Big Stone Heart
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by Carol J. Larson
Category: Young Adult/Romance
Description: Seventeen year old Carrie Smith knows everything about baby boys, but nothing about grown men. Raised in an orphanage, unloved and unwanted, her only joy is the care she gives to the abandoned babies. When a letter arrives from a man in Dakota Territory who is looking for a wife, Carrie must choose between her lonely life in the orphanage or take a risk on an unknown man in a world about which she knows very little. Summoning all of her courage, she travels to Big Stone City, Dakota Territory, only to encounter heartbreak, deceit and betrayal. Bruised in body and spirit, Carrie flees to a small prairie town. When a shy farmer, Christopher Bachman, enters her life, Carrie must learn to trust again. Faced with a shattering secret, she must find a way to open her heart to forgiveness and love.
eBook Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press, 2012
eBookwise Release Date: June 2012
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [326 KB]
Reading time: 214-300 min.
Swede Hollow, Minnesota, 1886
Carrie Smith had to find out about the letter. Even though her hands trembled and her knees felt weak, she had to ask. Timidly, she reached out to knock on the office door of Mrs. Pedersen, the Headmistress. She hesitated. What was she doing? Why, she'd only heard about the letter from the man in Dakota Territory this morning and, truth be told, she hadn't been thinking too clearly since then.
That morning Carrie had been at her chores in the kitchen of the orphanage where she'd lived all of her seventeen years. Most of the girls, if they weren't adopted, left the orphanage by the age of thirteen or fourteen. Not so Carrie. She had stayed on, working for room and board, little more than a servant. Still, she had a roof over her head and food to eat.
The kitchen was the only truly warm room in the brick building. It was a large room with cupboards lining one wall, a heavy cook stove against the opposite wall and an old scarred wooden table in the middle. A dome-shaped brick oven dominated the outside wall with a thick chimney that climbed to the twelve-foot ceiling.
The kitchen help, Arlys and Fannie, came in and sat down at the table. They began to peel potatoes for the noon dinner. Arlys was thin and tall with an open face and bright eyes. Her head was always swiveling around, like a bird on the lookout for a tasty worm. Fannie was young and fresh with beautiful, almost translucent skin and rosy cheeks. She was somewhat slow and simple, but sweet tempered and kind. As they worked, they dropped the peels and rotten parts of the potatoes into a tin bucket at their feet and threw the pared potatoes into a deep pot on the nearby cook stove.
"Did you hear about the letter that Mrs. Pedersen received from Dakota?" Arlys asked. She was second only to Matron Krauss in loving a good tidbit of gossip, although she lacked the sheer maliciousness of the latter.
"No," muttered Fannie as she concentrated on the potato in her hand.
"Well," Arlys said as she pitched another potato into the pot and leaned close, "Matron Krauss overheard Mrs. Pedersen telling Matron Albrecht about a letter that came from a minister of some little parish somewhere in Dakota Territory. He knows of a man who is looking for a wife and did Mrs. Pedersen know of a suitable girl that she could recommend who might be willing to travel out there and marry him."
"Imagine that," Fannie said, eyes wide in amazement.
"Really, Mrs. Pedersen was at a complete loss as to what to do. I mean, who does he think we are--matchmakers?" Arlys said indignantly.
"Imagine that," breathed Fannie.
Carrie barely registered this conversation as she went about her work. She scrubbed down the table, placed the heavy wooden chopping block before her and began to cut onions and a slab of bacon into neat uniform pieces that she scraped into a large iron skillet on the stove. Soon, the pungent smell of onions and the smoky smell of bacon filled the kitchen as they sizzled gently on the stove. She took the pot of potatoes, added water and a pinch of salt and put them on a burner to boil. When they were tender, she drained them over the tin sink, scraped the onions and bacon into the pot and added fresh cream to the mixture. While Carrie finished the soup, Arlys and Fannie bustled about gathering bowls and silverware and taking them into the dining hall where they set the long trestle tables. Neither of them said anything to Carrie. It was as if she were invisible; a piece of furniture that was utilitarian but scarcely noticed at all.
