Mail Order Meals - Kirsten Osbourne Page 0,1

brides. He thought for a moment before grabbing paper, pen, and inkwell. He dipped his pen and carefully wrote a letter asking for a bride. Hopefully, by the end of summer, he wouldn’t be having to cook for himself at all. He didn’t really care to have a wife. He just wanted the meals she could make.

Why, he shouldn’t call her a wife at all. She was mail-order meals to him.

TRUDIE HAD BEEN THINKING for weeks about what she should do about still being labeled one of the demon horde, and she’d finally come to a conclusion. She needed to see Elizabeth, her big sister, and get her to find her a husband. She was twenty-one already. Why, by her age, her ma had already had five children. She would never find a man in their area of Massachusetts, and though she enjoyed her job, she loved the idea of only cooking for one man for the rest of her life.

It was a Wednesday in April when she walked to town, letting her family think she was off to work, but instead she went to Elizabeth’s house on Rock Creek Road. When she arrived, she went to the door and smiled at her brother-in-law Bernard when he invited her in.

“Where’s Elizabeth?” she asked. She was always a little intimidated by Bernard, though she wasn’t certain why. He was a handsome man, but he seemed dangerous somehow.

“In her office.” Bernard would have taken anyone else to Elizabeth’s office, but she was family. She knew where her sister worked.

Trudie nodded and hurried down the hall, not bothering to knock as she walked into her sister’s office, which doubled as a parlor. “Elizabeth, I need you to marry me off to someone. I’d rather stay close to home, but I can’t wait another minute. Put me on a train this afternoon. Please!”

Elizabeth’s grin told Trudie she’d been slightly melodramatic in her declaration, but she wasn’t going to let it worry her. “I do think I have a letter for you. I was going to show you at Sunday dinner, but I can see you’re not interested in waiting.”

“Not at all. Please tell me he wants his wife delivered immediately.” Trudie plopped down on the sofa in a way she could only do with family. There was no point in her pretending to be a lady around Elizabeth. She certainly knew better. “Let me see the letter.”

Elizabeth giggled. “You’re really ready, aren’t you?” She flipped through a pile of correspondence on her desk, finally choosing one of the letters there.

“I am. Can I leave Friday? Saturday? This afternoon?”

Instead of responding, Elizabeth handed her sister a letter.

Trudie unfolded the paper and read it carefully.

To whom it may concern:

I’m hungry. I’ve been living alone on a ranch just outside Coyote, Colorado for years, and I’ve been cooking for myself all that time. Or you could say, I’ve been botching the meals I try to make. So far, I’ve mastered scrambled eggs, but only if I don’t mind shells in them. I’ve ruined a few pans trying to make bacon.

I can’t keep existing on jerky and eggs. I swear I’m going to go insane if someone won’t marry me. I’m including a bank draft to cover her train ticket and the cost of travels, as well as your fee. Please, by all that’s holy, send me a woman who can cook.

I don’t care what she looks like. I don’t care if she is twenty years older than me. (I’m twenty-six, by the way.) I don’t even care if she can’t sew or clean. As long as I’m fed, I’ll be happy with her.

Please don’t bother to write back. I want my mail-order meals immediately.

Sincerely,

Douglas Charleston, the hungriest man in all of Colorado, and probably the entire United States of America

P. S. Please make sure she can cook!

Trudie stared at the letter before a smile slowly grew. “He has a sense of humor. I want this one.” She knew she could fulfill his requirements, because she happened to be an outstanding cook, but more than that, she thought he just might be what she needed. Someone who knew how to laugh.

“Are you sure you know how to cook?” Elizabeth asked.

Trudie stuck her tongue out at Elizabeth, realizing her siblings really did bring out the worst in her. “I’ve never gotten eggshells in my scrambled eggs.” Elizabeth was consistently called the worst female cook in their family, and Trudie knew she was just teasing. That wasn’t to say Elizabeth