Chapter Three
It took seven days on the stage to arrive in Omaha.
With Mrs. Chapman’s help, Prudence packed her small bag and left her old life in Boston behind.
As they stood at the stage depot, waiting for her departure, she embraced the matchmaker tightly and promised to write once she settled.
In that moment, Prudence felt a pang of longing for her own mother but pushed it aside as she prayed that Hubert’s mother would be just as kind and welcoming upon her arrival.
There wasn’t much to see on the ride from Boston, but the stage had stopped several times, allowing the passengers to stretch and get a hot meal. They had told her that everything was included in her fare. By the time the stage reached Omaha, she was ready for the journey to end.
Prudence’s limbs felt heavy and sore, a dull ache that spread from her back to her feet.
Her skin was sticky and grimy from the long journey, and her wrinkled clothes felt uncomfortable against her skin.
She longed to stretch her limbs and lie down on a soft bed. First, she needed to find the rectory.
The spire of the church rose high above the surrounding buildings, reaching towards the endless blue sky. Prudence made her way through the bustling streets of the small town, her footsteps echoing on the wooden pathways. But when she arrived at the church, she encountered disappointment.
The Fitzgeralds were surprised to see her, and the announcement of her being the Reverend’s intended was met with disbelief.
Instead of the welcome she expected, Prudence was met with laughter from a woman whose face resembled an overripe apple left out in the sun for too long.
The woman’s silver hair cascaded down from a loose braid, gently swaying with each step she took.
“My dear, I’m afraid Reverend Fitzgerald has been taken by someone else for many years. When I received a wire from Ingrid Chapman, I couldn’t believe it. Are you sure that you were looking for him?”
Prudence was tired, embarrassed, and a little horrified, but the portly minister who stood nearby seemed only amused.
“Althea. She came in and announced that she was the Reverend Fitzgerald’s intended. I’m sure she means Hubert. Didn’t you tell me he mentioned requesting help from Marjorie?”
Before the older woman could answer, Prudence grabbed hold of the names he’d mentioned and began her lengthy explanation.
“Yes. Here I have a letter from Mrs. Chapman with an introduction. I also have the letter that someone named Marjorie Holstead sent, along with a letter from Reverend Hubert Fitzgerald. Could you possibly tell me where to find him? I apologize for disturbing you.”
Her fingers trembled as she held out the letters.
But as she went to hand them over, her hand hesitated at the last letter.
It was the one Hubert had written. She couldn’t bear to part with it.
She read and reread his words many times, each one etching itself into her heart.
His request was simple, without extravagant demands, showing his understanding and thoughtfulness through his simple request.
He listed the qualities he wanted in a wife.
She had to love the Lord, enjoy helping others, have exceptional culinary skills and domestic talents, and be open to starting a family someday.
He had also mentioned the development of their town in Colorado, and how it created a sense of community and camaraderie among its residents.
Prudence was unsure if she was prepared to meet a large group of people all at once, but the description in his letter reassured her it was still a small town with a close-knit community.
“Hubert isn’t here.” Mrs. Fitzgerald frowned before waving a hand and walking back out the door she’d just come through.
“Don’t mind her any. She’s probably off to find her own letter from our son,” the minister assured Prudence. “We received the wire from Ingrid Chapman, though.”
Mrs. Fitzgerald came back with a letter and a key in her hand. “I sent him a letter, but I’ve not received a response yet. The letter probably just arrived in Sterling, but it may be a few days until Huey can get here. We can walk over and get her settled in Marjorie’s house.”
Huey?
Prudence struggled to stifle her laughter as the elder Fitzgerald, with a graceful nod, gestured for both her and his wife to join him. Picking up her bag, he lifted an eyebrow.
“Is this all you brought with you?”
“Yes, I packed lightly,” Prudence replied, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and self-consciousness. She had wanted to appear practical and unburdened by material possessions, but now she worried that her meager belongings would make her seem ill-prepared for life in this small town.
He simply chuckled and led the way towards Marjorie’s house. “We will get you squared away, and you can have an evening to yourself to rest and relax.”
As they walked through the quiet streets of Omaha, Prudence couldn’t help but notice how different it was from the bustling city she had left behind in Boston. Here, life seemed slower, simpler. People greeted each other with warm smiles and waves as they passed on the sidewalk.