Satisfied that dinner was well on its way, Carrie left the kitchen by the back door and hurried along the path in the snow that led to a separate building that housed the school and offices of the Minnesota Home for Orphaned and Neglected Children.
It was early March. The air was heavy with moisture, the kind of wet cold that penetrated all the way to the bone. The sky was gray and dull and the wind blew a damp chill across the tops of the barren trees. It had been many weeks since the last blanket of clean white snow had covered the Hollow. Now, the snow was dirty, covered with layers of soot from the kitchen fires. A tall stone wall enclosed the orphanage, outbuildings and garden. Beyond the walls lay Swede Hollow with its teaming masses of immigrants packed into the narrow confines of a steep ravine. The air was thick with the pervasive smell of sewage, sweat and smoke.
Carrie's teeth chattered by the time she got to the door of the school building. It was scarcely warmer inside. Prattling children rushed by on the way to class. A small boy with rosy cheeks tugged on Carrie's skirt. "Hewo, Cawie," he chirped.
She tousled his hair and, with an affectionate smile, sent him on his way. A group of older girls clustered in a corner, laughing and talking. As Carrie passed by, they fell silent. Then one of them whispered something to the others and they all broke out in giggles, turning to stare at Carrie.
Carrie blushed, her cheeks a furious shade of red. She didn't understand why she was the object of such derision by the older girls. This was not the first time the group of eleven and twelve-year-old girls had burst into laughter when she had passed them in the halls. It was particularly disturbing because some of the girls had clearly adored Carrie when they were little. Had she inadvertently done something or said something wrong? She couldn't think what it could be. Face burning, she wrapped her shawl tightly about her shoulders and fled down the hall to the small anteroom outside Mrs. Pedersen's office.
She was far too unimportant for an office of her own. Instead she worked in a space no bigger than a closet just outside of the Headmistress's office. It had a small table, a chair and a cabinet with shelves for the ledgers. A wooden file cabinet sat in the corner with labels neatly inscribed on each drawer. She selected a small key from the keychain that hung from her belt, unlocked the cabinet and took out a large brown ledger.
As she sat at the small table, Carrie began to write expenditures in a column in the ledger. As she worked, she was aware of something, some little thing that nagged at the back of her mind and disturbed her concentration. She tried to focus on the task at hand. Finally, she laid down her pen, determined to figure out what it was that was lying just below her level of consciousness. She sat back in the battered chair and let her thoughts roam. What was it? A man looking for a wife whispered in the back of her mind and she remembered the conversation in the kitchen.
All the feelings of loneliness, the yearning for warmth, love, and family washed over her. Carrie's loneliness was part of the very fabric of her being. She wore it like a nun's habit, black, heavy and unchanging. The only time she felt a little less alone was when she worked in the nursery. Although she was not allowed to pick up the babies, she would spend hours playing with their tiny fingers and tickling their little toes. She especially loved it when their huge bright eyes would fix on her face. As she softly talked to them through the long evening hours, her loneliness would gently slip away.
I could be that person, the wife he is looking for, Carrie thought. This was so astounding that Carrie gasped. I couldn't possibly travel all the way to, what did they say, Dakota Territory? And marry a man I've never met. Ridiculous. Totally unnerved now, Carrie stared at the ledger before her, unable to focus on the rows of tiny figures.
All day she struggled to put the thoughts out of her mind by trying to keep busy. She added up columns of figures and then added them backwards just to check her work. She changed the diapers of the babies in the nursery so many times that the diaper pail was soon overflowing. But it was no use. She had to see that letter.
What if the man wanted a pretty wife? Carrie knew she wasn't pretty or even handsome. What if he wanted someone clever, who could sing or dance? She couldn't do any of those things. It was a waste of time to keep worrying like this, she thought. I just have to see what is in that letter.
