Chapter 3
In Arkansas, Sally, a young woman with kind eyes, boarded the train. Daisy, starved for companionship after so many hours in solitude, offered the girl Mamie’s butter cookies wrapped in a linen napkin. Sally just as eager for a friend on the train journey accepted.
Sally had traveled a long way from Massachusetts stopping along the way picking up odd jobs in hotels or saloons for money. She was determined to not return home, just as much as Daisy was. Daisy, against her normal behavior, poured her heart out to Sally and lamented her current vagrant status. Daisy, trusting this girl’s kind eyes, told her about Rhett and how she’d given herself to him for absolutely nothing in return. She had nowhere to go and knew not a soul in hundreds of miles. She just couldn’t go back home to Charleston. She had been disgraced.
“Come with me!” Sally offered. “There is a boarding house in Oklahoma for women who want to become mail order brides.” Sally assured her that she knew of several women from her hometown in Massachusetts who used the service and are now happily married.
Sick of the cold and dreariness of New England winters, Sally set out for adventure in the new frontier. With her bright red hair and freckles crowding her nose and cheeks, Sally doubted her chances of finding a man in her town, but in the West, men were starving for women. A lonely man with few options was more likely to overlook her fiery hair and speckled face.
“You are so beautiful!” Sally said. “You will find a husband right away.”
“That’s what I hope. I’d love to have children one day,” Sally beamed.
Daisy thought on Sally’s confession. “Children? I just want to be free of being under my parents’ roof and to be allowed to do as I please.”
“Then come with me!” Sally urged.
Daisy considered the offer. She knew of girls journeying West after the war to find husbands. The war had dwindled the supply of eligible men, making competition for husbands fierce. Girls of wealthy families were able to put up hefty dowries to entice men to take their daughters off their hands. Daisy faced the prospect of returning to Charleston to battle girls for the leftover men while Rhett, her love, took another girl with parents willing to offer much more money than her parents were willing to part with. Her father did not believe in inopportune business deals and felt fervently high dowries were nonsensical. Rather than deal with competition in a lopsided marital market, she replied, “I’ll go with you.”
The boarding house was run by an old woman, Ms. Beechtree. She was a round stout creature who wore her white hair up in a tight bun. Ms. Beechtree believed in good business and strict rules. As soon as they arrived, Sally, Daisy, and other girls like them were lined up like cattle. They were examined meticulously and then photographed if they passed Ms. Beechtree’s stringent inspection.
The rules were simple and clear: Ms. Beechtree arranged the marriages. If a girl was not inclined to marry the chosen gentleman or if no gentleman had offered to take the girl off Ms. Beechtree’s hands in one month’s time, the girl would be relocated to the Ms. Beechtree’s brothel on the outskirts of town. “Merde!” Daisy thought. What have I gotten myself into?
After a few days of expectantly waiting for something to happen, Ms. Beechtree asked the girls if anyone spoke French. Daisy exclaimed that she did. Ms. Beechtree handed Daisy a letter from a man named Henry Baker. Daisy set to writing him back right away. Her fear of being relocated to the brothel strummed her every word. Henry had written simply to Ms. Beechtree: “Moneyed rancher gentleman looking to share his wealth and life with a proper lady in California. French speaking highly desired. Education a must.”
Daisy wrote:
Bonjour Mr. Baker,
I am pleased to answer your request. I am a Southern lady from Charleston who has benefitted from etiquette training and education in literature, mathematics, needlepoint, and piano. I speak French fluently as my family are Huguenots. I am able to entertain guests delightfully with conversation and my singing. I can accompany you to social gatherings and organize beautiful receptions and brunches for you and your friends. Further, I have perfect posture from countless hours with a book on my head.
A la prochaine, Mr. Baker.
Daisy Manigault
Daisy was unsure if these were attributes she should describe to Mr. Baker, but these were the attributes: posture, congeniality, and charm, her mother pressed on her from an early age. The difference between a good wife and an excellent one was how well she can throw a party, her mother always said. And mother put on the most marvelous social engagements.
While she waited for a response, Daisy passed her time at the boardinghouse talking with Sally and the other girls. Each girl was in her own personal frenzy to be chosen by a man and be whisked away from their current situations.
Sally bemoaned, “Ms. Beechtree hasn’t offered me any men to choose from. What if I don’t get matched!” Sally was an easily excitable girl, prone to getting caught up swiftly in her emotions.
“You will!” Daisy assured her.
In a few days, Mr. Henry Baker wrote her back. The letter arrived by a special express messenger. When Ms. Beechtree gave Daisy the letter, it was already opened, but Daisy didn’t care.
“You’ve been matched!” Ms. Beechtree snorted happily. Every successful match meant Beechtree received a substantial finder’s fee.
Dear Daisy,
Your photograph in your last letter was breathtaking. Your eloquence and charm reach out to me from your handwritten words shaking me with longing to meet you. Your letter was thoughtful and endearing. You have won my heart.
I live on 40 acres of land in California. I promise you the luxury and decadence you are well accustomed to being a prized Southern belle that you are.
I want to share my wealth and happiness with you. Please make me your dutiful and joyful husband.
With Love,
Henry
In the envelope, Henry enclosed a photograph of himself. Daisy carefully took it out. Henry looked every bit of what Daisy imagined a cowboy to look like. He had a proper Stetson cowboy hat on. The glorious ranch estate that Daisy would soon live on sprawled behind him. She looked closely at the house: different from the plantation mansion she grew up in, but splendid as a bucolic symbol of Wild West opulence. Henry had a wooly mustache above his lip. Daisy softly rubbed her upper lip absently wondering what it was like to kiss a man with facial hair.
Sally squealed looking at the photograph, “He’s handsome!” The other girls agreed full of giggles and congratulations. Sally swept her up into an embrace.
Daisy thought of Rhett and his smooth supple face uninhabited of unruly hair. She tried to imagine herself in Henry’s arms instead of Rhett’s. Daisy wrapped her arms tighter around Sally. She closed her eyes resigned to performing wifely duties with a man she did not love, only comforted with the prospect of his wealth to provide, if not a happy life, a luxurious and stable one.
Quand on a pas ce que l’on aime, il faut aimer ce que l’on a. (When one doesn’t have the things that one loves, one must love what one has.)