Chapter 10
March 16th, 1898, Eagle Creek, Montana
Rachel was surprised to find a small pile of letters on her mat when she returned home from the clinic. The handwriting on the first one made her smile, it was from her dear friend, Jo. She opened it hastily and read it as she poured water into the kettle and put it on the stove. It was full of happy news, of how much the baby was growing and how much Jo was enjoying being a mother. She had included every tiny detail, as if she was still trying to please Rachel who had always insisted that it was often the smallest things found in a patient’s notes that could make the biggest difference to their care.
Rachel spooned some tea leaves into a small pot and then poured hot water onto them to steep, then coddled the pot in a thick cloth to keep it warm. She cut herself a small slice of fruitcake and then poured herself a cup of tea before opening the second letter, which was from Dr. Hartshorn. He seemed delighted that she was so happy that she wished to stay in Eagle Creek, though he was obviously saddened to lose her. He also said that he would be visiting the town soon, to speak with Matthew, and to discuss a possible new hospital for the town with Andrew.
Her first thought was that with the influenza cases now falling to a mere handful of people a week, Rachel was not sure that there would be sufficient need for a full time hospital in Eagle Creek. Of course, the town was growing rapidly and it would not be long before the small clinic was over-run, even if they were able to find a suitable new doctor to replace Matthew when he moved on. But did that need a hospital? Billings was not so far away, if people needed more specialist care, after all. How would Andrew and Maud react to such a suggestion? They were mighty proud of how they took care of the people in this town, Rachel couldn’t imagine them wanting to hand over the reins to the town to some stranger.
The final letter had been forwarded on from the postal box that she’d set up in Sheridan when she’d taken the post with Dr. Hartshorn. He’d suggested that a permanent address would be wise, given that she might have to move around a lot with little notice. It had not had much use, until now, when it had become a most useful way to disguise her location and identity, because this final letter was addressed to Miss Caitlin, with no surname attached and had been posted locally. She smiled nervously, her heart began to pound and her breath caught in her chest. He’d written back to her. Matthew had chosen her.
She could hardly believe it. Her letter hadn’t been very long, and she’d not said much about herself at all. She hadn’t dared to be too open, under the circumstances. But she had not wanted to lie, either. She’d chosen the name Caitlin, because it was her middle name and the name of her dear, sadly departed mother, so while it wasn’t a name she used every day, it was her name, and she had asked him questions rather than saying too much about herself.
She unfolded the letter slowly, biting her lip as she did so. His handwriting was as dreadful as always, as so many doctor’s scripts were. A hurried scrawl, as if he did not have time to form his letters legibly. Thankfully, she was used to having to transcribe such things, though she couldn’t help wondering if other young ladies would be able to do so, should Matthew write to someone else as well as her.
Dear Miss Caitlin,
I would like to thank you for your response to my advertisement. I read it with much interest. However, it is now that I must confess that I was a little overwhelmed by the response and found it hard to choose just one, or even two young ladies to write to, and I hope that you will understand that I will not be corresponding with only you, at this time at least. I wish for our correspondence to be one built on honesty, so that we might truly get to know one another, so I wanted to be clear on that from the start.
In your letter, you did not tell me much about yourself, but you did ask me some questions, and I hope that I will be able to answer some of those for you – as long as you will do me the honor of responding truthfully to any I may then ask of you. I am not one of those men who is content to talk only of himself.
You asked about my medical practice. Well, at the moment I am working as a small town doctor, so am expected to do a little of everything, but my background is in surgery mainly. I served in the military for six years, and wounds and other injuries that occur in battle are what I am best at, I suppose. However, while I am glad to possess those skills and have had reason to apply some of them since I have been here, I am glad that I do not have to see men stretchered in to the fort hospital at death’s door any longer.
You seemed to be very interested in my career, and to be particularly well-versed in how one might become a physician. Might I ask if it is perhaps a career that might have interested you? Are you, perhaps, a nurse? You said that you do as much as you can in the community you live in, I would like to know what that entails. I know that it is deemed unseemly for a young lady to talk about her goodly deeds, but you need not hide yourself from me.
You also said that you have moved around a lot, but that you are looking to settle down. Does that mean you do not yet feel settled where you are? Or that there are reasons why you must stay on the move? If I am asking questions that are too personal, do not hesitate to ignore them when you write back to me, if you write back to me – and I do so hope that you will. I know that my own reasons for a rather itinerant life are most personal to me, though should our correspondence progress, perhaps I will one day share some of that with you.
In the meantime, I could tell you of my time in the military, which led to far less travel than I had hoped it would, and my current work as a temporary doctor wherever I am needed most, but I am not sure how interesting any of that might be. I would much rather know more about you, and your hopes for the future.
Yours, sincerely
Matthew Inglis
It was interesting to Rachel that even in a letter where he hoped to get to know someone well enough to marry them that Matthew was still holding up a mask. He truly did not want to talk about himself at all. As time had passed, she had learned not to ask him about his past or his family, because he simply clammed up and would not speak of it. Would he continue to be so closed off in a letter, or would he find it easier to talk of the things he could not bring himself to say out loud? She knew that she certainly found it much easier to tell Jo in a letter of the things that worried her than she would have ever admitted in person.
