"You want me to what?" Buck squirmed awkwardly in his chair. 

Teaspoon cocked up his left shoulder, rested his elbows heavily on the table astride his mostly eaten meal, and squinted at Buck. He blew out what could only be described as a whining breath, and finally repeated himself. "I want you to look into gittin’ yerself a wife." 

Rachel, disapproving of her husband’s tack, ignored Buck’s look of utter disbelief. "Well Buck, you know we love havin’ ya here so often, but-" 

Teaspoon cut her off, "Ya need to be with people young like you, not a couple of old codgers like us." 

Rachel glared at Teaspoon, "Speak for yourself you old coot!"

Buck fought down the initial irritation that was building against the people he had grown to look on as parents. "I know you worry, but I’m happy with my life. I have a really good business. I mean, people come from all over the country just to buy my horses. I got plenty of money. I just finished building my dream house on my own land. I have a good family that I take my meals with more often than not." Buck smirked at Rachel with his last statement, trying to allay the worry he knew she felt for him, then plunged on. "I like my life. It’s...settled. I’m not lonely with you two and Kid, Lou, Teresa and Jeremiah just a few miles away." His final statement sounded forced, and everyone at the table knew it. 

Rachel reached around the corner of the table, and put her hand gently on top of his. "Honey, I know you love breedin’ and trainin’ your animals, and I know people all over the place respect the fact that you’re better at it than anybody else. But Buck I also know that money don’t mean a thing to you, and I’m not dumb enough to miss the fact that you built that house with a woman in mind." Buck’s stricken look stopped her momentarily. "Buck...why else would a man build a house with indoor bathrooms and two enormous closets in the main bedroom? Why would a man who is just as happy sleeping in the barn with his horses, order all them fancy new plumin’ things 
from Boston. You didn’t spend all that time puttin’ in those indoor bathrooms for your own comfort; any fool would know that." 

Teaspoon nodded appreciatively at his wife. "Yup, what she said." He turned the wattage up on his patented Teaspoon grin. Unfortunately, his attempt at levity did nothing to erase the frownfrom Buck’s face. Buck kept his eyes centered steadfastly on his empty plate. The only thing that gave away his tumultuous emotional state was the agitated throttling that his napkin was receiving.

Without warning Buck turned his arresting brown eyes on Rachel. In that instant she decided thatthe cliché’ about the eyes being the windows to the soul was coined specially for Buck. She found herself adrift in a swirling maelstrom of emotions. It pained her to know how hard he was trying to stifle those feelings. 

Grinding his jaw, Buck turned to Teaspoon. "You’re right Teaspoon, you’re always right. I don’t like that about you." He tried to chuckle, but it came out in the form of a choked off sob. "No woman wants a half-breed, Teaspoon. And don’t give me that load of bull about lettin’ people get to know me." Buck continued before Teaspoon could interrupt. "A few women in this 
town have let me court ’em a while. They got to know me, and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. Then, when a ‘suitable’ man came along they’d get married to him. Not to me, never to a filthy Ingun." Buck abruptly shot out of his chair, plate in one hand, drinking glass in the other, and placed them gently on the counter top next to the basin. He spun on his heel, aiming for his hat by the door, but was brought up short by a very resolute Teaspoon who was not about to move out of his way. 

"Son, I know ya been through a lot concernin’ your blood, and I know women can be a whole heap of trouble, but I also know you got so much to give. I always seen ya as a Daddy in your future, with a good wife and a house full of youngin’s."

"It’s no use Teaspoon," Buck quietly countered.

"Not necessarily." Teaspoon fumbled in his back pocket a moment, pulling out a well-worn sheaf of paper. "I was readin’ this pamphlet on mail order brides an-"

"No Teaspoon." Buck cut him off. "I’m not coercing some poor woman into marrying me without mentioning that I’m a breed."

"That’s not what I’m gettin’ at, Buck." Teaspoon nearly shrieked. Lowering his rising voice, he started again. "This particular pamphlet is for brides outside of this here United States. Ladies in other countries won’t have any crazy notions on who ya are ‘fore they meetcha." Teaspoon beamed, rocking back on his heels, he tapped Buck on the shoulder with the pamphlet. "Look son, all I want you to promise me, is that you’ll at least read the darned thing." He said, shoving the papers toward Buck. Relenting, Buck took the pamphlet, and slid it beneath his belt. Side stepping Teaspoon, he continued his path to the door. He grabbed his hat, and mumbled a quiet thanks to Rachel for dinner. He was out the door before another word could be said. Rachel looked at her husband, distraught.

"That poor boy’s been through so much, Teaspoon. Maybe we shouldn’t have pushed him."

Teaspoon put his arm around his wife, raising a thin gray brow at her. "He’s a man now Darlin’. I know as well as you do that men wasn’t meant to be alone. That’s why God made woman, y’see." He smiled gently down at Rachel, his sixth and favorite wife. She wasn’t moved by his little romp in the philosophical. She just wanted Buck to be okay. She hoped that he knew just how loved he was, by their strange little patchwork family.

