Charlotte's Mail Order Husband (New Montana Brides series) by Susan Leigh Carlton Page B
Authors: Susan Leigh Carlton
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with what I thought. I suggested to him you were a good choice. It will be a month before I hear back, so I’m going to give you his name and address, so you can write. I will let you know as soon as I receive a reply.”
“Thank you. I do appreciate your trust.”
* * *
Dear Mr. Parsons,
I prevailed upon your sister to give me your address. The month required for an exchange of letters seems such a long time, so I thought I would go ahead and write first.
My name is Charlotte Jenkins, but I am called Lottie. I am twenty-five years old, and have never been married. Now with the war over, prospects of that happening here, are dimmer than before.
I was born in Ireland but came to America at a young age. My parents set great store in education, and I comple ted the Catholic Schools. (Yes, I am Catholic.) I attended Saint Anne’s School for Girls. I currently have a position in a local bank as a teller.
I have red hair , (and a temper to match). I am five feet-six inches tall, and have a slender build. I am the oldest of four girls, two of whom are married.
I must say, Mary did not gloss anything over. I have wondered whether she was trying to discourage my interest. I have not spoken to my parents about what I’m doing. My mother would be appalled at the thought of me corresponding with a stranger, and one on the other side of the continent as well.
Until she showed me on an Atlas, I had no idea where the Montana Territory is located. It certainly sounds different from Baltimore. If you are of a mind, I would appreciate a return letter.
Until then, I remain, Sincerely,
Lottie Jenkins
Six weeks later, Lottie received a short note from Mary Parsons that read:
My Dear Lottie,
I have received mail from my brother. If you would be so kind as to call on me, I will be pleased to review his letter with you.
Yours truly,
Mary Parsons
Intra city mail was normally delivered within two days, and Lottie called on Mary the day after she received the note. “I wrote the same day I was here last,” Lottie told her.
“His letter to me said he would be writing to you directly, the same day this was mailed.”
“Good, I have something I can look forward to receiving. I appreciate your help. Who knows, we may be related someday.”
Mary held the cup of tea up in a toast. “Until then,” she said.
Two days later, Lottie received a letter at her home, from Zebulon Parsons, General Delivery, Helena, Montana.
Dear Miss Jenkins,
Having received your name and address, I take pen in hand to give more information about myself. As Mary no doubt told you, I am twenty-eight years of age. I have dark hair and dark eyes. At the present time, my skin is dark from the sun. In winter, I become pale, like the snow fox. I am probably thinner than my sister remembers me; when you are alone, eating is of less importance. I take most of my meals with the ranch hands, numbering twelve at present. The number does vary depending on the time of year.
I live on a ranch, close to the banks of the Missouri River. We are surrounded by mountains, giving us some protection from the snows of winter,
I currently live in the bunkhouse with the others, but the ranch house is nearing completion, and should be so before winter sets in. It is going to be a large house, as I anticipate having children. That is the first secret I reveal to you.
Mary said you asked about church. Helena has a Chri stian Church, pastored by a very nice young couple. It has what I regard as a well-stocked general store, a bank, and a livery stable. Now that it appears the gold is playing out, Helena is becoming a hub of commerce, supplying the needs of the mining factors in Montana. It has at present, a permanent population of around 2,500. I do not include the itinerant miners in that number.
Life on a ranch is difficult, but rewarding. We grow what we eat, from the beef, to vegetables during the growing se ason, and then the vegetables that are canned for future
“Thank you. I do appreciate your trust.”
* * *
Dear Mr. Parsons,
I prevailed upon your sister to give me your address. The month required for an exchange of letters seems such a long time, so I thought I would go ahead and write first.
My name is Charlotte Jenkins, but I am called Lottie. I am twenty-five years old, and have never been married. Now with the war over, prospects of that happening here, are dimmer than before.
I was born in Ireland but came to America at a young age. My parents set great store in education, and I comple ted the Catholic Schools. (Yes, I am Catholic.) I attended Saint Anne’s School for Girls. I currently have a position in a local bank as a teller.
I have red hair , (and a temper to match). I am five feet-six inches tall, and have a slender build. I am the oldest of four girls, two of whom are married.
I must say, Mary did not gloss anything over. I have wondered whether she was trying to discourage my interest. I have not spoken to my parents about what I’m doing. My mother would be appalled at the thought of me corresponding with a stranger, and one on the other side of the continent as well.
Until she showed me on an Atlas, I had no idea where the Montana Territory is located. It certainly sounds different from Baltimore. If you are of a mind, I would appreciate a return letter.
Until then, I remain, Sincerely,
Lottie Jenkins
Six weeks later, Lottie received a short note from Mary Parsons that read:
My Dear Lottie,
I have received mail from my brother. If you would be so kind as to call on me, I will be pleased to review his letter with you.
Yours truly,
Mary Parsons
Intra city mail was normally delivered within two days, and Lottie called on Mary the day after she received the note. “I wrote the same day I was here last,” Lottie told her.
“His letter to me said he would be writing to you directly, the same day this was mailed.”
“Good, I have something I can look forward to receiving. I appreciate your help. Who knows, we may be related someday.”
Mary held the cup of tea up in a toast. “Until then,” she said.
Two days later, Lottie received a letter at her home, from Zebulon Parsons, General Delivery, Helena, Montana.
Dear Miss Jenkins,
Having received your name and address, I take pen in hand to give more information about myself. As Mary no doubt told you, I am twenty-eight years of age. I have dark hair and dark eyes. At the present time, my skin is dark from the sun. In winter, I become pale, like the snow fox. I am probably thinner than my sister remembers me; when you are alone, eating is of less importance. I take most of my meals with the ranch hands, numbering twelve at present. The number does vary depending on the time of year.
I live on a ranch, close to the banks of the Missouri River. We are surrounded by mountains, giving us some protection from the snows of winter,
I currently live in the bunkhouse with the others, but the ranch house is nearing completion, and should be so before winter sets in. It is going to be a large house, as I anticipate having children. That is the first secret I reveal to you.
Mary said you asked about church. Helena has a Chri stian Church, pastored by a very nice young couple. It has what I regard as a well-stocked general store, a bank, and a livery stable. Now that it appears the gold is playing out, Helena is becoming a hub of commerce, supplying the needs of the mining factors in Montana. It has at present, a permanent population of around 2,500. I do not include the itinerant miners in that number.
Life on a ranch is difficult, but rewarding. We grow what we eat, from the beef, to vegetables during the growing se ason, and then the vegetables that are canned for future
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