She fetched a pen and some paper and hurriedly wrote back to Jo, and then took her time to write her reply to Matthew. She did not want to give herself away too easily, and every time she let go and just let herself write, she put down things that might easily point to her. She struck them through with a thick line and kept writing, then re-wrote the suitable amended letter on a clean sheet of paper before signing it and placing both letters in her coat pocket to take to the postal office.
After a warming lunch of soup, she pulled on her coat and went outside. Eagle Creek was busy today, with market stalls lining Main Street. She stopped and talked to Strikes The Iron who was selling colorful baskets and beadwork made by The Crow. She had been introduced to the wife of the venerable chief, Plenty Coups, only once, but Strikes The Iron had a way of making you feel like you had known her forever. She was also highly respected by Maud and Andrew for her healing skills, and it had surprised Rachel to find that the clinic and the Crow healers often offered each other assistance, and shared knowledge and skills with one another.
Rachel had been promising herself one of the large baskets since she’d arrived in town, so took the opportunity to choose one. “You look tired,” Strikes The Iron said kindly as Rachel handed over the money. “It has been bad for us, too.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Rachel said.
“Plenty Coups was so sick I feared we might lose him, but thankfully he pulled through.”
“I am told he is a strong and wise man,” Rachel said respectfully.
“I am his wife, sometimes I don’t think him as wise as others do,” Strikes The Iron said with a wry smile. “But he has been a good leader for our people. They are not ready to lose him, yet.”
“Are we ever ready to lose our loved ones?”
“No, but that is personal. I meant that The Crow do not have anyone they can turn to, yet, as they do him.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Rachel said. “Replacing a good leader is never easy.”
“Our ancestors offer us counsel, but it takes a wise man, or woman, to interpret their meaning here on earth.”
Feeling a little discomfited by Strikes The Iron’s words, Rachel made her way through the stalls, purchasing vegetables and dried fruits, flour, meat and other necessities, before mailing her letters at the postal office. It seemed strange to her that someone would be more concerned to lose the chief, rather than the more personal loss of the man. Admittedly, she knew little about Crow culture, but she knew that Strikes The Iron and Chief Plenty Coups had been married a long time, surely it would be hard for either of them to lose the other – or perhaps that was just the way that Strikes The Iron had found to cope with her fear of losing her husband, that her loss would be little to that of The Crow’s.
She wandered back to the boarding house slowly, stopping to talk to a few people she knew along the way. It was nice to see Eagle Creek beginning to open up again. There had been a lot of fear in recent months, as people had kept to themselves to try and avoid falling sick. But the early signs of spring seemed to be bringing a positivity that the worst was now over. Rachel prayed that was the case. The little town had lost too many much-loved members of the community.
As she passed the clinic, she waved to Matthew who was talking to Tom out on the porch. “Tell him, Miss Falmer,” Tom said, beckoning her over.
“Tell him what, exactly?” she asked with a grin.
“That he can’t just decide after one letter that he doesn’t like someone.”
“I’m sorry?” she said, trying to look confused, pretending she did not know what they were talking about.
“Why don’t you tell everyone my business, Tom?” Matthew said, shaking his head. “It’s not as if something like this should be kept private.”
“Nothing stays private in this town,” Tom reminded him.
“Then it is as well I will be leaving soon,” Matthew said, trying to sound exasperated, but unable to stop himself from grinning.
“That does not mean the bet is over,” Tom said. “It was for a year, not just as long as you are in town.”
“I’m sorry, but do I really need to be present while you two argue?” Rachel interjected.
“No, you do not, Rachel,” Matthew said, just as Tom said, “Yes, you need to make him see sense.”
“So which is it? For I do not think that I can make Matthew see anything he does not wish to see,” Rachel laughed.
“We have a bet,” Tom explained. “I said that if he placed an advertisement that he would find love within a year, even if he didn’t think he wanted it.”
“I don’t really think that this is any of my business,” Rachel said a little awkwardly.
“But it is,” Tom insisted. “You see, he’s trying to make out that if he writes to someone once, then meets them immediately, that he can rule them out and then not have to write to them anymore.”
“Still not my business,” Rachel said, though she was delighted to have some warning of how Matthew intended to proceed, so that she might find a way to make him act differently.
“But don’t you think that is cruel? To get these young ladies hopes up, then to dash them that way?” Tom asked.
“I would think that finding out quickly whether or not you might suit could be a good idea,” she said. “Any woman pinning her hopes on a relationship of just one letter and a luncheon is probably a little too silly for Matthew, don’t you think?”
“That wasn’t my reasoning,” Matthew said with a chuckle. “But it is as adequate a summary of my thoughts as any I might have come up with. I simply feel that you can’t ever really know who is at the end of a letter, that the only way to be sure is to meet people in person – so why not do so sooner rather than later?”
“So you can dismiss them,” Tom said, not happy that he seemed to have lost the argument. “I’d argue that it is possible to become quite intimate in a letter, quite simply because one is not having to say things directly to someone’s face. But what do I know about it? I only found the love of my life that way.”