change to be so different.

Fern’s two older sisters were already married to reputable men in town, and now even Clare was engaged and soon to be away from home. It saddened Fern to think that yet another one of her siblings would leave her. After a few months passed, it would be only Fern and her youngest two-year-old sister, Charlie, at home with their parents.

And that made Fern often wonder how long she would have to wait for her own love story. How long would she have to live with her parents while her sisters fell in love, one by one? When would she feel the same affection for a man? Fern’s expectations of a good husband were high, but she knew there was someone out there for her. She only had to find him.

The sound of cutlery being used and Charlie’s winsome chatter filled the dining room as the family’s meal continued. Fern pushed her uneaten food around her plate while daydreaming. She looked out the open window at the cloudless, darkening sky before she heard her mother call her name to get her attention.

“Charlie, why don’t you get ready for bed?” Her mother said with a soft smile, and Fern watched her youngest sister rush out of her chair and up the stairs to her bath.

Fern wished she could go up to her room as well and continue reading from where she left off, rather than having to sit here and listen to what her mother had to say. Fern slouched her shoulders and played with the lining of the tablecloth, when she felt her mother’s eyes fall over her.

“What’s the matter, Mama? Did I do something wrong?” Fern asked while her gaze stayed on her lap. From the corner of her eye, she saw her father shaking his head. At that, Fern let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t that she got herself in trouble often, but it was her mother’s serious tone and her father’s presence for this conversation that made Fern more nervous than necessary.

“Silly girl,” her mother said. “Were you worried about that the entire meal? About you being in trouble? Is that why you barely touched your food, Fern?”

“I’m just not quite hungry anymore,” Fern shook her head, sporting a small smile.

“Very well,” Mrs. Baker continued, straight onto the point of the conversation as she usually did. “We have arranged for you to meet with a very nice man tomorrow for supper. I certainly hope you take a liking to each other.”

Fern sat up straighter at her mother’s words. “What man, Mama?” she asked.

“Mr. Ackerman. He’s a man with a high reputation and good manners, and is also very well educated,” her father answered, leaning back in his chair. “He comes from a respected family and has a large estate, and now he’s in need of a wife. I knew his father briefly before he passed; he was a good man, just like—I’m sure—his son is.”

“You aren’t getting any younger, Fern, and you need to find a good husband for yourself before you grow too old for men’s likings. Tell me you’ll give this man a chance tomorrow. Put away your childish and romantic fantasies for just a while, and you’ll surely like him,” Mrs. Baker pleaded, reaching across the table for her daughter’s hand.

She didn’t feel like correcting her mother, saying that what she wanted in a husband was not just childish and romantic fantasies. If the man was interesting, intriguing—with a trace of mystery, perhaps—and he knew the right time to hold her hand and kiss her cheeks and scoop her away on a spontaneous, romantic getaway. Fern would marry that man without hesitating.

Maybe the man she was meeting tomorrow would be exactly what she wanted. Fern laid her palm over her mother’s cold ones and nodded. “Of course, Mama, Papa. I’ll meet him for supper tomorrow,” was all Fern could say before pushing her chair back to stand.

She kissed both her parents cheeks and made her way up to her room, with Clare trailing behind her. She wasn’t opposed to the idea of meeting Mr. Ackerman tomorrow. In fact, Fern felt a little excitement in her belly when she thought of him being like one of the many heroes she read about in her books. Would he take her hands in his larger ones and kiss her knuckles softly when they first met? Would his eyes shine with tenderness and warmth and bring her to feel swarms of butterflies in her stomach?

With a heavy, musing sigh, Fern fell back onto her bed while Clare closed the door to their bedroom and sat in the corner of hers.

“Don’t you want to know any more about the mystery man you’re to meet tomorrow?” her sister asked with a slight frown creasing her forehead. Fern propped herself up on her elbows and rested her head on her open palm while she glanced at Clare, a small playful smile tilting up the corners of her lips.

“Clare, Miss Dorothy didn’t know Mr. Cleveland before they met. He was a stranger, and a mystery man to her as well, and look at how they fell in love with each other.”