Buck scrambled up the steps to his rather roomy Victorian style porch. He looked up at the eaves, noting the fancy decorative woodwork that Lou had talked him into. "What was I thinking?" He muttered to himself, stomping loudly, to the door. Shoving open the door, he took in the huge entranceway and hall, with the beautifully gleaming, waxed wood floors. The floors were very noticeable, being that Buck, having not needed much, owned almost no furniture. Cursing inaudibly to himself, he pulled the pamphlet Teaspoon had given him from his pocket, threw it to the floor, and stormed up the stairs to his bedroom. Upon entrance, he started throwing off his clothes absentmindedly, as the never-ending cavalcade of disturbing thoughts and conflicting emotions swam viciously through his head. He strode into the attached master bathroom, one of the ones that Rachel had spoken of, and began pumping water into a huge white porcelain tub that was set off of 
the floor with gleaming, gold, claw toed feet. Clad in only his pants, Buck worked furiously at the pump, taking out his chaotic emotional state on the shiny gold beneath his palm.

Buck had been pumping water out of the spout with grim determination. It shot into the tub in quick short bursts, but still the tub was only half full. "What am I doing?" He mumbled to himself.  Catching his breath, Buck sat back on his heels. As his respiration calmed so did his outlook. He
considered what Teaspoon had said. Maybe a woman from another country wouldn’t have any preconceived notions, of who or what he was, until she got to know him. Buck rolled onto his feet, and with a purposeful stride, he headed back down stairs. He told himself it was to put some water on to boil in order to warm the bath he’d just drawn, but the thought of the pamphlet was ever present in his mind. He reached the ground floor of his grand, beautiful, new, and achingly empty home. He scooped the booklet off of the floor, and began to thumb through it on his way to the kitchen. He put some water on to boil and made his way, eyes glued onto the brochure, to the kitchen table. Plopping into a chair, he rolled his eyes at himself, and flung the pamphlet onto the table. It slid to the edge of the table, and hung precariously. "Damn Teaspoon, " he grumbled. He knew he should not even entertain the idea of taking a foreign bride. She wouldn’t have any idea what she was getting into being married to a half-breed. He could tolerate the public’s rather vocal disdain of him, but what of this innocent woman and the children that were sure to come later. How could he do that to someone he vowed to love and protect? It was wrong to even consider it, but a terrible loneliness that had been growing for years was twisting and gnawing at his belly. For so long, he had wished for someone to run home to with exciting news, like the birth of a new foal. His animals gave him so much joy, but because he had no one to share it with it was like that joy fell into a void. It existed only for him, and only for a moment. Abruptly, the brochure fell from the edge of the table onto the chair opposite Buck, breaking him out of his self-pitying reverie. Sparing a glance at the water sitting, frustratingly quiet on the burner, Buck stomped irritably around the table to retrieve the errant booklet. It was resting on its back, sprawled open to a page toward the end. The bottom right hand corner of the 
page was folded in on itself from Buck’s less than gentle handling of it. The folded part of the page seemed to underline a small section towards the base of the page in the far column.  Tolerant British woman seeks kind and equally tolerant American male. Underneath the ad was an address.

Buck stood motionless, staring at the ad. He gawked at the letters on the page until they shifted into meaningless scribbles. Eyes wide, he stared around the room, half expecting there to be some cruel God pointing his finger and laughing at the half witted man, holding on to a piece of paper as if his very life was drawn from it. He lifted an eyebrow at that thought, and wondered if it was the white man’s God reading his thoughts and showing the way just like Rachel swore he did if you just asked. Utter silence enveloped the room as Buck replaced the pamphlet in the chair with his backside, transplanting the closed, straightened, unwitting voice of God back to the tabletop. Emulating Rachel’s prayer posture, Buck placed his elbows on the table, folded his hands, and held them close to his face. Head bowed, eyes closed, he made a simple request, "God, please help me find the one. Soon. Uh...Amen." Buck opened his eyes, and it seemed to him that he was coming out of a haze. Slowly the mundane noises around him began to emerge, the light in the room seemed to brighten, and Buck was finally aware of the water boiling on the burner. For some reason everything seemed so much clearer. Unsettled, he picked up his water, and lugged it upstairs to his awaiting bath.
 

Chapter Two

Dappled sunlight shone pleasantly on the bed in which Buck slept. The warming rays enveloped him in a hazy warm cocoon. Yawning, he stretched his arms around the diminutive figure stirring next to him. Gently rubbing her slightly distended abdomen, he waited to feel movement. "Asleep." He mumbled, burying his face in a pool of soft black curls. Buck was warm. It wasn’t an uncomfortable sort of warm, but a gentle comforting warm. He couldn’t discern if it was radiating from him or the sunlight peeking in the windows. With a start, the spell was broken. The dream faded away despite Buck’s desperate attempt to hold on to it. Fully conscious now, he mourned the loss of the dream as he had every morning he’d had it. It had started a month ago when Teaspoon had put that crazy notion of taking a mail order bride into his head. It didn’t matter how many times he had it, he always believed he was waking up to the fulfilling life he had always wished for. That damned dream always fooled him. He stretched out on his back staring at the ceiling. In the midst of a bout of momentary insanity, he had written a letter to Miss Tolerant the very night that Teaspoon had given him that 
silly pamphlet. It had been a month since, and Buck was reasonably sure that he was not going to get an answer. He understood that is took time for mail to get from continent to continent, but he hadn’t really been pleased with the way he had introduced himself in the letter. He had simply imparted that he was an American half-breed with a stud farm. The description of his work was not very accurate, but he did have stud horses amongst his horseflesh. He had also explained exactly what a half-breed was, and the miseries associated with it. He had acknowledged that those were the particular reasons he had picked a "Tolerant" woman to write to. What kind of a crazy woman would respond to that?

