Page 5 of The Rancher's Wedding

“What do I do?” Estelle asked.

“You write him a letter asking for more information. Ask him to tell you more about himself. Maybe ask him to include a photograph, if he has one.”

“You’ll help me write it?”

“Of course,” Megan promised.

***

To Mr. Michael Holden:

I am responding to the ad you posted in the Weekly Matrimonial. My name is Estelle Williams and I am…

“Do I tell him the truth?” Estelle asked.

“That you’re a spoiled rich girl running away from a comfortable lifestyle to wrangle cattle? I would think not.”

...an orphan. My parents died when I was very young and even being in the city of Philadelphia reminds me too much of them to bear it any longer. I wish to move away from the city to enjoy a calmer, simpler life.

I am 18 years old and quite fair, with auburn hair and beautiful hazel eyes.

“Do I sound conceited?”

Megan shrugged. “A little. Maybe state it as though someone else has said it to you.”

I am 18 years old and quite fair, with auburn hair and what I am told are beautiful, piercing hazel eyes.

“He’s probably not going to respond anyway,” Estelle said, “so I may as well go all out.”

“That’s the spirit!”

I only request that you tell me a bit more about day-to-day life on your ranch. I can cook quite well and also keep things tidy, but I would prefer helping with the outdoor work.

I eagerly await your reply.

“Maybe not eagerly,” Megan said. “We don’t want to sound too forward.”

I await your reply.

— Estelle Williams

“That looks good to me. Let’s rewrite it fresh and send it off,” Megan suggested. “And, of course, we’ll include a photograph.”

The photograph made Estelle more nervous than anything else.

***

Estelle enclosed the best wallet-sized photo of herself she could find, then dropped the letter off at the post office—hopeful, but also fearful that time was running out. Her father had tried to introduce her to her arranged husband just the night before. If he was to go forward with the wedding, as she feared he would do, he would become more and more insistent and it would be harder and harder to escape.

Her father confronted her that evening.

“You were very rude to our guest last night,” he said.

She was standing across from him in his office, the very place where she had first seen Ethan seven years earlier.

“I apologize, but I wasn’t feeling well.”

“I wonder if perhaps there’s more to it than that.”