“Yes, but they’re not real people, Fern. Miss Dorothy and Mr. Cleveland are fictional, unlike you and Mr. Ackerman.” Clare brought her knees up to her chest, and Fern saw the slight worry in her eyes. “If you could only get your head out from in the clouds, you would want to ask Papa more about Mr. Ackerman before meeting him.”

“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Fern asked with a grin, thinking of all the daring experiences she would have with him, if he were.

“No, Mama and Papa wouldn’t arrange a meal with a dangerous man. But if he were, I don’t think you should be smiling,” Clare rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated breath, as if Fern’s silly ideas exhausted her.

“I’m sure he’ll be all right,” Fern reassured her sister and then looked up at the ceiling. Clare didn’t always understand her, like at this moment. Fern wasn’t going to sob and tell her mama that she didn’t want to meet the man they’d chosen for her, a man she knew absolutely nothing about. However, Clare expected her to, only because it was what she would have done if she were in this situation. But Fern liked the excitement of not knowing what kind of man she was going to dine with.

When she closed her eyes and ignored her sister’s shuffling beside her, she pictured a handsome Mr. Ackerman, with a great sense of humour. His jokes would make her giggle and her chest would feel light with happiness. And he would be an interesting man, of sorts. And what if he loved to chase after adventures just like she did? They would be perfect for each other.

As Fern, giddy with anticipation, went to bed that night, she dreamt a dream where she rode on a horse’s bare back with a young man behind her. One hand stayed around her waist as she leaned back into his chest. The winds were warm in her hair, as they travelled out west to start the beginning of their epic love story.

***

Fern stared at the man sitting across from her. The thoughts fluttering through her mind kept her from eating another bite of the pie that had been ordered for her.

“Do you not like the pie, my dear?” Mr. Ackerman asked before setting his fork down.

“No, it’s delicious.” Fern plastered on a smile, determined to continue seeming pleasant.

In all honesty, Mr. Ackerman wasn’t what she’d expected him to be. Maybe it was wrong of her to have assumed what he would be like. At the very least, it had only caused her disappointment within the very first ten minutes of conversing with him. He wasn’t intriguing, he didn’t have good humour, and he never laughed at any of the jokes Fern told him. From the sight of his round belly, Fern knew he wasn’t one for adventures either. Although she didn’t want to admit it, she should have listened to Clare and asked Papa a little about the man she was having lunch with right at this moment.

“Miss Baker, do you know what qualities a good wife possesses?” the man asked.

Fern met his gaze and wondered for a while about a proper answer. She glanced quickly at her mother sitting quietly beside her, hoping to get a clue of how she was supposed to respond, but her mother only continued eating pie whilst waiting for Fern to reply. When Fern took a deep breath and opened her mouth to respond, Mr. Ackerman cleared his throat and interrupted her before continuing to speak himself.

Fern couldn’t help but frown at his rudeness. Didn’t papa say he was well mannered? He should have also told her how boring and shallow he was, and most importantly, how much older he was.

“A good wife, Miss Baker, is also a good cook. She would have to know all the recipes for her husband’s favourite meals by heart. That would certainly make her a good wife, don’t you agree?”

Fern nodded absentmindedly. But she didn’t agree. A good wife was much more than a person who knew how to make the best biscuits and gravy. She bit her bottom lip instead of saying her thoughts aloud. And then she lowered her lashes as the stuffy man went on. She could feel her mother’s gaze on her, and a second later she felt Mrs. Baker shift in her seat, as if she wanted to tell Fern to pay attention to what Mr. Ackerman was saying.

“Being a good housekeeper comes next. She would need to see to all the domestic affairs and keep the house warm and clean.” Mr. Ackerman spoke with a mouth full of apple pie. “And in time—a very short time, I suppose,” the man let out a belly-shaking laugh, which made Fern squirm uncomfortably in her chair. “She has to be an attentive caretaker for the children that she will have to bear. These three capabilities are what it takes to be a good wife,” he said, bringing his gaze right to hers. “Do you think you have those assets, Miss Baker?”