Celene flashed a huge grin across the counter at Kira. Unnerved by her friend’s somewhat manic happiness, Kira continued to place the goods that her father had requested on to the counter for Celene to check her out. Celene made no move to tabulate the cost of the items in front of her.  Kira just stared back at her, silently questioning what on earth had made Celene so happy.  "Aren’t you going to ask?" Celene finally inquired. "Do I have to?" Kira smirked at her only friend. "I did something." Kira’s eyes widened. "Did you and Patrick?" She left the question unfinished, her face coloring. After overcoming momentary confusion, Celene snorted. "No silly, this has nothing to do with him. I did something for you. I’m not sure exactly how you’re going to react, but I was only thinking of you."

"What did you do?"

"I ...well...I put an add in an American mail order bride publication for you."

"You what!"

"Oh, Kira don’t be mad, I just want you to be safe and happy, and you can’t be any of those things here. Just, look." She babbled, pulling out a scrap of paper. "This is it. I tore it out for you."

"Celene, you know I love you, but I’m so bloody furious at you right now my head just might explode! Bloody Hell! Tolerant! I’m miss bloody tolerant! What were you thinking? If my father finds out about this he’ll have my hide."

Temporarily shocked by her prudish friend’s harsh language, Celene pouted. "Oh, so you don’t want the letter that arrived today?" She dropped the pout, and played her trump card.

"What letter? I’ve received no letter."

"That is because I put my address in the ad. I knew that if your father found the letters, he would be furious, so I used mine." She smiled, proud of herself.

"Letters? First you said letter then you said letters. Are there others?"

"Well, yes. But I’ve been screening the undesirable replies out."

"And how exactly do you know what I find undesirable?"

"Well, there was only one other letter, and all he talked about was how hard life with him would be because he’s half Indian. You don’t want an Indian. Do you know what they do to white women? They rape, pillage, and plunder! Nasty business that. I’ve heard all sorts of awful things from American tourists about those heathens. The letter you got today is much more appealing.  It’s from a doctor that could take good care of you."

"I want both letters, Celene. I’ll decide who I want to write back to if I decide to write at all."

It had taken threats of violence to get both of the letters from Celene. Kira had pinned both letters underneath her petticoats so that her father wouldn’t know of their existence. Then, she had raced home to prepare her father’s evening meal. It was late, but she had to be sure he was sleeping 
before she could even consider removing the letters from their hiding place. Quietly, she unpinned the letters from her garments, and tiptoed to the window to read by moonlight. She dare not risk waking her father with a candle. With her forehead leaning against the pane of glass in the bright 
glow of the moon, Kira read the first letter she’d pulled out. It was the one from the doctor that Celene had mentioned. It seemed to Kira that the good doctor was probably some old buffoon, who wanted a nice young piece of flesh to make his twilight years more enjoyable.  Obviously, that isn’t what he wrote in the letter, but the way he spoke of all of the things he’d acquired over the years made her believe there had been many, many years. There was also an intangible something about his words that sent alarm bells off in her head. She replaced that letter to its hiding place, making a mental note to burn it in the breakfast fire in the morning.

She opened up the second letter, and was immediately impressed with the neatness of the masculine script it held. Upon finishing the letter, she was surprised to find herself lamenting the end of it. She read it a second time, and just as the first letter had seemed artificial, this one seemed genuine. This man was being so honest, and his words seemed so completely from the heart, that Kira had an immediate liking for him. She wanted so badly to keep this letter, but couldn’t risk her father finding it. She took great pains in memorizing the address on the letter correctly, and added it to the first 
one to be destroyed in the morning. Thinking very warmly of Buck Cross, Kira curled up in bed and fell quickly into a deep sleep.

Kira woke the next morning after having the most delicious dream. In it she had been warm, loved, and with child. Being an old maid, of twenty, she had never put any thought into children, but waking up to find that she didn’t really have one on the way made her chest clinch from an emptiness she’d never even been aware of. It made her wish she could sleep forever, and live the dream. She dragged herself from the bed, dressed quickly, and made her way to the kitchen to prepare her father’s breakfast.

Kira was thrilled. Her father had left immediately after breakfast to go to "the club", which meant that he’d go to "the club", get sloppy drunk, and go whoring with the other ultra-wealthy men of London. This was a good thing for her because it meant that he’d be gone all day, maybe even into 
the night. She’d have much of the day to do as she pleased, even though she had been expressly forbidden to leave the house. He had even been so gregarious at the prospect of his day that he had told her not to bother with the preparation of any of his meals for the rest of the day. She decided to clean the house to perfection first. That way, she’d have it out of the way to write Mr. Cross back later. She was responsible for all household duties because her father was far too covetous of his privacy to hire help. She went about making the house just as her father liked it so as not to tempt 
his temper. She never knew how he would behave after one of his jaunts into the city, so she was very fastidious in her work. It was important to keep him happy.

Pleasantly, fatigued from her chores, Kira sat at the desk in her bedroom, and wracked her brain for the proper response to Mr. Cross’s letter. It seemed to take forever, but she decided that she finally had it right. She took out the postage that Celene had secretly given her, and prepared the letter to be sent out. She knew that she should wait until she had another chance to go to the market for her father to have Celene mail it off for her, but impatience won over prudence.  Shocked and excited by her own audacity, she stole away from the house and delivered her letter to the post office herself. Much to her relief, she saw no one she knew on her clandestine errand. Praying feverishly, she entered her home. Her prayers were answered, her father had not returned home yet. Still worried that he might find out about her disobedience, she eased her nerves by making his favorite brownies. She hoped he’d be pleasantly surprised upon his return to find his favorite treat waiting for him.

