Chapter Two
Wesley Montgomery had put an advertisement in The Matrimonial Times three months ago.
He’d had some results, but not nearly enough.
Not enough that had caught his attention, anyway.
The letters he’d been getting over the three months he’d had the advertisement out had all been from women intrigued by him.
As a judge in Bakersfield, California, he had to admit that he had a financially secure future.
Any woman would love to know that. What he wanted in a wife was to know that she could handle the publicity that came with it.
For that reason, he hadn’t exactly listed what he did in the advertisement.
He knew that the likelihood that someone was just looking to get away from a bad situation was high.
He was looking for someone who would at least be willing to be a proper wife.
The reason he hadn’t been able to advance his career beyond the lowest three rungs of the judicial hierarchy in the town was that he was unmarried.
And at twenty-four, that was almost a crime for a man.
Let alone any woman in the town who was still unmarried.
Wesley sighed as he looked through his letters.
Today marked the beginning of the fourth month of his advertisement being out.
He hoped that someone somewhere would see that he was offering more than financial security.
However, that appeared to be a long shot given the responses he was getting.
Today, as he was flipping through the letters he’d received, he saw none that came from a hand he didn’t know.
Until he got to the end of the pile.
There, he found a letter addressing him by name. The return address was in Washington, D.C., which was an interesting turn of events. Most of the women writing to him were from Charleston, South Carolina, or New York City. To get one from the capital itself? That was almost unheard of.
Most women who grew up there never wanted to leave.
He opened the letter with a curiosity that could only be described as intense.
To Mr. Wesley Montgomery,
I hope my letter finds you well. My name is Susannah Peterson, and I am writing to you from Washington, D.C.
To explain the odd address, I live and work at an orphanage.
The one I grew up in. Mr. Montgomery, I have no other prospects for getting out of Washington, D.C.
, and I mean to leave this stigma behind.
The city is not kind to those without connections, and I have had to learn this the hard way as I grew up.
A city as small as Bakersfield, California, needs all the women it can get, right? No matter where they’ve come from? Or what their circumstances were before?
I have nothing to offer but my ability to cook and clean.
If that is all you’re looking for in a wife, then I am willing to give it a try.
I know it is not the most respected way to get away, but my job only pays a pittance over and above room and board.
They’ve needed to increase revenue for a while but haven't yet found a way to do so.
We are drowning in work with only four of us to staff the orphanage.
If it takes a while for my letters to arrive, that is why. I work many jobs here, and my most time-consuming one is caring for the young girls. I wish to allow them to have a better chance at getting out of this than I ever did, despite my teachers’ best efforts.
I apologize if this letter has rambled. I’m not entirely sure what to write or how to begin a relationship through correspondence alone.
If it helps, I can send a tintype of myself in the future, but it may be a while off yet.
I could always write a description of myself if you’d rather.
I’d like details of your physical appearance, too.
I’ve always been fascinated with the way people describe themselves.
I think it lends itself to how they grew up.
I do have one question, though. The advertisement in this magazine said nothing about your job. You are employed, yes? Gainfully so, I hope. That is all that matters to me, so long as you are not involved in crime.
Cordially,
Susannah Peterson
Wesley wasn’t entirely sure how to react at first, but a chuckle escaped his lips.
She was honest to a fault in the letter.
He didn’t care about her circumstances growing up.
To be somewhat proud that she was helping other young orphans the way she was, moved him.
She may not have enjoyed it there, but it was honorable work.
“Well, Miss Peterson, I wonder what else you have to say because you do not write like any orphan I’ve ever met,” he muttered as he pulled a fresh sheet of paper from his writing desk.
Whoever taught her had been well-taught themselves.
This orphanage had plenty of resources to teach them all to read and write so well.
If she could get through The Matrimonial Times, she would probably do fine here in Bakersfield.
Especially if she wanted to get a job where she could be of help to him or bring in more money for the household.
So Wesley started to pen a response. He made sure to include a description of himself and ask for one of her because he was now curious. With a name like Susannah, he imagined that she may have grown up with a stronger religious influence than many, though strong influence was the norm these days.
Once he had finished and signed his letter, he sealed it in an envelope and carefully addressed it the same way she had addressed the return address on her envelope.