Fern swallowed hard before taking in a shaky breath. It felt as if Mr. Ackerman was looking for an unpaid maid to bear children for him, rather than a loving wife who would care for him and be cared for by him. Ferns hands fisted around the white dinner napkin that lay on her lap, and before the panic of having to marry a man like him could claim her, Fern took a sip of water and pushed aside the negativity.

Mr. Ackerman didn’t remove his eyes from her. He was still waiting for an answer to his question. He raised his eyebrows and pushed a forkful of pie into his mouth.

“I do think I have some of those assets, Mr. Ackerman, just like most women do,” Fern said. “I do know how to cook simple meals, and though working around the house hasn’t always been easy for me, I’m quite fond of working through the house chores with my sisters. We keep each other entertained most days, and the rest of the time I occupy myself by reading.” She grinned proudly, hoping he would ask her more about the stories she’d lived through books.

Mr. Ackerman looked displeased, however, and Fern instantly regretted saying so much. It was a habit of Fern’s, to talk aloud, splashing on and on whenever she was nervous or anxious. And right now, Fern was very nervous.
“I reckon you know how to sew?” the man asked.

“Just a few stitches, enough to close an open hole in my dress and hem the edges,” Fern replied politely, ignoring her mother’s displeased, quiet sigh. Fern spoke again before her mother could interject to tell Mr. Ackerman sweet lies about her sewing skills, or about how she thought that Fern would one day become a good wife in all the ways Mr. Ackerman believed a good wife should be.

“And how do you spend your day, Mr. Ackerman?”

“Simply. I leave for work before the sun rises and come back home in time for supper,” he answered. Fern felt her heart sink much deeper into her chest. If Mr. Ackerman woke up so early, that would mean he probably went to bed early too. That wouldn’t leave him much extra time to spend with his wife. Fern almost felt sorry for the older man. Did he not do anything for fun? Ride horses, perhaps?

She knew with absolute confidence that Mr. Ackerman wasn’t going to be the hero in her story. Fern wanted more. She knew she was getting older, but she didn’t want to waste her life by doing only the bare minimum. She wanted more excitement, and more romance. She wanted to wake up every day and jump out of bed with exhilaration.

Fern thought back to the novels she’d read about the events out west. Big ranches and dashing cowboys. She could even see herself getting dirty in the mud while helping around with the ranch animals. She would wear a caddy and sit over the pile of hay, watching the sun go down while reading more books and living such a story herself.

That was the kind of life she desired to live, not the one she would have if she married a man like Mr. Ackerman. The hope that Fern had felt all throughout the night before and even that morning turned into something foul beneath her ribs. Thankfully, the meal ended quickly. Fern carefully kept answering the older man’s questions, and in turn, always noticed the disapproval in his eyes. Eventually, the conversation came to a stop and there were only crumbs of apple pie remaining on every plate on the table, except for Fern’s.

Mr. Ackerman shook Fern’s hand and tipped his hat to bid goodbye to her and her mother before leaving the saloon where the three of them had dined. Once he rounded the street corner and disappeared from Fern’s sight, she let out an exhausted breath and slumped back down into her chair with her head hung low.

“Well?” Fern looked at her mother from the corner of her eyes.

Mrs. Baker looked equally tired, but more worried just by listening to the conversation Fern and Mr. Ackerman had shared. She rubbed the tip of her index finger along the lines of her forehead and then sat down. “He wasn’t so impressed with you, that’s for sure.”

“Mama, I wasn’t with him either. He’s old and boring and expects me to be his maid more than his wife.”

“You need to understand that’s what most men want, dear. A good cook, a good housekeeper, someone who would be able to take care of her husband and not spend all her time inside her head dreaming,” her mother mumbled. “You promised you would try to give this man a chance, Fern.”