Buck hated coming to town. People stared openly, they jeered on occasion, and once in a while someone spat at him. He longed for the safety and comfort of his home on the days when he had no choice but go for supplies. He decided to make a quick stop by the Marshal’s office to say hello to Teaspoon and Kid. They always seemed to fortify his nerves. At his entrance he was greeted by Teaspoon with a warm smile and an offer of coffee, which he gratefully accepted. Kid apparently was out on deputy business. There seemed to be some kind of joke he’d missed out on that was still hanging in the air, keeping a silly grin plastered on Teaspoon’s face. "What?" Buck’s brow furrowed. Teaspoon grinned enigmatically at him. "I’m just a crazy old man smilin’ at one of my boys’."

"No, Teaspoon I know you well enough to know there’s something going on."

"No, not really. Oh, well, ya know Miss Collier that works in the post office? She gave me this letter to give to you. The odd thing is, it’s from London, England." Teaspoon’s grin widened.  Buck’s eyes got impossibly wide, then realization dawned and his face bloomed red with embarrassment. "She wrote back?" He asked, incredulous. "Well yes, she wrote back. Of course she wrote back. I knew that pamphlet would work for you, and as someone near and dear to me said, I’m always right. Now, it’s my turn to ask questions. Why didn’t you tell me you wrote one of these women? I been worryin’ ‘bout you all these months, thinkin’ you were upset with me for mentionin’ it, and you done wrote one of those girls without remindin’me how smart I am!" He teased. All of Teaspoon’s words bounced over Buck, without him catching one. He smiled back at Teaspoon. "She wrote back." Buck wandered out of the Marshall’s office in a daze. He was so far-gone that he neglected to give Teaspoon so much as a goodbye wave. The letter was the source of so many different emotions for Buck. He was so happy that Miss Tolerant had acknowledged his existence, even if it was just to tell him she wasn’t interested. He was nervous because he was hoping that maybe she was interested. He was terrified that this craziness would bring him a mate, and he was terrified that it wouldn’t. He wandered, sightless into Thompkin’s store, and shoved the letter in his pocket. He gathered everything he needed as fast as he could, and silently cursed Thompkins for being too slow adding everything up. He was fidgeting restlessly, hoping that the obnoxious storeowner would succumb to a burst of speed.

"What’s got you so riled, boy?" Buck always tried to be as polite and friendly as possible, hoping to dispel some of the uneasiness that folks fostered around him. He wanted to show people that he was just as civilized as they were, and that he belonged there just as much as they did. Unfortunately for Thompkins, his antagonistic use of the term, boy, set Buck off. Because today, Buck was impatient and bothered by too many conflicting feelings swarming around in his head, he gave the hateful man a talking to that had been too long in coming. "I am not a boy." He ground out, his voice low and flinty. "I do not appreciate being referred to as one. Furthermore, I find it odd, that any shopkeeper would be daft enough to irritate one of this town’s wealthiest men. I bring you business that means you work for me. Now, if you have a problem comprehending that, I’d be more than happy to take my business elsewhere." Buck hated to bring up the substantial wealth he had earned in recent years, but that was the kind of thing that a shallow man like Thompkins could relate to. Thompkins blinked at him. Buck almost laughed. He’d never seen the man keep his mouth shut for so long. "Good grief, Buck. What’s got you talkin’ like you swallowed a dictionary?"

"Maybe the fact that I’m literate. By the way, you might benefit from a dictionary of your own." With that, he began loading his purchases into his buckboard. As Buck was finishing up his loading, Thompkins came outside. "I didn’t mean to make you so mad. I was just funin’ ya, Buck."

"Then I guess you need help with your sense of humor as well as your vocabulary. Just what is your problem? I have never done anything, but try to help you. You best watch out before your bitterness gets back around to you. Oh, but then I forgot that your only living family won’t have anything to do with you. Your own child left this town just so she wouldn’t have to look at you."  Buck’s tirade had started out without venom, but the misery this man had doled out to him so freely over so many years, just poured out of him in a torrent of words that Buck could not believe were falling out of his mouth. Thompkins paled. He deserved every word he’d been assaulted with, but Buck felt awful anyway. Back pedaling, Buck ran his fingers through his jet-black hair, firmly stuffing errant strands behind his ear. "I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place to say-"  He tried to go on, but Thompkins fixed him with such a solemn gaze that Buck was taken aback.  He had never seen Thompkins without a mask of hatred disguising the utter disappointment of a life consumed by the idles of pride. In that instant, Buck felt so sorry for the bitter broken man before him that he was physically pained. "The truth always hurts don’t it, Buck." With that Thompkins disappeared into his store.
 

Chapter 3

Buck sat in front of his fireplace, letter in hand. He wondered if what it contained would make his day even more abysmal. He still felt horrible for being so mean to Thompkins. He still could not believe he had been so hateful. He decided that all of this mail order bride business had him off center. Tomorrow he would go pray to the rising sun to help find his equilibrium again. Tossing all other thoughts aside, Buck concentrated on the envelope in his lap. Taking a deep breath, he carefully opened the letter.

Dear Mr. Cross,

I received your letter yesterday, and could not wait to get back to you. I feel
so odd writing to a complete stranger, but it’s also a broadening of my
horizons. I enjoyed your letter so much that I read it twice. You seem a 
truly honest man, and I respect that greatly. I have only one friend, and if this letter yields nothing more than that, I shall deem it a complete success. I should begin by informing you that I did not write the ad you saw. My friend Celene was trying to do me a favor. I don’t know what she was thinking she was going to do. Maybe she though she might say, "Merry Christmas Kira, I got you a husband." Oh, my name is Kira Kyle by the way. My first name is pronounced with an "ear" sound after the K, if that makes any sense at all. Anyway, back to the ad. I would have written it much differently I believe.