Prudence trailed behind Reverend Fitzgerald, her boots scuffing against the dirt road. Her fingers itched to grab her bag from him as it swung back and forth with every step he took. She longed to take it from him but was too afraid to speak up.
The Reverend’s coat swished as he strode confidently through the quiet town, leading them to a small house at the edge of town.
She pulled her dusty wrap tighter around her body, feeling exposed and vulnerable without her bag.
As they walked, she tried to take in the unfamiliar sights and sounds of this new place, so different from bustling Boston, where she had hurriedly boarded the stagecoach to escape.
Now all she could do was follow along, uncertain of what would come next.
It didn’t take long to arrive at a small house with a wide porch and drawn curtains. She didn’t know what to expect, but when the front door opened, it felt like coming home.
With a soft sigh, Prudence shut her eyes and was instantly transported back in time.
She could smell the comforting scent of wood burning in the fireplace and see the faded floral pattern of the couch and armchairs.
The staircase would creak under her feet as she made her way down for breakfast, and the sound of sizzling bacon drifted from the kitchen at the end of the hallway.
This home, with its worn furniture and familiar sights and smells, had once been her sanctuary before her mother’s passing.
“I’ll take care of the fire,” the Reverend mumbled, putting the satchel down inside the door and then moving toward the fireplace.
“Follow me, and I’ll show you where things are. Marjorie keeps a good pantry, and since you’ve been traveling for at least a few days, I would suggest a simple meal of oatmeal.”
Prudence trailed behind the older woman down the long hallway, her mind still reeling from how drastically her life had changed.
How fortunate she was to have found a group of women who had taken her under their wings like a flock of mother hens.
She couldn’t help but feel grateful for their kindness and support, even though she was still trying to wrap her head around it all.
“Ah ha!” Mrs. Fritzgerald hooted, finding the pantry full. “Oatmeal, rice. There’s even flour in here. Marjorie really hasn’t been gone that long, and you’re welcome to help yourself to anything else you find.”
“I’m sorry. Who’s Marjorie?” Prudence finally asked, letting herself slip into a kitchen chair.
“Oh! Marjorie Holstead. I wonder if Huey mentioned her in his letter.”
“Yes, Mrs. Chapman mentioned Mrs. Holstead, but I wasn’t sure of the relationship between everyone.”
“Marjorie is one of my oldest friends. Her son, Charlie, has been friends with my son for most of their lives. She’s in Sterling right now with the boys. It was Marjorie who had the idea to write to Ingrid, but I didn’t think she’d do it.”
“Mrs. Holstead won’t mind that I’m in her home?”
Although not naturally suspicious, the idea of someone entering her home without her knowledge bothered Prudence. She wondered why Mrs. Holstead was so trusting.
“Not at all. We have a key to keep the house while she is away. If we hadn’t provided you with a safe place for respite, she would have been even more offended.
” The woman started lighting the potbelly stove in the corner, and Prudence noticed there was a stack of wood nearby as well.
She could keep the stove going for the evening, as well as the fire in the main room.
As they walked past, she noticed there had been a settee in front of the fireplace.
After a bath, Prudence thought resting there sounded divine.
“I believe you’re all set.” Mrs. Fitzgerald clapped, bringing Prudence’s tired brain back to the present.
“The kettle is warming. I would suggest a bowl bath for tonight, and I’ll have Herbert help bring in the tub tomorrow for you.
There should also be enough extra water for you to make some oats. Do you need anything else?”
“Herbert?” Hubert? He couldn’t be in town if his mother had just mentioned his being in Colorado. Prudence’s shoulders slumped with confusion and exhaustion.
“Oh, Herbert is my husband. Hubert is my son.”
“Oh.” Prudence’s brain couldn’t form words of gratitude or think of what she needed to do next. Finally, she shook the cobwebs away. “Thank you, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” she whispered. “I think I have it from here.”
“Just call me Althea or Mama. Whatever suits you best. The bedroom is right down here.” Althea pointed to a closed door at the end of the hallway as Prudence nodded.
“I put fresh sheets on the bed, and there is a towel on the washstand. Now, get cleaned up, and I’ll come by and see you in the morning after breakfast. We’ll lock the door on the way out. ”