Free Prayers for Sale by Sandra Dallas Page A

married a Yankee soldier, and we have moved to Colorado Territory to make our fortune in gold mining. Enclosed is a picture of my husband, Charles Grove by name. He is on the right. You can see he is as handsome as a peddler and as good a man as ever lived
.
    The other is Jacob Comfort, Mr. Grove’s pard in the war, and he is the reason I write after so long a silence. I showed Mr. Comfort your likeness, taken when we were girls at school, and told him you are cheerful and not afraid of hard work, can write and cipher (also that you have chestnut brown hair and blue eyes, although you are tall.) Now, here is the truth of it: Colorado Territory has many men and few women; Tennessee has too many widows. Do you not see a common solution to both problems? The widows of Tennessee ought to move to this place?
    I said as much to Mr. Comfort, who considered the situation and said if you are willing, he would like to correspondwith you. But, says I, it will take months for letters to go back and forth, and between them, Ila Mae might decide to marry with someone else, if she hasn’t already. Why do I not write her and invite her to come to Colorado Territory? Mr. Comfort is so taken with the idea that he proposes to pay your way, and if you don’t care for him upon meeting him, the money is of no consequence, since he will throw himself off a mountaintop. He is a good man, Ila Mae, as kind as his name, clean and industrious, not like many who inhabit the camp—Middle Swan, by name. I would fancy him myself were I not already married to Mr. Grove, who is my true love
.
    I believe it would be a good thing for you to come here to the Swan River and see for yourself what the opportunities are. If you do not care for Mr. Comfort, you will find others who would be pleased to make your acquaintance, men of good character, not just old bachelors. If one of them does not suit you, why, there are other opportunities for a woman. And I, of course, would be pleased to see again my oldest childhood friend, for I miss those happy days when we sat and sewed together. They live in memory only, and they will never return. Please respond at your earliest convenience. Your affectionate old playmate awaits your reply.
    Martha Merritt Grove
    P.S. Mr. Comfort says he would send you a separate likeness of himself, but he believes it would be a waste of money. Says he, if you like, he will send you a lock of his hair to poison the rats with. You see, he has a sense of humor like your own, not such a bad thing in a marriage, I have discovered
.
    MMG
    March 11, 1866
    Ila Mae reread the letter before she set it aside to study the tintype. Martha’s husband was indeed a well-made man—tall, for he loomed over Martha, with dark, curly hair and such a pleasing countenance that her friend must have fallen in love at first sight. But Mr. Comfort was the one who interested Ila Mae. He had a plain but open face, his eyes set a little too close together, but they were intense. And he had a firm mouth that suggested resolve. His hair was thin, and Ila Mae chuckled to think that the man had offered to send her a precious lock of it. She was not able to gauge his height, for the three subjects in the tintype were seated, but he appeared to be shorter than Mr. Grove. Ila Mae, who was indeed tall, did not care to look down at her husband. Nor could she tell his complexion, for the tintype was dark, and the cheeks of the subjects had been tinted pink. But she liked the look of Mr. Comfort’s hands—stubby but thick, hands made for work. He was not a man to sweep her away, but he appeared to be a solid man. Ila Mae had been swept away by Billy, and that could last her for a lifetime. A solid man would suit her.
    The idea of traveling all the way to Colorado with the hope of matrimony struck her as foolish. But it amused her, too, and as she folded the letter and returned it to its envelope, Ila Mae smiled, grateful to Martha for a few minutes of pleasure. She would