She jumped as her niece met these words with a loud, sharp guffaw.
“And do you truly believe every single word that you read in the pages of the daily paper, Auntie?” she asked Grace, tone snide and disbelieving. “Especially if these words are written in the context of a purchased advertisement?” she paused here, adding as she waved a dismissive hand in the direction of the defenseless newspaper, “If a man posts an advertisement to secure himself a bride, how on earth is he going to word the ad? ‘Howdy Ladies, I am an ignorant, dog ugly, and proudly unkind man in search of a wife. Come one, come all, the line forms to the right’!”
Grace doubled over, guffawing in spite of herself as she considered these comical words.
“All right then Girlie, you are a clever one,” she acknowledged, adding as she arched her eyebrows in what seemed a show of keen curiosity, “What, though, if the gentleman happens to speak the truth in his ad? What if he is indeed as kind and handsome as he claims, and what if he would prove a stellar and highly knowledgeable partner in your own ranching endeavor? Why not, at least, bite the bullet and give the gent a chance?”
Amy shook her head.
“I shall not for one moment entertain the horrid notion of becoming some man’s mail order bride,” she spat out these last words as though they were venom, adding as she planted her hands on her hips, “You well know, Aunt Grace, that my dear departed Ma and Pa raised me to be a proper lady—and an honest, hardworking at that; not a glorified lady of the evening who will exchange her body for room and board.”
Grace bit her lip.
“I well know this, Girl. I thought long and hard before bringing that blasted ad to your kind attention,” she allowed, tone soft and sad, adding in a louder, more determined voice, “Even so I must say that this here man sounds like a gentleman—someone in search of a princess, not a fancy lady. And I do believe he will treat you as such.” She paused here, adding as she made a broad gesture in the direction of her niece’s expanding stomach, “He also might make a good father for your babe, which is exactly what you need at this moment.”
Amy thought a moment, then sighed.
“It is true, I must think of the youngin first,” she conceded, stroking her rounded stomach with protective hands as she added in a reflective tone, “As much as I wish to toil in my fields, working my own land and building the ranch that I began with my beloved husband, I fear that the same daily regime of hard labor that claimed my Vance’s life might come to claim my child as well—and perhaps me, right along with her.”
Grace arched her eyebrows.
“How are you so certain, my girl, that your child is a girl?”
Amy shrugged.
“I simply know,” she affirmed, adding as she lifted her chin to proud effect, “And I would not have my daughter believe that a woman can be bought and sold like chattel, hired to warm a man’s bed and make his meals like a glorified fancy woman.”
Grace nodded.
“So the matter is settled, then?” she asked, adding as she inclined her head in Amy’s direction, “You will not be answering the gentleman’s ad?”
Amy shook her head.
“Now I did not say that,” she corrected her aunt, adding with a mysterious smile, “I do believe that the gentleman and I may be able to reach a certain compromise.”
*****
The dawn of a new week found a tense Amy in the back of a hired stagecoach, hands clenched protectively over her near bursting stomach as the carriage beneath her jarred and rocked down the surface of a hard road.
She came dressed this day in her finest day dress, a striking foot length calico work graced with a shade of robin’s egg blue and a delicate floral print of peerless ivory; a gown that glowed not only in its overall look but in its delicate accents, which included a fitted calico top with a scoop neckline and a matching skirt trimmed in pure ruffled lace, wide flounced sleeves, delicate buttons lining the front, a bustled back, as well as a soft white cotton underskirt and prim ivory gloves to complete the look.
Yet although she had dressed in the role of a proper Western lady, Amy felt far more like an Amazon warrior; one of those fierce, strong muscled women she’d read about in books, reading by candlelight after Vance went to bed.
Much like these brave warrior women that she learned about and secretly idolized, Amy felt strong and unbending in her resolve; and more than clear about the specific, very pointed mission that whisked her that day across the wilds of the Texas frontier.
All too soon for her liking, Amy’s stagecoach came to a resounding halt at the center of a field; one that marked the address specified in the newspaper advertisement that had launched this whole disastrous catastrophe in the first place.