In Need of a Good Wife by Kelly O'Connor McNees

papers back to Rowena “that your disposition is suited for this endeavor. I’m sorry. These men need dutiful wives to bring peace and comfort to their homes.”
    Rowena raised one eyebrow and leaned close to Clara, clearly unaccustomed to being denied what she wanted. “And were you a dutiful wife? To George Bixby? Is that why he ran off?”
    Clara felt her jaw go slack.
    “Yes,” Rowena said with a cruel smile. “I know about him. Everyone does.” She seemed to be taking a great deal of pleasure in turning the conversation around on Clara.
    Clara stood paralyzed for a moment, her anger bubbling up. As she regained her composure, she saw a pathway opening that would serve to put this girl in her place much better than rejecting her application outright. Much more beautiful in person , Clara thought, knowing she would write the line in her letter to the bachelor.
    “Perhaps I was a bit hasty,” Clara said, her tone suddenly sweet. “Now that I think on it a bit more, I believe I do have a gentleman for you.” She picked up the butcher’s letter. “Mr. Daniel Gibson. A businessman.”
    Rowena’s eyebrows lifted and she held out her hand. “May I read it?”
    Clara pressed it against her bosom and shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s confidential. But I can tell you that he writes well. He is an educated man looking for a beautiful wife. I will tell him all about you—you have my word.”
    Rowena nodded, her eyes shining with satisfaction.
    Savor it, girl , Clara thought. Savor that smug feeling while it lasts.
    “You can expect a letter from him sometime in the next few weeks.”
     
    After Rowena left, Clara turned back to her work. She read through each man’s letter, then leafed through the stack of applications from the women. She set aside several of them right away. Two girls listed their ages as eighteen, seemingly oblivious to Clara’s instruction that all applicants must be at least twenty-one. Another seemed too frail, given that she mentioned that it was her “dying wish” to see the Missouri River. A few seemed illiterate and a few more were clearly too lazy or strange or dim-witted to be considered.
    Hannah Darby, for instance, seemed wholly preoccupied with the presence and abilities of Indians.
     
Dear Miss Bixby, Is Nebraska the place where they have the Soo injuns or is it the Comanchey? My sister Lizzie says she read that the braves are stronger than three white men put together and that they ride horses but without saddles because their legs are so strong and they can do black magic. Lizzie says every single one of them is handsome and because they are godless heathens they can take as many wives as they please. Is it true, miss? She also says that every white man is afraid of them. Do you think the white men in Nebraska are afraid of them? If I were well-protected I should very much like to see one of these braves riding his horse and see his long hair in the wind. Lizzie says they can talk to animals too. Tell me, miss, is any of this true?
Sincerely,
Hannah Darby
     
    Clara rolled her eyes as she tossed Hannah’s letter into the bin. She was beginning to wonder if any of these applicants would make fit matches.
    Fortunately Kathleen Connolly’s application surfaced next. She was Irish and Catholic, which limited the options, but Amos Riddle had said nothing about religion, only that he needed a sturdy woman who could do her share of the work on his land. Kathleen seemed to fit that description. Her application went into great detail about her experience with carpentry and livestock.
    Molly Zalinski and Deborah Peale had fastened their applications together in the top left corner and begged to be chosen “both or neither,” for they did nothing in this world but what they could do together. Their bond charmed Clara, and both of them seemed earnest and bright, ready to take on the challenge these marriages posed. The porter, Stuart Moran, had asked for a “refined” lady, and