You said that you ran a stud farm. I’m not very experienced with horses. I
think that they are noble creatures, but the closest I ever get to one is being in my father’s buggy. I’ve always wanted to learn to ride, but my father insists that it’s not something a lady should think about. I was curious though, what exactly makes a stud farm? What do you do with one? I’m sorry to be so ignorant of your work, but I’m always open to new knowledge.

If perhaps you would like to know something of me, I love to draw. My 
father says that it’s a hobby only an idiot would pursue, but I love it still. On rareoccasions I’m allowed to go to the art museum. I could stay all day, but father refuses to "waste" more than an hour or two. There is just something about art that speaks to me on a level nothing else can transcend. Do you like art, Mr. Cross?

I suppose I should get to the point of this matter. I understand that the ad that you responded to was for a mail order bride, and while I’m available, I would still like to hear from you again before any decisions are made. I should warn you that I’m not pretty, but I’m a hard worker. I’m also a good cook. Are you fond of children, Mr. Cross? I never thought I would have the chance to marry so I never thought of children of my own. Now, with the development of this possibility, I find myself longing for them.

There is so much I want to ask you, but I fear if I write too much I will never
get this letter to post. I think I understand about your ancestry, and I’m not
bothered at all about it. In fact, I’m very curious about different cultures.
Perhaps we could learn a great deal from one another. I’m not much, so I’m
not expecting much. All I ask is for a kind man who will respect me for me. I
don’t need wealth or material goods. I don’t need placation or lies. I don’t
necessarily need a man with good looks or youth either. I don’t insist on true
love. I just need mutual consideration and true friendship. I’ve always read
that the strongest love grows out of friendship anyway. I hope I’m not making a ninny of myself. I must leave now, or I’ll never have the courage to send this letter. 

Godspeed, Kira

Curled up in bed reading by lamplight, Buck read the letter a fourth time. He considered reading it again, but the oil in his lamp was getting low. Kira seemed so sweet. He loved the way she arranged her words. He wondered absently if she talked like that. She seemed perfect, but should he marry a stranger? It was just so unsettling to promise your life to someone you haven’t met. He also had trouble with the notion of that promise being to a faceless entity in a letter, rather than a flesh and blood woman he could match face and name to. Though he was loath to admit it, he could not divorce himself from a very common male propensity to wonder just how, "not pretty" she was. He tucked  the wrinkled paper under his pillow, and fell into a listless sleep.

Buck awoke to the dream again. Grunting into his pillow, he tried to dispel the power the dream had over him. He hated waking to feel so absolutely isolated. He was aware of the fact that he shouldn’t feel that way, but it was just so hard to stand alone and watch all of his friends either die, leave, or 
fall in love with one another and marry. He had known what was coming a long time before Kid and Lou made it to the alter, but shortly after their wedding, when Teaspoon and Rachel announced their engagement, he almost died from the shock. It wasn’t that he begrudged them their happiness. It was just that it was so hard to be alone and surrounded by loving couples. During holidays and celebrations, Buck always entertained Teresa and Jeremiah while their sister, Kid, and Teaspoon and Rachel discussed married life. He didn’t mind playing "Uncle Buck". In fact he really enjoyed the kids. It just seemed to suck the air from his lungs to know that he would always be Uncle Buck and never Daddy. Kira Kyle’s words manifested themselves in his head. She had told him that she had a longing for children. Maybe it was the right decision to marry a stranger. Maybe Kira could heal this terrible longing in him, or even better, maybe she could fill it. Maybe she was just plain. He could handle plain. With his decision made, Buck rolled out of bed. He ignored all of his morning rituals, such as, coffee, brushing his hair, his morning sacrament to the porcelain god. He sat at the desk in his office wearing only his longjohn bottoms, and began another letter to Kira. Dear Kira, he began. I want to marry you. With a derisive snort, Buck crumpled that piece of paper, and started again.

Dear Kira,

I’m wondering if I’ve lost my mind. I don’t know you. I know very little about you, and still I find that I want to make you my wife. I’m alone. I’m surrounded by a wonderful group of people who chose to love me, but I’m alone. If you give your consent, I’ll buy you a ticket to a boat headed for America, and I’ll by a train ticket to get you here to Rock Creek where I live. I’ll also send, with them, the marriage license that needs only your signature.  I think it would be so odd to be a husband, and not know the exact moment you became one. I should also put some of the worry you must be feeling to rest, and say that I’m not offering marriage just for the sake of marriage. I read your letter so many times that I have it mostly memorized. You have the sweetest nature, and I want to explore that. I
want you to show me museums and the colors and pictures trapped in your head, just waiting to be released onto a canvas. Do you talk the way you write? Do you like books? What is your family like? Why is your father so ornery? There is so much I want to ask you. I know I’ll want to kick myself as soon as I mail this letter because I’ll have thought of so many more questions and so many better ways to phrase what I’m asking you for. I
just need a companion, an equal. I truly hope that we have the right pieces to make each other whole. 

Sincerely, Buck

PS Kira, please take some time to make absolutely sure you want to do this. It won’t be easy being a half-breed’s wife, and I can’t take another heartbreak. 

