Page 135 of Conveniently Wed
“It’s a pleasure, ma’am. I’m Captain La Barge, by the way.”
6
Leah skirted two boys playing jacks on the sidewalk and an elderly gentleman helping his silver-haired companion alight from a carriage. According to a street vendor she’d asked, the telegraph was located in the Post Office at the corner of Eighth and Olive Streets. Just a few blocks north and away from the water.
She was pleasantly surprised to find a new four-story granite building at that location. It was an impressive structure with the wordsU.S. Court and Post Officeacross the front.
The pungent aroma of fresh-cut lumber and paint wafted to her as she entered. While the clerk helped a stout middle-aged woman mail her letters, Leah pulled the now-worn newspaper page from her reticule, pressing the many folds firmly. When she approached the counter, she looked the clerk in the eyes, just as Emily had always instructed.
“How can I help you, miss?” The man looked exactly the way she’d imagined a telegraph operator would, slender and balding with a smudged apron and rolled up shirtsleeves.
“I’d like to send a telegram, please.”
“Sure thing.” He reached for paper and a quill, dipped the pen in an inkwell, then eyed her expectantly over the top of his spectacles. “Where to?”
Leah glanced at the advertisement in her hand. “The town of Helena in the Montana Territory. The telegraph should be addressed to Abel Bryant at the Bryant Ranch near Butte City.”
The man scribbled, nodding as she spoke.
“And what should the wire say?”
Leah took a deep breath. She’d practiced the message several times in her mind during the walk here, but hoped she got the wording right. “In response to advertisement in the Richmond Inquirer. I am twenty-two years, pleasant and God-fearing. Will be traveling to Butte City via steamboat to arrive late June. I will locate you upon arrival. Signed L Townsend.”
The clerk didn’t look up with surprise or scorn as she’d expected. She had carefully worded the message so it wouldn’t be obvious she was responding to a newspaper advertisement for a bride, but he must suspect such a thing. Why else would she send a description of herself?
He counted the words and announced the exorbitant total cost, then copied the information into his log. Leah placed the money on the counter.
When the clerk finally did look up to receive her payment, his gaze—cool and judgmental—bore into her. Still, he didn’t speak to condemn, only took her money, nodded stiffly, and moved toward a machine in the corner.
“I’ll send the message now. Have a good trip.”
Leah’s cheeks could have boiled water as she flew out the door.
The De Smet proved more lavishly appointed than Leah had expected. The porter led her to her cabin, which was small but appeared to be clean. A narrow bed was tucked against one side of the room, while another wall held a washbasin and door to the outer deck. Leah’s trunks had already been placed against a third wall, and the fourth held a small straight-back chair and the door to the interior hallway.
No closet or even a wardrobe. Where could she hang her gowns? Perhaps she could lay out the gown that she planned to wear next so any wrinkles would loosen…hopefully. She prayed the ship provided a laundry service. Since there wasn’t much to unpack, she headed back outside to watch the ship leave land.
As she stood at the rail, the towering city of St Louis slid away until it was nothing but a memory on the horizon. Then a bend in the river obliterated the metropolis completely, leaving fertile banks covered in foliage of all kinds—flowering trees, bright green grass, and an unfamiliar leafy vine that covered whole sections of land and brush. The scenery was mostly untouched by human hands, although every so often they would glide past a farm or two.
After watching the passing beauty for almost an hour, she turned to explore the ship. On the upper level, a long narrow salon took up the center, surrounded by the ring of passenger cabins. She moved to the lower level, which was more of a horseshoe shape, closed at one end. It supported extra cargo storage, with crates and bundles filling much of the space on the deck. Only a single walking aisle around the perimeter was open. The minute she made her way inside, her nose told her the purpose of rooms on the lower level—food.
The rest of the lower level appeared to be for the crew and more cargo storage, so Leah wandered back to the upper deck to enjoy the passing landscape. It reminded her a little of the Virginia countryside, but with a bit more tropical feel.
At last, the bell finally sounded for the evening meal. Leah found herself seated at one of the round tables next to a Mrs. Schmidt and her husband. Mr. Schmidt was a merchant from St Louis who specialized in purchasing raw goods from towns along the Missouri River, then reselling them to factories in the city to be processed into finished goods. On this particular trip, he traveled to Glasgow to purchase tobacco and hemp, and his sweet wife had accompanied him.
Mrs. Schmidt was robust, with a motherly manner and chocolate eyes that sparkled when she spoke. Their children were grown and settled with their own families in St. Louis, and Mrs. Schmidt was probably the ideal grandmother.
A younger man she guessed to be in his mid-thirties sat next to Mr. Schmidt. During introductions, Mr. Henry Crenshaw proclaimed himself to be a journalist traveling all the way to the Washington Territory to write a series of articles for his home newspaper.
“And where is home, Mr. Crenshaw?” Mrs. Schmidt inquired.
“Columbia, South Carolina, ma’am.” His strong southern drawl sent a ripple of homesickness through Leah.
“I traveled to Columbia for business a few years back.” Mr. Schmidt stroked his white beard. “I remember the people there were quite friendly.”
Mrs. Schmidt leaned across her husband to address their fascinating guest. “And which newspaper do you write for? We’ll make sure to watch for your articles when they’re reprinted in the St. Louis papers.”
“The Daily Phoenix, ma’am, and thank you.” He sat a little straighter. “I hope to find interesting stories to send back to our Eastern readers.”
