Her name was Martha Higgins.
She was twenty-eight years old.
She described herself as hardworking, practical, experienced in household management, and willing to live in an isolated mountain settlement.
Caleb had read her letter so many times that the paper had begun softening along its folds.
He hadn't expected to fall in love.
He wasn't foolish enough to believe that affection could be purchased through a newspaper advertisement.
He simply wanted companionship.
Someone who could help maintain the cabin, prepare meals, manage supplies, and share the burden of surviving winters that seemed to grow longer every year.
He was tired of returning to an empty house.
Tired of speaking only to his horses.
Tired of waking during snowstorms and realizing that if something happened to him, nobody might discover his body until spring.
Yet when the stagecoach door opened and Martha Higgins stepped down, Caleb forgot all the sensible reasons he had written to the agency.
He saw only her size.
She was a large, full-figured woman with broad shoulders, generous hips, a round face, and soft brown hair pinned beneath a worn bonnet. Her olive-colored traveling suit was clean but old, stretched tight across her shoulders and repaired carefully near one cuff.
She held a battered carpetbag.
Her cheeks were pink from the cold.
And despite her exhaustion, she looked toward him with a shy, hopeful smile.
"Mr. Montgomery?"
Caleb stared.
"Miss Higgins?"
She nodded.
"Yes, sir."
He looked at her luggage.
Then back at her.
For a moment, he couldn't hide his disappointment.
"The agency must have made a mistake."
Martha's smile faded.
"I'm sorry?"
Caleb exhaled.
"I asked for a strong wife."
She stood a little straighter.
"I know."
He looked toward the wagon.
Then toward the deep snow near the road.
"A woman who can manage mountain winters, walk through drifts, carry supplies, and work from dawn."
Martha swallowed.
"I have worked hard all my life."
Several men standing near the saloon began listening.
One of them laughed under his breath.
Caleb should have stopped there.
He would later spend years wishing he had.
Instead, he said, "I asked for a strong wife, not a woman who can barely walk through the snow."
The words struck Martha like a slap.
Her face flushed.
She lowered her eyes.
Behind Caleb, someone chuckled.
Another man whispered something about the size of the woman the mountain trapper had ordered.
Martha tightened her grip on the carpetbag.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she raised her chin.
"Mr. Montgomery, I assure you that I can work."
Caleb looked uncomfortable.
"That remains to be seen."
She swallowed.
"I didn't travel from Missouri under false pretenses."
He looked toward her.
She continued quietly.
"I described my experience honestly."
Caleb frowned.
"The agency didn't mention—"
He stopped.
Martha understood what he meant.
Her size.
It was always her size.