“And I did, Mother. But he was awful, and I certainly would rather stay at home my entire life than live with Mr. Ackerman,” Fern cried softly. She hated the worry she saw in her mothers’ eyes, and she wished she could do something to be less of a burden than she was already. Mrs. Baker looked up at the heavens and then cut her gaze back to Fern.

“I suppose we could find you a better man,” Fern’s mother spoke. “Preferably, one in better fitness as well.”

Fern laughed with relief and wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders, hugging her tight to convey how much she appreciated her understanding. “Thank you, Mama,” she said softly.

All the way home, Fern’s mind spiralled with thoughts of what she was to do next. She didn’t want to sit and do nothing until another suitor wished to meet her. When she pictured dining with a man worse than Mr. Ackerman, Fern shivered with aversion. She knew there was a solution to her problem, and she had only to stay patient while looking for it for the next couple of days.

It was fortunate that Fern had always been the optimistic sister in the family. The one whose hope for a happy ending never lessened no matter what she went through or what was said to her. And that optimism was exactly what would see her through to achieving her dreams and living the life she desperately wanted to live, rather than settling for someone just because she had to.

When Fern and Mrs. Baker arrived home, the front door opened, and Clare rushed out. “What happened?” she asked in a frenzy. Their mother simply shook her head and walked past the girls into the house, mumbling incoherent words as she went.

“He was an absolute bore, Clare,” Fern replied, linking her arm with her sister before making her way inside. “He was old and stuffy and had this terrible idea of how a good wife should act and what she should do.”

“You didn’t like him,” Clare muttered, more as a fact than a question, and Fern nodded in agreement. “I’m sure you’ll find someone you like someday, Fern, but now even I’m worried about you.”

“What do you mean?” Fern stopped to turn and look at her younger sister.

“You’re looking for a great story to live in, one with thrilling adventures and heart-stopping romance. But sometimes you forget that you don’t live in the pages of a fictional book. Not all men will be perfect like the ones you read about. Everyone has flaws, and though I know from your face that Mr. Ackerman has flaws you can’t overlook, if you meet another man with imperfections, will you be willing to look past them?” Clare asked while looking at Fern.

After a moment of thought, Fern nodded. “Of course, I would, Clare. I’m not that selfish. If I feel a connection towards him, despite his bad qualities, I’ll want to be with him no matter what.”

Clare looked away and dropped her shoulders. With a much softer tone she said, “I believe you. It’s just that I don’t want you to waste your life running after what you want, but never catching it. We both know it’s a possibility.”

Fern didn’t get mad at Clare even though she knew she should. Her words hurt, but as always, Clare only spoke the painful truth to protect Fern. And she was right. This was all she had in her life right now, her drive to live passionately. But for Fern, it was enough. Fern believed, unlike Clare, that she could catch what she chased.

Once inside, Clare left her to continue baking. Fern could hear her mother’s muffled voice as she spoke to her father in the study. She decided it would be best if she didn’t join them. So, Fern picked up the newspapers lying on the living room table and walked up to her room.

As she had walked back home with her mother, an unclear notion had come to her, and she thought further on it now. Mail-order brides. Fern closed the bedroom door behind her and flipped the pages of the paper to the advertisement section.

She’d heard about mail-order bride ads from many girls in town, and now was curious to see a posting herself. She read through each ad until her eyes fell over one ad that got her heart racing. Fern leaned in, intrigued, and her pulse fluttered as she read on. It was an ad from a rancher living out west, who also owned his own land. Fern imagined the wild yet romantic land that his house must be on, and giggled excitedly to herself, forgetting all about Mr. Ackerman.

This was the right thing, right? Would answering an ad be the one thing that Fern needed? Would she find her dream man this way? Fern didn’t allow herself to think about her rash decision any more than she already had. She quickly wrote a reply to the ad and ran out of her room to send it. She was uncertain, but the urge to take a risk won over her doubts about her choice.

“Mama! I’ll be back shortly, I promise,” Fern shouted before leaving in a hurry. The grandest adventure of her life awaited her, and Fern only hoped that the mystery rancher’s response would finally mean she could stop running.

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