Chapter Four
Wesley received a response from Susannah after about two weeks, which was acceptable. She had a life outside of the letters they were writing. He was glad to see that his letter had arrived safely. After the two-week mark had passed, he had worried that his letter had been left undelivered.
He opened it quickly, curious to know more about Miss Peterson.
Others had started to write to him, and he was writing back to them only to state that he wasn’t interested.
It was all he could do at the rate he was becoming interested in Miss Peterson.
If this didn’t work out, then he would write to someone who had written to him after the last letter he sent her.
That was how it worked, he’d figured out.
To Mr. Montgomery,
I’m pleased to see that my letter made it to you in good time. Your response has been a joy to read. I had to read it twice to be sure I understood everything. As for your questions, I’ll answer them one at a time. I hope you don’t mind that.
I have long brown hair that I prefer to keep tied up in a bun under a bonnet most days to keep it out of my face.
My eyes, I’ve been told, are as blue as the sea.
Perhaps a little grayer than the ocean, but I like them.
I have freckles all over my nose and cheeks, and a few down my chin.
I’m taller than most my age, but not the tallest woman I’ve ever met.
As for my build? Well, I am not muscular, but rather well-toned.
I am led to believe that this is more attractive.
As for how I learned to write as well as I do, that’s another story entirely.
The orphanage’s policy was that all its charges between fourteen and eighteen years of age spend the day outside the orphanage during the summer when school was not in session.
It’s no longer policy, thankfully, but I would seek refuge from the heat in the general store.
The owner’s wife took pity on me and taught me a few things about how to be a lady.
When I turned eighteen, the orphanage owner wanted me to pass those teachings to the younger children.
So you can thank the wife of the general store owner here for my prowess in writing.
As well as for how well I read. My needlepoint has always been considered one of my best talents by others, but I’ve always been proudest of my reading and writing.
Is it wrong to be proud, Mr. Montgomery, in a world that would prefer I know how to make things instead of writing my thoughts down?
Well, I suppose that’s all you asked of me.
I do understand your reasoning for wanting to make sure that I like you as a person before you share with me what you do.
I hope you enjoy what you do, whatever it is.
You sound like you would not be suited for a mine, which is fine with me.
I would hate to wonder each day if you’d be coming back home safely.
Or at all. Mining is the one profession out west that I don’t think I could live alongside.
Please write soon. I’m enjoying your letters, even if we’ve only exchanged two so far.
Cordially,
Susannah Peterson
Wesley found her letter intriguing, and she wrote plainly.
She had a beautiful text, and he imagined she might have been just as well-spoken around him.
He wondered if she had any aspirations beyond getting out of Washington, D.C.
, and whether she would ever share them with him.
If she did, he would know that she trusted him.
He was glad to know that she could read and write. If she was to be the wife of a judge, she’d have to have those skills. The fact that she took such pride in it reassured him that she would be finding a way to keep it up or learn more in Washington, D.C., when her job permitted.
He took a few minutes to take it all in before writing a response.
Once it was written, addressed, and sealed, he went to work.
He had a couple of cases to preside over, but his mind was half-preoccupied with the way Miss Peterson spoke of herself.
It sounded as though she had been taught that, as an orphan, she had nothing to be proud of but the skills that she could use to make money for herself.
That was entirely wrong, in his opinion.
But he couldn’t dwell on those thoughts while he was in court.
He did his best to put them out of his mind as he listened to the two cases.
One was a simple theft case, open and shut.
The sheriff had gathered enough evidence to make it that way.
The other one was a little more complex, and thankfully required all of his attention.
By the time the day had ended, he was thoroughly mentally exhausted. But he still couldn’t quite get Miss Peterson out of his mind. So he went for a walk, and along the way, he encountered a good friend of his: Thomas Thackery.
“Hello, Wes. What’s got you looking like that today?”
“How long do you have?”
“As long as you need.”
With that, Thomas walked with him as he spoke of Miss Peterson. He knew that she was different from the others, but he couldn’t tell how. Perhaps it was something that only he could see. Whatever the case, he was glad Thomas could offer him another perspective.
“You know what I think it is? I think you’re thinking of her this way because she’s being incredibly honest with you, from the sounds of it,” Thomas said. “And most women aren’t that honest upon first encounters.”