“Elizabeth,” Amy repeated.
From across the room, Mrs. Jackson watched the exchange, her brows knitting together in a frown of concern. She took slow, measured steps toward them, her skirts whispering against the polished wooden floor.
“Matchmaking is fine talk,” Mrs. Jackson interjected, her voice careful but firm. “But these girls are like my own.” She glanced at Amy, the bond between them as visible as the lines of worry etching her brow. “I fear for them, out there with strangers.”
“Mrs. Jackson,” Elizabeth said. “I understand your fears. But I assure you, we’re talking about honest men, looking for companionship just as much as these young women are.”
“Men can be unpredictable,” Mrs. Jackson countered, folding her arms. “And words sweet as honey can turn bitter.”
“Which is why they’ll be investigated first. If I can’t get quick answers to telegrams asking about the men, then I send my husband, Bernard, to check on them. No one’s rushing to the altar,” Elizabeth explained, her patience evident.
“Still,” Mrs. Jackson hesitated. “It’s a big world outside this home.”
“Sometimes,” Elizabeth said, “a leap of faith is all it takes to find where we belong.”
“Faith,” Mrs. Jackson murmured, the word hanging between them like a prayer.
“Exactly,” Elizabeth nodded, reassuringly. “We’ll take care of our girls, won’t we?”
Mrs. Jackson’s gaze lingered on Amy, the oldest of her charges, who stood with eyes full of dreams. “Let me think on it, and I’ll come talk to you.”
Amy lingered by the doorway, apron dusted with flour from the morning’s bread-making. She took a deep breath and approached Mrs. Jackson who was tidying the modest parlor.
“Mrs. Jackson?” Amy’s voice was gentle but determined. “May I speak with you?”
The matron paused, setting aside a pile of mending. “Of course, dear,” she said, her eyes softening at the sight of Amy’s earnest face.
“I’ve been thinking about what Mrs. Tandy said.” Amy clasped her hands together, her gaze steady. “About finding a family...”
Mrs. Jackson nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“This place, it’s been more than a home. It’s been a family, thanks to you.” Amy’s eyes traced the familiar walls. “I’ve watched over the girls like they were my sisters. But I have dreams, Mrs. Jackson. Dreams of a husband, a house filled with laughter and children—a dozen of them.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Mrs. Jackson’s mouth. “A dozen is quite the handful,” she said.
“Yes, but full hands mean a full heart,” Amy replied.
Mrs. Jackson studied Amy for a long moment, the weight of years spent nurturing these young souls pressing upon her. Then, slowly, she reached out and took Amy’s hands in hers. “You do deserve that full heart, child. And love...love beyond these walls. But the idea of letting you go causes me so much pain.”
Tears welled in Amy’s eyes, reflecting the shimmer in Mrs. Jackson’s own. “I’ll never forget this place or you. You’ve given me so much, taught me how to be kind and helpful. I want to share that with a family of my own.”
Mrs. Jackson pulled Amy into an embrace, her resolve strengthening. “Then we shall make sure of it,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “We’ll find you that family, my dear. A family where your kindness can bloom and your dreams can soar.”
“Thank you,” Amy murmured, feeling the depth of the bond they shared, one not even distance could sever.
“Let’s have faith,” Mrs. Jackson said as they parted, a tear escaping down her cheek. “Faith that there’s a perfect match for you out there.”
MRS. JACKSON SQUAREDher shoulders and took a deep breath before rapping on the polished wooden door of Elizabeth Tandy’s residence. Her heart felt light as the door swung open, revealing the matchmaker’s bright green eyes and welcoming smile.
“Mrs. Jackson! What a pleasant surprise,” Elizabeth exclaimed, stepping aside to allow the matron inside her home. “We’ll go to the last door on the left.” She called out, “Bernard!” and at once a tall man with blond hair and eyes came to her. “Mrs. Jackson and I would like tea and cookies, if you don’t mind.”
Bernard gave one nod. “Absolutely.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth. I hope I’m not intruding,” Mrs. Jackson began as Elizabeth waved to indicate she should sit. She settled onto a sofa, the scent of fresh-baked bread wafting from the kitchen.
“Never,” Elizabeth assured her, taking a seat opposite her guest. “What brings you here today?”
“It’s about the girls,” Mrs. Jackson said, hands clasped in her lap. “I have nine young women who are of age to marry. They’re ready to head west, to begin lives of their own.”
