In fulfillment of a prompt on tumblr requesting OQ and anything from the 1800's. :)
A widower and father in good health, of decent appearance and substantial means seeks a wife. She must be intelligent, in good health and be willing to become a mother to two young children. If interested, please write to the following address.
Dear Mr. Locksley,
I am writing in response to your ad which ran in the Philadelphia Gazette two days ago in which you expressed an interest in finding a wife. My name is Regina Mills. I am unmarried, mother to a seven year old son, and have no remaining attachments to Philadelphia as both of my parents are now deceased. I would have no difficulty in acting as a mother to your children if you would be willing to act as a father to my son. I am in good health, am fairly well educated, enjoy reading, playing the piano and spinnet and do not shy away from hard work.
If you believe we could be compatible in marriage, please respond to this letter. If I hear nothing, I shall assume you have found someone else with whom to share your life. If that is the case, I wish you and your children great joy.
Sincerely,
Regina Mills
Dear Mrs. Mills,
I was honored to receive your reply to my query, and the fact that you are already a mother makes me believe that we might get on well together. You stated in your letter that your boy was seven years old. which means he would be the oldest and would therefore bear some limited responsibilities on the farm. My children are still too young to do so, for my son is three, and my daughter is but four months old.
I must be completely honest with you, Miss Mills, for it is only fair that before you accept my proposal you become aware of facts which may well cause you to decide against me. My children have two different mothers. Roland's mother was my beloved wife who sadly passed away hours after he was born due to complications during his delivery. But my daughter's mother is a singer who passed through Springfield with her touring company several months ago. I was weak and lonely and missing my wife, and the two of us engaged in the sort of relations of which I'm not proud. I thought I'd never see her again, but four months ago she showed up on my doorstep and handed me a baby she claimed to be my daughter. I have neither heard from nor seen her since, nor do I expect to ever hear from her again. So you see, my daughter is illegitimate, but I love her every bit as much as I do my son.
I cannot fault you if you prefer to end our correspondence at this point, and I wish both you and your son much happiness no matter what you decide to do.
Yours truly,
Robin Locksley
Dear Mr. Locksley,
I must thank you for your honesty, and I am honored that you openly shared the truth of your daughter's parentage with me. As you have been so forthcoming with your past, it is only right that I respond in kind. When I say I am unmarried, it does not mean that I am a widow. I have never been married, not even to Henry's father. I was young when I met him, and I believed he meant to propose marriage to me, which was a rather foolish notion on my part as his financial circumstances were considerably better than my own. He became engaged to another woman far more suitable according to his family's standards just as I discovered that I was with child, and nothing I said could persuade him to change his course. My mother disowned me, but my father made certain that my son Henry and I were provided for financially, and he sent me to live with his sister, my aunt, in the city of Philadelphia where I have lived ever since. Here, it is assumed that I am a widow and that Henry's father was an honorable man. I pray that my son never has to learn otherwise.
If the truth of my past is too difficult for you to accept, I certainly understand and will not hold you to any sort of understanding as we have yet to reach one. However, if you would still like to consider pursuing marriage with me, please know that I shall never treat your daughter any differently than I would my own son. All children deserve to be loved, regardless of the failures of their parents.
May you and your children have a Merry Christmas.
Sincerely,
Regina Mills
Dear Miss Mills,
I hope you and Henry had a delightful Christmas. The children and I enjoyed our holiday immensely.
May I state just how sorry I am that you were treated so abominably by a man with no sense of honor or responsibility. A man who refuses to care for his own children deserves absolutely no regard, in my opinion, and I am thankful that your father saw to it that you and Henry were sheltered and cared for in the wake of such difficulties. The world can be harsh on unwed mothers, one reason I'm certain Elizabeth was left to my keeping by her mother. If Zelena had desired marriage, I would have honored her request, even though we barely knew each other, but she preferred the life she that she had, and I had no right to keep her from returning to it. Regardless of the circumstances of her birth, my life is all the richer because of my daughter's presence in it.
