Conner's Contrary Bride

on his desk, and he sighed. He had to pack it all away.
As he was throwing the papers into a crate, his housekeeper, Bertie, cleared her throat from the doorway.
“Yes, Bertie?”
“Will you need help packing?”
Conner turned to study her. She’d been a loyal housekeeper these past four years.
Bertie looked at him the same way she had when Mary had died, her brown eyes full of loving concern. She was one of those women that gave no clue to her age. Her hair was mostly brown with just a few wisps of gray. While on the plump side, she got around the house like a whirlwind. His face softened, and he smiled at her. “I will, thank you.”
If it hadn’t been for dear, sweet, Bertie he wouldn’t have survived his wife’s death the year before. She’d been strong and soft and sympathetic at the same time.
“I packed the wardrobe, but I haven’t touched the highboy yet.”
He saw her give a quick nod before she headed for the stairs. “Right away, sir.”
“Bertie, wait!” he called, having thought of something important he needed to settle with her.
She returned to his side and looked at him with expectant eyes.
“Where will you go when I leave?” He couldn’t meet her eyes as he spoke. It was a subject they had yet to broach.
Bertie shuffled her feet. “I’m not sure.”
“Do you have any family?”
“Just a cousin in Iowa, but she’s living with her daughter’s family.”
“I’ll give you a letter of recommendation. You could get another live-in job somewhere.”
Bertie cast her eyes downward. “I’d appreciate that, sir.”
Conner knew she would have a hard time finding a position in a good household, given that she’d stood by him when the entire town had turned against him, and people tended to have long memories. And Bertie knew it too.
“Or…” He paused to gauge her reaction to his next words. “Or, you could join me in Hays City.”
“Oh, sir!” was all she said letting her face finish the sentence.
Conner cleared his throat and turned away at the sight of her tearing eyes. “I’ll need a good housekeeper there, and we’re used to each other’s ways.”
“I’ll finish packing your things,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Then, I’ll work on mine.”
When Bertie had gone, he picked up the letter he would have tossed into the bin had circumstances been different. It was the letter from the Hays City town council in Kansas who needed a doctor for their growing town. Leaving Jefferson City, Missouri wouldn’t have been a consideration had the town not turned against him for letting his wife die in childbirth.
He pounded his fist on the desk. As if he hadn’t done everything in his power to save his beloved wife and infant daughter. Unshed tears burned his eyes. People had stopped coming to his office for treatment, so the letter was like a gift from God. He wondered how Hays City had known he needed a fresh start. Conner supposed Reverend Thatcher had something to do with it.
Hays City, Kansas
January 1870.
Bertie escorted the day’s last patient out the door. She closed the door, leaned against it, and sighed. “Doctor, I’m tired.”
Conner looked up from his paperwork and removed his spectacles. “I’m sorry, Bertie, I never expected my caseload would be this large so soon. When I took the job, I didn’t realize I would be the only doctor in town.”
Bertie pursed her lips and sat down on the opposite side of his desk. “Sir, I can’t keep up with the cooking and housework, while helping you here in the office. It’s nearly six o’clock and I haven’t even started dinner yet.”
Conner stood. “I’ll treat you to dinner at Rusty’s.”
Bertie scrunched up her nose. “I suppose we have no choice.”
“I realize the food isn’t on par with your cooking, but I hear the soups are good.” He took her arm. “We’ll use this time to talk about how to solve our problem.”
Bertie and Conner discussed the weather and the situation at the office over bowls of hot beef lentil soup. When their tea and dessert arrived, Bertie blurted, “You know what you need, Conner? A wife.”
Conner frowned and faked a laugh. “First of all, there aren’t a lot of single women here in Hays City, at least none of the marriageable type anyway. Secondly, I could never replace my Mary.”
“Hogwash,” Bertie said. “Plenty of people find a second spouse and they come to love them just as much. The heart has a lot of room.”
Conner leaned back in his chair and let out a frustrated laugh. “Who would you suggest—Scarlet or Abby from the Velvet Palace?”
Bertie pulled a folded newspaper from her pocket. “That’s what I thought you’d say. Have a look at this.” She unfolded the paper and slid it over to Conner.
After scanning the paper, he shook his head. “A matchmaker service?”
“I heard this woman’s been successful in matching couples for over twenty years. All you need to do is fill out a form with your likes and dislikes, and she matches your answers with those of her female applicants. My friend, Rose, found the perfect husband using her service.”
Conner gave Bertie a patronizing smile. “I know you mean well, Bertie, but I don’t go in for that type of thing. If God wants me to have another wife, He’ll send me one.”
“That’s just it,” Bertie said. “you can pray to win at poker, but before you can win, you need to at least play the game.”
Now, Conner laughed for real. “What does poker have to do with anything?”
“God will provide, but you need to help him by applying and letting him send you someone. God knows there aren’t any marriageable women here, so, you have to help Him.”
Conner read the article about the matchmaker.