Kira held the letter over her heart. She had read it twice already, and still didn’t believe it’s content. She had a chance at freedom. Hopefully even a chance for happiness. Celene had not been pleased to find that she had written to Buck, and rejected the doctor, but Celene was happy to do anything to get Kira out of her father’s home. It was such a huge decision to make. Would she end up a prisoner in her home again? Did this man hit? What did "it’s not easy to be the wife of a half-breed," mean? Did he scream and throw things when dinner wasn’t hot enough or good enough? She prayed not, because the decision had already been made. If she stayed here, her father would eventually kill her. She did not want to live, precariously teetering on eggshells any more. She stared up at the moon. 
Her future husband was sitting beneath this same glowing orb, and she had not even the vaguest notion of what he looked like. She wasn’t sure what age he was, and she wanted to kick herself for not asking in the last letter. Celene said that some American tourists said that Indians were ugly, dirty, dark brutes with black hair, and dark, beady eyes. She was hoping that their perception was skewed, but for now she forced that though out of her head. She had had the forethought to "forget" one of the items her father wanted from the store today, when she’d received the letter from Celene, so that she could mail a new letter tomorrow when she went to retrieve the item. She had paid a hefty price for it too. Her throat was so black with bruises that she had to wear a dark colored blouse that stretched up to her chin to cover the angry color of it. It would be worth it though when she was free 
of the tyrant that spawned her. She made plans to go to the market early, as she’d promised her father, to give Celene the affirmative answer to Buck’s proposal. She wished so desperately to keep his letter, and use it to remind herself that becoming a wife was a good decision. Unfortunately, she knew that was far too risky. She was almost free, and she would not jeopardize that for a girlish whim.

Buck could barely stand. He had no idea how he made it home from the post office. He was wandering around his house, looking at the utter emptiness of it, trying to decide whether or not he should fully furnish it before his wife’s arrival. His wife. He was going to be married in a matter of weeks. He would be legally married in a few weeks anyway. As soon as Kira signed the certificate he would be a husband. He would be able to meet his wife on October fourth. At least that was when the Rock Creek bound train ticket said she would be there. Of course, that was only if the boat was on time. He had so much to worry about, so much to do, and people to tell.  He was going to be a husband, and maybe even in the next year or so he would be someone’s father. That thought sent shivers of unadulterated joy coursing through his body. He was going to be the best husband and father that he possibly could. He was going to give his children the father he never had. He was going to make sure that Kira never regretted leaving her home, and everything she had ever known to marry a foreigner. He decided that she must be an extraordinarily brave woman. His life was about to change completely. He was exultant, and utterly petrified. Giddy, he decided write 
everything he was feeling down just like Lou did with her journal.

Kira stood quaking, holding, with trembling fingers, her future. True to his word, Buck had sent boat and train tickets, as well as a marriage certificate that needed only for her to sign it. He also sent a good deal of money. He had written that she should spend it to make her trip smoother or more enjoyable, or whatever she wanted to spend it on. She looked up at Celene; the warring emotions clear on her face. Celine took her hands. "Look love, there is no going back now. You can’t burn these tickets like you did those letters, and you know your father is constantly digging in your personal things. You can’t go home now. Use that money to buy whatever you need, and I’ll hide you in my room at the boarding house until Tuesday, when the boat leaves." A fat tear made its way down Kira’s face. She was considerably pale, and Celene was beginning to worry.  She didn’t think that any fate could be worse that what awaited Kira at her father’s house. Kira placed the marriage certificate gently on the counter, and signed her name to it. She gathered the things she needed from the store, and paid Celene for them all without a word. Celene grabbed a thick ugly shawl, and wrapped it about Kira’s head to hide who she was. She then gave her terrified friend explicit directions to the boarding house for women where she lived, as well as the key to her room. "I’ll meet up with you there tonight at six. You’ll see Kira, everything will be all right," Celene cooed.
 

Chapter 4

Celene, lacking her key, knocked on her door. Kira opened it a peek, and upon seeing her friend in the threshold, she took an audible breath. She had not even noticed that she had been holding it since she heard the soft tapping. Celene rushed into the room, locking the door immediately behind her. "Oh, my good gracious. We have stirred up a hornet’s nest. Not twenty minutes after you left your father stomped into the store demanding to know where you were! I told him that you’d come in to get his supplies, and left a good while before. Let’s just hope he isn’t smart enough to figure out that you’ve made at least one friend in your life." Celene stopped at Kira’s panicked expression. 

"Oh no, Celene what if he finds out you helped me? What if he comes after you? He would hurt you to find out where I am. He thinks I’m his possession, and he’s going to be enraged to find that I ran away." She was absolutely horrified to realize that she was putting her dear friend in danger.

Celene’s face blossomed into a smile. "Well, there is something I’ve been meaning to mention to you my dear." Kira waited expectantly. "Well, you know how I’ve wanted to marry Patrick so long, but his family wouldn’t have it because I’m just a shopgirl? We decided that if you had the guts to go off to the other side of the world, to spend the rest of your life with a man you don’t even know, we could elope, and go off to America!" Kira was absolutely speechless in her joy. Celene took this as a cue to continue. "We’re leaving two days after you, and I have your new address memorized. So, as soon as we find a place to stay I’ll write you, and if you can’t tolerate your new life, well then, you can just come live with us!" Kira knew nothing else to do; she grabbed her friend in a tearful embrace.

