The stagecoach lurched violently as it rounded the final bend into Copper Ridge, throwing Eleanor hard against the worn leather seat. Dust clouds rose thick and choking through the window as the horses slowed their frantic pace. She pressed her gloved hand against her chest, feeling the rapid hammering of her heart beneath the modest gray traveling dress. Twenty-three years old, and she had never been more terrified in her entire life.
The advertisement had seemed so simple back in Boston. "Respectable rancher seeks wife. Must be of good character and willing spirit. References required." She had written back immediately, her hands trembling as she penned the letter by candlelight in the boarding house where she worked 16 hours a day scrubbing floors. Anything had to be better than that life of endless labor and loneliness.
The response came three weeks later. A brief letter in strong, neat handwriting. "Come to Copper Ridge. The Triple Bar Ranch. Ask anyone in town for directions. Travel expenses enclosed."
She had stared at the bills tucked inside the envelope, more money than she had seen in months. Her fingers had traced over the signature at the bottom. Jake Hollister. The name meant nothing to her then. It meant everything now.
The stagecoach came to a stop near a sign that read, "General Store." Eleanor gathered her single carpet bag, the sum total of her earthly possessions, and stepped down onto the dusty street. The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, nothing like the cool gray skies of Boston. She squinted against the harsh light, one hand shading her eyes as she looked around the small frontier town.
A few wooden buildings lined the main street. A saloon with piano music drifting through the swinging doors. A bank with bars on the windows. Men in dusty work clothes and wide-brimmed hats moved along the wooden sidewalks, their eyes turning toward her with open curiosity. She felt her cheeks flush hot.
She was clearly a stranger here, an outsider in her city clothes and pale skin that had never known hard sun. Her heart pounded faster. What had she done? What kind of madness had possessed her to travel 2,000 miles to marry a man she had never met, never even seen a photograph of?
The stagecoach driver set her trunk down with a heavy thud beside her. "That everything, miss?" His weathered face showed concern. She nodded, not trusting her voice. He tipped his hat.
"Good luck to you, then." The stage rattled away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the street with her meager belongings and a heart full of doubts. Eleanor took a deep breath and walked toward the general store. The wooden steps creaked under her feet.
Inside, the dim interior smelled of coffee, tobacco, and dried goods. An older woman with steel-gray hair looked up from behind the counter, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of Eleanor's appearance. "Help you?" The woman's voice was not unkind, but it was not particularly warm, either.
Eleanor cleared her throat. "I am looking for the Triple Bar Ranch. I was told to ask in town for directions." The woman's eyebrows rose slightly. "You must be the mail-order bride. Word travels fast in a small town."
Eleanor felt her face burn with embarrassment, but she lifted her chin. "Yes. I am expected." The woman studied her for a long moment, something unreadable passing across her weathered features. Then she nodded toward the window.
"The Triple Bar is about 10 miles northwest of here. Follow the main road out of town. Take the fork to the left when you reach the old oak tree. You cannot miss it." "Ten miles?" Eleanor's heart sank.
"That is quite a distance." The woman's expression softened just slightly. "The Hollister boys usually come into town on Saturdays for supplies. You could wait." "Hollister boys?"
"Plural?" Eleanor felt confusion wash over her. "I thought I was corresponding with Jake Hollister." The woman's lips twitched in what might have been amusement. "You were. But Jake has two brothers."