Page 2 of A Groom for Millie
“What are you drawing?” Millie looked over her daughter’s shoulder. There were three figures on the slate, along with something that looked like a cat with extra arms.
“That’s you,” Mary Rose said pointing to the figure in the middle. “That’s me, and that’s Papa.”
Millie swallowed hard. She felt the tears burning behind her eyes. “It’s a nice picture. What’s that?” Millie pointed to the scribble in the corner.
“That’s my baby brother.”
Millie let go a laugh. “You don’t have a baby brother, sweetheart.”
Mary Rose kept scribbling. “He’s not been born. There.” She lifted her pencil from the slate. Millie noticed Mary Rose had drawn another figure on the slate. “That’s my new papa.”
“What new papa?” Millie’s eyes shot back to the desk. She could feel her face flush as she thought about the unopened letters in the drawer.
“He’s not here yet. Cecily says that all the mamas got letters. That soon they will have new papas.”
Millie walked over to her desk and opened the drawer. The envelopes were right where she left them. Picking them up, she stuffed them in her satchel. She’d read them after Mary Rose went to bed. Mary Rose had put on her coat and was waiting for Millie to fasten it.
Millie placed her bag on the floor and knelt in front of Mary Rose. Her daughter’s round face glowed in the waning light from the fire. Her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes were bright. Reddish curls framed her face, reminding Millie of one of the cherubs from a Victorian postcard.
Millie placed a knitted cap on top of her head and tied it underneath her chin. She then grabbed the sides of the coat and tugged them together over Mary Rose’s belly. The sides barely met. “You are getting too big,” Millie gently chastised.
“I’m growing.”
Millie smiled. “Yes, you are.” She buttoned the child’s coat and wrapped a scarf that was draped over the chair twice around Mary Rose’s neck. Mary Rose said something, but the words were muffled beneath the thick knitted scarf. Millie adjusted the scarf, so it wasn’t so tight. “What was that?”
“Don’t forget my slate,” Mary Rose said as she put on her mittens.
“That needs to stay here.”
“I want to take it home. I want to put the picture on the wall.”
“Mary Rose…”
“Why can’t I? It’s a picture of Papa.” Mary Rose’s bottom lip quivered.
Millie bit her lower lip. “Alright. We’ll bring the empty slate back from home tomorrow.” She picked up the slate and slid it into the front pocket of her bag. Putting a scarf around her neck, she quickly checked the fire. The fire was almost out. Millie piled the ashes into the middle of the wood box. If she were lucky there would be a few embers to help light the fire in the morning.
They walked to the porch, where Millie locked the schoolhouse and placed the key in her pocket. Grabbing Mary Rose’s hand, they began the walk to the mercantile.
Last Chance wasn’t small, but it wasn’t large either. It had everything that a town of its size would need. Millie and Mary Rose walked down Main Street, passing several businesses. They were all closed. Not a light appeared in any of the windows. The mercantile was halfway down, followed by the post office/telegraph office and the ferry office.
They had just reached the store when Millie heard a voice call her. She turned to see Faith Thornton running towards her waving a paper. Millie stood by the mercantile door until Faith could catch up. “You got a letter.”
“I did?”
“I was on my way to the school to deliver it. I needed to get out of the office.” Faith’s husband operated Last Chance’s only post office and telegram relay station. Faith had been inconsolable since learning of her husband’s passing. “Glad I saw you before you headed home.”
“I was picking up a few things first.” Millie wondered who would be writing to her. She took the envelope from Faith and flipped it over. “It’s from my mother,” she said, instantly recognizing the handwriting. Her mother must have heard the news and was sending her condolences. “Thank you, Faith,” Millie said shoving the letter in her pocket. She’d read it when she reviewed the others. “How’s Celia?”
Faith gave a bit of a huff. “She’s gone back to her farm with that… thatman.”
Millie tilted her head. She wasn’t caught up on all the happenings in town since everyone gathered and picked several letters from the pile that arrived. “Which man?”
“That … that... Jack Wendler. He was the one that delivered the first batch of letters.”
“I remember Heather saying something about that.”
“Well, she …” Faith lifted her gloved fingers to her lips. Millie raised her eyebrow urging Faith to continue. “She married him!” The words came out in such a rush Millie had to take a moment to make sure she heard them correctly.