I will say, however, that raising two children alone is a rather daunting task. I would not be able to do so if not for the assistance of our late pastor's widow who takes it upon herself to cook for us and care for the children while I am working the farm. I owe Mrs. Lucas a debt of gratitude I know I shall never be able to repay, but my children need more than a caregiver. Roland and Liza are in need of a mother, and I am becoming more and more convinced that that mother should be you.
If you are still willing, perhaps we could arrange for you and Henry to travel by railway here to Missouri in the spring. It would not be wise to attempt such a journey during the winter as we are having more snow than usual this year. After meeting me, if you are still inclined towards marriage, arrangements can be made. If not, I'll cover the cost of returning you and Henry to Pennsylvania.
If I may be so bold, in your next letter, would you describe your appearance? I'm only of average height, I'm afraid. My hair is fair but graying, and I prefer to wear a short beard. My eyes are blue, as are Liza's, but Roland's are as dark as his mother's, as is his hair. I fear we are both desperately in need of a trim, and I do promise to at least try and look presentable when you and Henry arrive in Springdale.
Yours truly,
Robin
Dear Mr. Locksley,
Spring sounds like a lovely time to travel, and it will be here before we know it. Henry and I actually spied a robin yesterday, and there is something so promising in that, wouldn't you agree? We can travel to Missouri in early April if such a timeframe proves to be agreeable to you. Of course, I'll await word from you before making any sort of arrangements.
Roland and Elizabeth are lovely names, and I look forward to meeting your children. It's sounds as if Roland and I might resemble each other somewhat, for my hair and eyes are dark, too. Henry calls them black, and although that would be an accurate description of my hair, it is a bit of an exaggeration when it comes to my eyes. Henry's hair is brown, his eyes are green, and he has freckles that become more pronounced in the sun. If he doesn't stop growing, he will outgrow me soon, for I am not very tall.
Unfortunately, I have some gray hairs, as well.
Henry wanted me to ask about your farm, in particular about any animals you might raise or keep. I should warn you that he is especially excited about the possibility of horses and dogs. I myself wondered if you would mind if I brought along my spinnet. I find that playing it brings me great pleasure, and I have begun teaching Henry how to play. Perhaps I could also teach Roland and Elizabeth when they are older.
Sincerely,
Regina Mills
Dear Regina,
I hope you are not offended by my use of your first name. It's such a lovely name, one I find myself repeating to myself and to my children as the time for your arrival draws nearer. Roland is beside himself with excitement. He cannot wait to meet his new mother and big brother. I hope it is alright that he already thinks of the two of you in this manner, even though we are not yet married. I myself am growing excited as the day approaches, although I would be lying if I claimed not to be nervous. I am slightly terrified yet hopeful due to the circumstances of our impending marriage, and I suspect you may feel the same way.
Of course you may bring your spinnet. It would be lovely to have music in the house again. Although my late wife Marian could not play an instrument, she did love to sing, and Roland seems to be following in her footsteps, even without her example here for him to follow. He constantly sings the hymns from church and the songs that Mrs. Lucas has taught him. Perhaps you will be able to expand his repertoire. Of course Liza is too young to sing, but I must warn you that she is in possession of quite a healthy set of lungs. She can now sit up by herself and crawl, which keeps both Mrs. Lucas and me on our toes.
Do you by any chance know of a miracle cure for the pain of cutting teeth? If so, please pack it and bring it with you. I'll pay extra for it if necessary.
We've put a second bed in Roland's room for Henry, and Mrs. Lucas is making him his own quilt to cover it. I truly don't know how I would have survived the past few years without her, and I'm certain the two of you will get along splendidly. Liza's crib is still in my bedroom, but we could move it once you arrive if you prefer her to actually sleep in her nursery. It's been easier for me to have her in the same room with me, and there are many nights when Roland crawls in beside me after I'm asleep. I've been speaking to him about how he cannot continue to do this once you and Henry arrive, for it would be too crowded with three of us trying to sleep in one bed. He seems to be content with the fact that Henry will be with him, but I cannot promise that he will refrain from attempting to sneak into our bed like a thief in the night.
