A 750-Pound Widow Married a Mountain Stranger — Then His Wedding-Night Make Her Love

Chapter 5

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The document described Eleanor as incapable of managing complicated affairs without supervision.

It cited her physical limitations.

Then implied those limitations affected her judgment.

She read the papers twice.

Her face burned.

There was nothing wrong with her mind.

She could read.

Write.

Maintain accounts.

And remember more details about her family's land than Henry ever bothered learning.

But Solomon hoped to convince a court that her unusual size, restricted mobility, and years of social isolation made her an easy person to control.

He hadn't yet obtained such an order.

And Eleanor was determined not to let him.

She found a sympathetic attorney in town, but his services were expensive. She also discovered that some of the people who should have helped her were afraid of offending the Whitmore family.

That was when she began searching for a way to leave.

A cousin mentioned marriage advertisements placed by men living in remote communities.

Eleanor initially dismissed the idea.

She had spent fourteen miserable years married to a man who believed her body made her unworthy of kindness.

Why would she risk another marriage?

But then she read an advertisement in a newspaper delivered from a mountain settlement.

Mountain rancher, thirty-two years of age, seeks a wife willing to share a quiet home and an honest life. House secure, provisions sufficient, no expectation of wealth or fashionable accomplishments. Character and companionship valued above appearance. Replies may be directed to C. Mercer, Cedar Pass.

She read those words repeatedly.

Character and companionship valued above appearance.

It might have been a lie.

Anyone could write such things.

But the next sentence caught her attention.

No woman should answer unless she wishes to choose this life freely.

Eleanor stared at it.

She'd never seen a marriage advertisement that mentioned a woman's choice so plainly.

That evening, she sat beside the window of her rented boardinghouse room and wrote a letter.

She told the truth.

Not all of it.

Not the entire history of Henry's cruelty or Solomon's threats.

But enough.

She said she was thirty-two.

Widowed.

Extremely large.

Accustomed to practical work that could be performed while seated.

Able to cook, mend, read, maintain accounts, and contribute to the management of a household.

She explained that travel was physically demanding for her and that any home would need sturdy furniture and generous space.

Then she wrote the sentence she nearly crossed out.

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A 750-Pound Widow Married a Mountain Stranger — Then His Wedding-Night Make Her Love

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