Page 3 of A Letter to Carolina
Carolina nodded her understanding, glancing at the envelope before pocketing it. It seemed as if all of Philadelphia was thrumming with excitement. “Even if I received it, it would have sat on my desk until today. Is there any chance I can get my small grocery list filled while I’m here?”
“It will be about fifteen minutes, but I’m happy to pour you a glass of lemonade and set you up at the side counter while you wait, if you’d like.” Mrs. Eisenhart was very kind, but Carolina knew she would be a distraction if she stayed in the store.
“A glass of lemonade would be lovely, but I’ll go sit on the bench across the way while I wait. It’s lovely outside today and I haven’t been able to spend much time outdoors this year.”
“That sounds wonderful.” She handed Carolina a pint jar of the lemonade and accepted the grocery list, passing it to her son. “Give us fifteen minutes. Just come back whenever you’re ready.”
Carolina nodded and let herself back out onto the sidewalk, nodding and waving to those that greeted her. Once she’d crossed the street and settled herself on the bench, she pulled the envelope out of her pocket.
She glanced at the envelope. Feminine script scrawled her name across the front, and a return address of Flat River, Nebraska, showed in the corner. She thought it might have been a letter from the matchmaker, but the penmanship was that of a much younger woman. Flipping over the envelope once more, she glanced at the address again. Carolina did not know anyone in Nebraska, at least, she did not believe she did.
A hint of cinnamon mixed with coffee danced in the air as she pulled the letter from its sleeve. Those were smells of a cheerful kitchen. The thought brought a smile to her face. Carefully unfolding the parchment, she noted it was rather long, with the same flowy script as the envelope. There was no way that a man had written this letter.
Dear Miss Andrews,
My name is Emily Pickett. My husband found your letter to Mrs. Fischer on a train recently. Though you or I would think he should have forwarded the letters to her, he felt led to keep them. I, too, had written a letter in search of a husband, and God made sure that I landed right where I was most needed. Looking at the date of your original letter, I see it has been nearly a year since you wrote to the matchmaker.
May I be so forward as to inquire whether you are still looking for a spouse or if you have found your own path? I have prayed for guidance on how to handle your letter. The answer I received is that you would appreciate honesty, much like I desired when I first arrived in Flat River.
I live in Flat River, Nebraska, on a ranch with my husband. There are five Pickett brothers in total, who live here with their aging aunt on a wonderful cattle ranch. I married Bassett, the oldest of the brothers. He is the same one that found the letters. Bass runs the day-to-day ranching part of the family business.
Beau is the next oldest, though I feel he may be a little much for you. He’s very conservative and I do not believe you are the best match, as he’d like his wife to be home and happy. It strikes me that you are more interested in an equal partnership.
Simon is the middle one. He recently married a woman named Georgia and is happier than he ever thought possible. Jesse is next and not quite ready for a wife, though he’s a wonderful man Which brings me to Nate.
Nate is turning twenty-one years old in a few weeks. He has deep blue eyes and short dark hair. I am conflicted about how to describe him, as he looks so much like my husband that they blur together in my mind’s eye. I am also expecting, and the midwife tells me that fuzzy brain is a part of the period that I am in. However, I find my husband to be extremely handsome, so I’d say that Nate is the same.
Shortly after Bass and I married, Nate asked if I would look at the other letters and help him find a match. I’ve prayed for guidance over what to do for Nate, and your letter keeps coming back to my mind.
Nate is currently training to replace the town doctor who is retiring at the end of the month. I think you would be a perfect helpmate for him. Both at home and at the clinic.
I advise you to pray for guidance in matters of the heart. However, if this letter has reached you in a time of need, or you are willing to come out and meet the three very single and eligible Pickett brothers, please consider this an open invitation. Just send me a note, and I will make sure that someone will greet you on the stagecoach platform.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Emily Pickett
A small-town doctor who was interested in a helpmate as well.That was an interesting thing to consider. She noticed Mrs. Eisenhart waving from the doorway and quickly refolded the letter before heading over to collect her order. Carolina had told the director of her program the night before, that what she really wanted was to live in and serve a small community where she could get to know everyone.Maybe one of those farm towns out west.
The director scoffed and told Carolina that she should expect to be paid in chickens or jars of jam. Carolina thought it sounded delightful.
Fingering the letter in her pocket, she thought about what Mrs. Pickett had written. Surely, they wouldn’t expect her to marry Nate Pickett on the first day that she arrived, would they?
Before leaving the mercantile, Carolina collected a train schedule and a paper map, then hurried back to her dormitory at the nursing school. There was much to do before she could consider leaving Philadelphia, but now she had a purpose.
“Madison, we’re leaving in five minutes!” Nate called out on his way to the kitchen.
The young girl was thriving since her arrival at the ranch. His brother’s overseeing of her studies encouraged her to continue to learn, not to hide her smarts away as he knew that some ranchers in the area did with their daughters. Even though Madison was Simon’s younger sister-in-law, Nate thought it would be good practice for him when he had daughters of his own.
“Yes, Nate!” Simon’s office door muffled Madison’s voice. Hopefully, Simon hadn’t found something to occupy her. She’d been excited with the opportunity to go to town with Nate and help in the clinic for part of the day. Nate thought she was more excited to spend time with her new friend. He remembered what it was like to wait all week to see his friends. But then he spent more time in town and could see them regularly. Madison would be welcome to drive in with him anytime she liked.
Georgia set a coffee cup and a plate of biscuits in front of an empty chair at the table. “Where are you taking Maddy?” she asked Nate.
“She’s going to help this morning with inventory at the clinic, and then she’s having lunch with Amy King.” Buttering a biscuit he continued, “I believe they will assist Mrs. Davis at the diner.”
“A diner!” Emily, Bass’s wife, yanked her head out of the cupboard, giving him a sharp look before glancing at the other woman in the room. “Bass said there wasn’t a restaurant in Flat River unless you wanted to eat at Miss Marcy’s. Georgia, do you know where the sour pickles are?”
“There’s a jar beside the sink. Don’t you dare dump the juice out like you did last time.” Georgia winked at Nate. They all knew Emily had craved the pickles for the last four months, and that she wasn’t a fan of the juice.