I hope you are not averse to the idea of us sharing a bed. I know we have yet to meet, but in desiring a wife, I am desiring a life partner as well as a mother for Roland and Liza. I promise to cherish you as a man should cherish his wife, Regina, and I shall protect you and Henry with my very life. You shall never experience pain at my hand, and I promise to never give you cause to fear me. That being said, I do desire companionship, and I hope that is something you desire, as well.
I am still having difficulty believing we are but a few weeks away from meeting in person. It will be wonderful to finally put a face with the person with whom I am to share the rest of my life. I hope my face will not be too off-putting for you. Arrangements for your travel have now been made, and I hope the tickets are to your liking. The children and I shall be at the train station to meet you and Henry unless unforeseen circumstances should prevent us from being there. If that occurs, I shall of course make arrangements for you to be safely transported to my home.
And please inform Henry that we have three horses and two dogs.
Yours truly,
Robin
Dear Robin,
I pray this letter reaches you before Henry and I do, but if it does not, no harm will be done. Of course it is alright for you to call me Regina. I'm glad you think the name is pretty, although I must admit that I have spent most of my life despising it. Perhaps I shall find it more pleasant hearing it voiced by you.
The tickets you purchased for Henry and me are more than satisfactory, and we are now in the process of packing what we need and selling what we do not. He wants to bring his old wooden train set so that he can share it with Roland, but I fear it will take up an entire bag itself. I'm bringing a doll for Liza, one I believe she may like when she grows a bit older, as well as a rattle Henry used when he was cutting teeth. That being said, I found that allowing him to gnaw on a cool, damp cloth helped ease his discomfort more than anything. Perhaps allowing Liza to do so will help her, as well.
As for our sleeping arrangements, I assumed that we would be sharing a bedroom and thus a bed, and I am comfortable with said arrangements. I also seek companionship from a spouse, and if I believed I needed to be fearful of being alone with you, I would certainly not be travelling to Missouri in three weeks time to become your wife. Perhaps we can decide the ultimate whereabouts of Liza's crib after Henry and I have moved in and are settled. I do not wish to disrupt the routines you have already established in your home, and I want Roland to feel welcome into our bed if he becomes frightened at night. Henry slept in my bed with me until he was four years old and decided that he was too old to share a room with his mother. That being said, I know we shall also require time alone as husband and wife, and I do think it is necessary for children to learn to respect certain boundaries.
Forgive me, I must end this letter now as my aunt is leaving to post a letter for herself, and I want this message to arrive in Springdale before I do. It is odd to know that the next time I speak with you, it will be in person. I hope I am not a disappointment, and know that I am eager to meet you and your children.
Sincerely,
Regina
Dear Robin,
I know it is silly to write to you when I shall meet you before I finish this letter, but writing to you and reading your letters have brought me such joy over the past several months that I decided to do it one last time.
So here you are-a letter you will more than likely never read.
I'm on the train now, and it's proving difficult to write with the constant rocking and Henry sleeping on my shoulder. But I'll do my best to capture my thoughts as they are at this moment.
I'm terrified. I'm elated. And I have no idea what to expect when we arrive in Springdale.
Actually, that's not true, for I have many expectations when it comes to you Robin. I expect that you are a loving father. I expect that you are a gentle man. I expect that you are well read and that you hold firm opinions but are still open to listening to the thoughts of those around you. I expect that you cannot cook but that you run your farm wisely and efficiently. I expect that I shall enjoy being married to you and I do hope that you will enjoy being married to me.
We are pulling into the station now, and Henry is beginning to wake up. I'm looking out of the window, wondering if you are here waiting for me, wondering if you were able to bring the children, wondering what you actually look like.
Wait. Is that you?
I believe it must be, for you are holding the hand of a little boy with dark curls-Roland, I assume. And there is Mrs. Lucas holding Baby Liza to her chest. Why didn't you tell me that she has red hair? She's beautiful, just perfect.
And there you are.
You are far more handsome than you let on in your letters. You are beautiful in fact, and wait-yes-I believe you just spotted me.
And you're smiling.