A bit goofy though she was, Celene always came through for her. The day they met, Kira had come into the shop in so much pain that she could barely stand. The night before she had possessed the audacity to cough during a conversation her father was having with an acquaintance on the street. 
Her father was unappreciative of the interruption, and illustrated his point by taking a frying pan to her ribs and back. He was always very careful not to leave marks on her face, arms, or anywhere anyone might notice them. It had been Celine’s first day working in the shop, and she was trying to introduce herself when Kira just keeled over. Celene had brought her a cold compress, and done what she could to help her. Kira had never known any simple act of kindness such as that, and was from that moment Celene’s confidante, supporter, and dearest friend. Kira’s mind was much less burdened because of the knowledge that her friend would not be too far.

Tuesday came wrought with a flurry of activity, a storm of nerves, and an arduous journey to the docks dressed in disguise as a pregnant woman. Kira and Celene parted with an abundance of tears and well wishes. Kira watched as the boat floated further and further from the dock. When England was finally a dot on the horizon, she screamed in the salty mist, "You can not hurt me anymore Richard Kyle, you misogynist bastard!" She was emotionally drained, and had no idea how she would be able to prepare herself to meet her husband. She though back to the night before. She and Celene had stayed up all night discussing the marriage bed. They were both at a loss to figure out exactly what it was that would soon be happening to them as wives. Celene had a few ideas, but Kira was at a complete loss. She had been so sheltered in regard to the matters of husbands and wives 
that the things Celene was imagining to be the way of it were fundamentally dismaying to Kira. She did not know how she would endure a virtual stranger touching her in such a way, or seeing her without dress. She was even more fearful of her future now, but she had heard about the search parties and such that her father had digging about for her. She couldn’t just go home, and ask to be forgiven now. He would kill her, that she knew beyond a doubt. Experience had been a strict teacher. That thought shook her, and she looked about the deck of the boat. Some of the crewmen were looking at her funny. She decided to keep up the pregnancy charade until she was in America.

Buck stared at Lou, waiting to hear the verdict. He stared at her profile, growing impatient. In her last letter, Kira had asked if it would be possible for a preacher to be made available upon her arrival, to make their joining official in the eyes of God. She had also mentioned that her favorite
flowers were roses, and that she hoped perhaps she might have some for the ceremony. He had gone a step farther. He knew he needed to buy her a wedding ring, so he went to a jeweler in St. Joe that specialized in original jewelry. He discussed what he wanted with the man, and had used Lou’s ring size thinking that all women had little hands like Lou’s.

As soon as he arrived home with the ring, he rushed it to Lou to get a woman’s perspective on it. Lou looked up at Buck with a huge smile on her face. "Buck if her favorite flowers are roses she is going to love this ring. I just wish you had gotten her ring size. Not all women have the same size fingers, you know." Actually, Buck didn’t think about that. He supposed that intellectually he knew that, but he’d had so little contact with women in a personal physical context that he was clueless as to how their hands differed. He stared at the delicate ring of roses sitting in Lou’s palm, and hoped very much that it would fit Kira. A bolt of nervousness shot abruptly through his system. It was October first, and he had very little time to speculate on anything about Kira.  Soon she would be there in the flesh. He had put a lot of thought into that flesh. He had spent the last few months daydreaming about what it would be like to enjoy all of the physical pleasures marriage brings. Considering Kira’s long journey, and the fact that they had no tangible knowledge of one another at all, Buck decided that he would give her time to get used to him, and her new home before he tried to bring her into his bed. He could not imagine relations so intimate with a woman he had just set eyes on. He was certain that he would be content, at first, to just get to know the woman he would be spending the rest of his life with. There was plenty of time for lust later, he assured himself.

Kira stared sightlessly at the scenery flying by. She was approaching her new life with a great deal of trepidation. Her discomfiture had wreaked havoc on her appearance. She had been mostly unable to eat throughout the entire trip, and had lost a good bit of weight. Her clothing hung oddly askew off of her bony shoulders, her face was gaunt and pale, she wore gray marks beneath her eyes, and her fingernails had been gnawed to the nub. She half expected Buck to send her back home as soon as he set eyes on her. Her father had always reminded her that she was far too skinny, her hair far too wild, her features far too weak, and her coloring far too strange for any man’s taste. It was, her father insisted, because of those many attributes of ugliness she would never find a husband. She was so close to the moment she had been dreading, fantasizing about, and entreating to occur, that she was shaking quite obviously. The train attendant had asked her four times already if she was all right. She prayed silently for strength and for enough blessings so that she wouldn’t need it.
 

