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“Just look at this!” Morgan insisted. She clarified her pointing, directed at the pictures of young men. Some were handsome, some were ugly and crippled. “These poor saps are looking for wives!” she exclaimed.
Lucrecia’s eyes widened just slightly. The pictures were in no particular order, but she couldn’t help but think that she knew the man in the first picture. He was in his mid-twenties, and sporting the looks of a man who could be a politician somewhere.
“This is absolutely incredible!”
Lucrecia rolled her eyes at Morgan. She was at it again, making fun of other people for her own amusement. Though she tried to hide it, a spark of interest had flared up deep within her belly. She strained her eyes to read the words without being too obvious. These men were offering to pay a woman’s way to where they lived. Some were from the South, others from places far to the west that Lucrecia had never heard of.
“I can’t believe something like this exists,” Lucrecia muttered.
“They’re just too desperate,” Morgan said, as though it were obvious.
“I can’t believe that you would call someone too desperate, Morgan,” Lucrecia teased. “You do know that you’re willing to sell your body for a few extra pennies?”
Morgan scoffed. She didn’t like to talk about it all that often, and it led to Lucrecia winning more than just one argument. It was the best way to put Morgan’s hypocrisy to an end, even if just for a few seconds. Lucrecia worried at her lower lip between her teeth, staring at the man who had caught her attention the first time. What were the chances that the picture wasn’t true at all? What if an offer like this got her killed?
“I wonder if those are their real pictures,” Lucrecia mused.
“Why do you care about that?” Morgan asked. “You know that this can’t be true, right? And if it is, they’re horrible men. Why can’t they get a wife where they live, huh?”
“Morgan, have you ever thought that maybe they don’t like any of the women from where they live?” Lucrecia asked. “Maybe there aren’t any women.”
“Lucrecia, you listen to me now,” Morgan demanded, her eyes going cold. “You cannot afford to do something like this. They could hurt you, they could kill you? Do you want to get out of New York so badly that you would risk your very life?”
“I don’t think I would be killed,” Lucrecia replied. “Besides, if they only want me there to look nice and maybe fix a few meals, I can do that easily.”
“You’re not exactly wife material,” Morgan teased.
Lucrecia smiled, knowing that it was true. She had nothing to offer a husband, not even a meager dowry for bringing her halfway across the country in a train.
“I won’t do it,” Lucrecia assured. “There’s no point in getting worked up over all of this, I was just thinking aloud,” she said. “Why would I want to leave you for?”
Morgan’s worried expression gradually faded into a smile. She let out a terse sigh and leaned back against the framework of the bench. Lucrecia curled her nose, but didn’t say anything about it. Willing to let the topic drop, Morgan continued to pore through her newspaper. Lucrecia’s attention, however, was locked somewhere far away. In her mind’s eye, she could still see the handsome young man. Without making a sound, she tested his name in place of hers, just to see if it could end up working out.
Lucrecia Fausto.
She found herself smiling. Mrs. Lucrecia Fausto. She liked the powerful ring that it had to it. She liked the entire prospect, if she were being honest.
Chapter Three
After the first letter that Fausto received from a would-be bride, he took her offer immediately. He had no idea if it was a scam, but no doubt those same thoughts were in her head as well. Fausto knew it all looked suspicious, a wealth, influential man like himself unable to find a bride. Out in the middle of Montana, there weren’t many women that were looking.
There were a few scattered throughout the city that their racing track was located in, but most of them were already married women. Their husbands had dragged them along in an attempt to strike it rich with the new businesses and the new profits that were rising up seemingly out of thin air.
Fausto couldn’t blame them. After all, that was exactly what his father had done, and he and his brother had inherited that opulence. Any man who didn’t try to be like them was an idiot, and was doomed to be no more than a poor farmer for the rest of his life.
Fausto sneered at the thought. He was lucky that his father had been such a profitable man.
He sat on a bench in the train station, glancing at his pocket watch every few minutes. He had no idea when the train was set to arrive that would carry his bride to him, but it needed to be sooner. The sooner that a woman arrived, the sooner he would be able to take what was rightfully his from his stupid father.
Nolan was at their father’s bedside as he waited for his bride, the old man rumored to have no more than a few hours left. Fausto couldn’t help but roll his eyes. If he had a dollar for every time that had been said to them by the doctors, he wouldn’t need to be trying so hard to earn his inheritance. Fausto knew the impression that he was making upon Nolan, and he knew the impression that Nolan had had of him since their mid-teenage years.
It didn’t matter to him.
Nothing mattered to him anymore.
A train station guard walked by, and Fausto stood to catch his attention.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, although there was no need to call the man sir. There was deference to him simply for being who he was. “When will the train be arriving?” he asked.