Finally, as the shadows began to deepen in the late afternoon, she knew she must act now. So with trembling hands, she rapped timidly on Mrs. Pedersen's door and asked permission to enter.
Mrs. Pedersen was a tall angular woman with a square jaw and piercing eyes. She barely looked up when Carrie entered. "What is it, Carrie?" she barked as she shuffled some papers on her desk.
Carrie stammered, "Ma'am, I, I um, oh dear..."
Mrs. Pedersen looked up sharply. "Come, come, Carrie, what can be so difficult? Sit down and tell me what's troubling you," she said with barely disguised irritation.
Carrie sat. With head bowed and hands clasping and unclasping in front of her, she began, "Mrs. Pedersen, please forgive me for eavesdropping, but I couldn't help overhearing Arlys and Fannie talking about a letter," she paused, "from a man who is looking for a wife." She blushed deep red. "And I guess, um, well, I might like to know more." Carrie stared at the floor in front of the desk.
Mrs. Pedersen regarded Carrie's bowed head and flushed face. "Very well," she said and reached into the desk drawer, pulled out the letter and calmly slid it across the desk.
Carrie was unprepared for this. She had expected out and out refusal or at least probing questions. She looked up, confusion clearly written on her face. Mrs. Pedersen nodded curtly and handed her the letter. With shaking hands, Carrie took it and began to read:
January 22, 1886
Dear Mrs. Pedersen:
I am writing on behalf of a dear friend of mine, Mr. Arvid Cronin. Mr. Cronin is a devout man and respected member of our community. He has determined to take a wife, but good marriageable women are in very short supply here in Dakota Territory. Knowing of your good works with the poor of St. Paul, I was wondering if you could recommend a young lady who might be willing to travel to our town for the purpose of marrying Mr. Cronin.
Mr. Cronin is a good provider, being the manager of the Sioux Granite Quarry. He has a fine house and buildings. He has many good qualities with which to recommend himself to any young lady. He feels he could provide a good home for a poor girl who could only benefit from her association with him. All Mr. Cronin requires in a wife is that she be a strictly brought up girl who is pious, obedient and submissive. Please advise if you know of any suitable ladies.
The Reverend Horace Snider, St. John's Parish, Big Stone City, Dakota Territory
Mrs. Pedersen studied Carrie while she read the letter. She's a plain girl but not without some pleasing qualities, she thought. Carrie's eyes were large and deep blue but too closely set for classic beauty. She had pretty skin marred by a few small scars from childhood chickenpox. Her mouth was large but delightfully bowed and her cheeks dimpled charmingly when she smiled. Her nose was just a little bit too long although it turned up pertly at the end. She had lovely auburn hair that she wore severely pulled back into a long braid. She was rather short but had a small tidy waist and generous breasts.
Her most attractive feature though, thought Mrs. Pedersen, was her cheerful unassuming disposition. She really was a sweet girl who modestly stayed in the background, demanding nothing, but giving of herself in many small ways. Mrs. Pedersen saw nothing in Carrie's appearance or character that would be unappealing to a potential husband.
Mrs. Pedersen said softly, "Carrie, would you like to keep the letter and think it over?"
"Yes, Ma'am, thank you. If that would be all right, well, thank you," Carrie said as she folded the letter and put it in her apron pocket.
As she went about her chores that evening, she could feel the letter in her pocket like a question waiting to be answered. When she was alone, she took out the letter, read, and reread it.
Carrie never doubted for a moment the truthfulness of Rev. Snider's letter. Ministers were, after all, to be trusted implicitly. His description of a respected man with a nice home and a good job seemed almost in the realm of a fairy tale. She could see herself as Cinderella, whisked away from her impoverished life to live happily ever after. And though Mr. Cronin was certainly not a prince, and he didn't live in a castle, to Carrie it seemed close enough.