Chapter 5

Buck paced the platform where the train was to arrive momentarily. He was so nervous he could barely keep his legs from shaking. He was dressed in his best suit with his hair combed neatly into a long, black ponytail. He had Teaspoon, Rachel, Kid, Lou, the kids, and the town preacher waiting at Teaspoon’s house for a very informal wedding. He absently sniffed at the huge bouquet of roses he held, as he thought back to the day that he had approached the minister. He seemed so surprised to see Buck striding up to him, but he had been agreeable and willing to perform a marriage for Buck and his bride. A noise caught Buck’s attention. The train was pulling up next to the platform. Buck’s heart was in his throat. He was pretty sure that as soon as she spoke to him he would transform immediately from a well read self educated man, into a stuttering idiot. He worked his tongue around desperately in his mouth, trying to find so much as a hint of moisture, but it seemed to cleave thickly to the roof of his mouth. He watched as people piled out of the train and began to mill around, waiting for relatives, or luggage, or both. He eyed a young woman walking uncertainly from the train. She was rather tall, with lank, straw blonde hair, spectacle-enlarged, blue eyes, and a completely unremarkable appearance. She was very, very plain. Buck started to make his way in her direction, but a startling visage came into view. The owner of the stunning face was a woman of about twenty. Buck gawked unabashedly at a mane of wild black curls that swarmed in a magnificent torrent down her back. A pair of huge luminous emerald eyes, so rich in their color that Buck could have sworn actual jewels, peeked out from beneath a fringe of thick, black lashes. Her skin had no equal, with its flawless expanse of ivory softness. Her movement drew his gaze down. She was tiny, too tiny. She was emaciated. Her clothes looked to be ready to fall off of her narrow shoulders, and her lack of
height just added to the illusion of a hapless waif. This certainly could not be his wife. She carried only one small bag, and Kira would surely be bringing all of her worldly possessions with her. He knew he should be searching the crowd for Kira, but he could not take his eyes off of this jewel-eyed beauty. Without preamble, those extraordinary eyes met his. A tentative smile emerged, and her lips formed a one-word question, "Buck?" Buck was stupefied. There was no god, white or otherwise, that was that good. There was no way this angelic creature could be his Kira. She made her way through the bustling crowd toward him. She appeared to be gliding gracefully as if caught by a light wind. "Buck Cross, is that you?" Her mellifluous voice seemed to lilt and fall with the fluttering of his heart. That accent of hers was real easy on the ears, Buck decided. How he managed to stammer an affirmative answer to her question was beyond him.  "Kira?"

Kira stepped toward her new husband. She had assumed that any man as kind as Buck’s letters made him seem would already be wed unless he were terribly unattractive. She realized with profuse delight that her assumption was entirely erroneous. The man standing before her was beautiful! He towered probably a foot above her, with broad shoulders set out from a perfectly erect spine. His features were strong, exquisitely chiseled, and covered in smooth bronze skin.  His hair was brushed away from his handsome face, giving him the look of a boy whose mother had just groomed him for church. He was a sun bronzed Adonis, but the physical beauty of him was not what was making her weak in the knees. She hated being trite, but she was weak in the knees. She felt as if she were 
about to drop to the ground, due to the jelly her legs had suddenly become, and it was those eyes that had done the jelly making. They were endless. She looked at his noble face, and she simply fell into those deep, liquid, brown eyes. Not only were they deep, but there was a solemnity in them that made Kira wish deeply to bring him joy. She dropped her eyes from his, hoping to be able to speak with some intelligence, but that just made things worse. She found herself staring at his very broad, very male chest, which was still quite obvious even under his suit. Her gaze roamed out to his shoulders and down his arms, to his entirely masculine hands, that were clasped around a huge, sweet smelling, bouquet of red roses. Kira’s face lit up.  "Are those for me?"

"Naw," Buck grinned. "I thought I’d walk around town with these just to see how silly I’d look."  Buck noticed the color rising in her cheeks. "I’m kidding. Of course they’re for you." Taking the flowers, Kira beamed at him. Buck had never seen anything so lovely. He also realized belatedly that no one had ever smiled at him like that. He could definitely get used to that smile.

They stood, awkwardly staring at one another when Buck broke the silence. "I got the preacher like you asked. He’s at my friend, Teaspoon’s house waiting for us." Kira reveled in the sound of his voice. It was deep, quiet, resonant, and utterly sensual. She decided that if she had heard that voice instead of reading its owner’s letters, she would have leapt in the ocean to swim to America for a quicker arrival. "Teaspoon?"

"Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you about him in the letters. He’s like a father to me."

"Indeed, you mentioned no family at all. Will there be anyone other than this Teaspoon there?"  She queried, raising an eyebrow at the peculiar name.

"Yeah, there’s Rachel, that’s Teaspoon’s wife. Then there’s Lou and Kid. They’re married.  They’re like a brother and a sister to me. Then there are Lou’s little brother and sister, Theresa and Jeremiah. And of course the preacher you asked for is waiting for us."

"Well, we shouldn’t keep everyone waiting." Her pallor as well as her excessive slenderness was concerning to Buck. She looked so frail, and so lost. He wondered if maybe she was having second thoughts. Maybe he wasn’t so lucky after all. Maybe she saw him, and for the first time actually comprehended that she’d married a "savage". "Uh, Kira? Are you okay? You look awfully pale. Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked gravely. "If you want to call off the ceremony, and annul the certificate, I’ll understand. I’ll even pay for you to go home. I know I rushed you."

Kira’s eyes grew impossibly wide. "Oh heavens, I knew it!" She wailed. "I knew once you saw me you wouldn’t want me. I’ve no other choices here, Mr. Cross. I’ve nowhere else to go." The roses that had been wrapped in her arms were shaking wildly, matching the frantic pace of Kira’s words. Buck was jarred by her words. Stepping forward, he took her by the shoulders to stop the quaking of her body. It seemed a pointless pursuit for the fact that Buck was beginning to do a little trembling himself. This was it. He was getting married today. "I’m just making sure that you’re sure. I don’t want you to be unhappy with a decision that you might have made in haste.  I’ve been ready to do this since you told me how you felt about art, because I feel the same way about books. It just seemed so right to me." His face brightened with the most sincere smile Kira had ever seen. The warm intensity of it surged through her. She calmed visibly. "Well then, Mr. Cross. Let’s do this." He took her roses in one of his large hands, took her bag, and offered her the opposite arm. "All right…Mrs. Cross. Let’s go make it official."