Grace: Bride of Montana (American Mail-Order Bride 41)
parlor that she’d determined was the place for a study, with a desk and several bookcases—one on each wall. She provided him with paper, pen, and ink, and left him alone to struggle with the most important correspondence of his life.
    Frey sat at the desk, which faced into the room. Although tempted to drag his heels on composing the letter and instead spend more time admiring the house, he resolutely picked up the pen, dipped it into the inkwell, and began to write.

    Dear Mrs. Seymour,
    My name is Frey Foster, and I’m friends with Trudy and Seth Flanigan. Even though you no longer have the matchmaking business, I am writing to you in hopes that you will be able to aid in my search for a wife.
    Frey paused, wondering if he was doing the right thing. He took a breath and plowed on.
    I am 29 years of age and grew up in St. Paul, Minnesota, where I attended school. I am a bricklayer by trade and currently reside in Sweetwater Springs, having first come to this town as part of a construction crew building the mansion of the local banker, which is the finest home in the whole area. From there I have branched out with my own home-building business, starting with the brick foursquare house I have recently completed for the Flanigans.
    Frey wished he had a photograph of the house to send and made a mental note to commission several the next time a traveling photographer came through town.
    My own home is only three-quarters of the way finished due to my focus on building the Flanigans’ house. But I will put my efforts to the task so the house is livable by the time my intended bride arrives. Thus she will be the one to choose the final touches (such as wallpaper) and select most of the furnishings (as our budget allows).
    Frey wondered if he should admit that there wasn’t much of a budget.
    I am a large man, dubbed “Viking” by Seth Flanigan and, indeed, my Norwegian ancestors are said to have pillaged over much of the old world.
    He thought for a moment, wondering if the Viking reference sounded too violent, and hastily added, I, myself, am of a peaceable disposition and get along well with my fellow men.
    Tapping the end of the pen against his chin, Frey tried to put into words the type of wife he wanted. He figured he’d start with the easy part.
    I would prefer a pleasant-looking woman of medium to tall height. I have a big appetite and need a wife who is a good cook. Due to my type of work, I am hard on my clothing, so she would have to be able to mend and darn, and, if possible, make my clothes so I wouldn’t have to spend so much on ready-made garments, which don’t usually fit me well anyway.
    Frey thought of a discussion he’d had with the Flanigans and figured he’d take the couple’s advice concerning the start of his relationship with an unknown woman.
    I understand a woman is taking a risk to travel to a town, where all are strangers, including her groom. Such a life will be an adjustment for her. Therefore, she can stay as a guest at the Flanigan farm (their new home has plenty of room) for several days or weeks while she and I become acquainted and wait to marry. Or we can marry right away, or at any point, and live together at my house. I will purchase a second bed, so she can sleep in her own room until she feels comfortable about intimacy.
    Now for the hard part….
    I want to firmly state that I am a man of my word, and, if I give my pledge to my wife, I will honor my vows to the end of my days. I absolutely require a woman who will do the same. As much as possible, make sure she has a true and steady (not flighty) character.
    Sincerely,
    Frey Foster

CHAPTER TWO
    September 1890
    Lawrence, Massachusetts

    The night after a fire destroyed the Brown Textile Mill, where she’d worked for three years, Grace Dickinson sat on her bed in the darkness, her wet hair in a towel, her arms wrapped around her knees. Across the single room of the tiny row house, elderly Shirley Rigal slept, her breathing the

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