The MCA pamphlets said that five copies would be made of Iris’ application form and sent to those men whose likes and tastes most matched her own. If these showed no success, the MCA would progress with those who had slight deviations and so on until an eligible match was found. One was to expect at least three weeks’ time for an answer from the MCA, and guaranteed both a personal letter and a copy of the bachelor’s own application form. Since not all of the men were able to reach a photographer’s in time, some could not provide a photograph immediately, but would do so upon request by the lady in question. 
From then on, an exchange via letter was expected, by which both applicants would acquaint themselves with each other and find if they were truly well-matched or not. Considering the MCA’s statistics, of ten men and women who applied, seven found a match, and those three who did not were soon married as well. Thus, the MCA was considered by Sanders, Sanders & Jones, as well as those who had found their life’s happiness by the agency’s aide, a thorough success. This all sounded very promising, and Iris, who did not know what to expect, resolved to waiting.
*
Iris received a total of three letters. It seemed that Sanders, Sanders & Jones really were very successful and there was a current shortage in eligible bachelors. Iris did not know if this was simply a polite way of saying only three men had thought her application and photograph appealing or whether the shortage was truly the case. Even so, there were three letters and Iris read each carefully. There was a Trevor Bowden, who sounded a little too young and eager for her liking, despite his twenty-eight years. He lived in Texas, had recently acquired a claim and had invested too much time in business to find a wife. Iris’ application and photograph had intrigued him, and he would be happy to lead her to his ranch as Mrs. Trevor Bowden. The writing was a little clumsy and the wording sometimes rather wanting in elegance, but the entirety of the letter was still pleasant and Iris was smiling when she reached ‘My very deepest regards, T. Bow.’
The second letter was from a certain Kenneth Williams (37), who sounded very respectable after his introductory ‘Dear Miss Moore’. The letter was very well-written. However, considering his use of words such as ‘auxiliary’ and ‘perspicacious’, Iris wasn’t sure whether Mr. Williams was either trying too hard to impress her or so particular as to have to show his education in a simple introductory letter. Mr. Williams spoke of his large estate in Colorado, the size of his stables, the number of his horses, and the fact that she would be one of the leading ladies of Lesterburgh’s society, (which counted at least a thousand well-respected, Christian souls), if she conceded to be his wife. He had very adequate means to guarantee her a comfortable life, and she would not be sorry to have married him. She looked a sturdy, simple woman (Iris wondered in what ways ‘simple’) who could lead a household frugally, something he found was exactly what was wanting in modern wives, who generally preferred to spend rather than save. 
He would be very happy to receive her swift reply and was gladly awaiting the day he would introduce her to Lesterburgh as Mrs. Kenneth Williams. ‘With the most cordial wishes for your health and goodwill, Kenneth H. Williams.’
Iris didn’t know what to think of this letter. She had a feeling Mr. Williams rather expected she would marry him. Iris never did do well with those who expected her to do their bidding, implied or no, without so much as asking if she was agreeable to it. Maybe it was the rebellious Eduards’ streak in her, but after reading Kenneth H. Williams’ letter, she did not think she would ever be part of Lesterburgh’s society. And he, just like Trevor Bowden, had not provided her with so much as a daguerreotype, which Iris thought a little suspicious of someone who used so many cultured words. She had read enough in St. James to know that sometimes erudition only hid a far more simpler truth, which was usually pride or vanity or both. In the end, Iris could not find it in herself to like Kenneth H. Williams, even though all she knew of him was a short introductory letter.
Finally, there was the last of the three, and it was from a certain C. O’Brian whose full name by the application form was not Christopher but the more unusual Christian. He wrote ‘Miss Moore,’ without the usual ‘Dear’ and stated immediately that his sole reason for applying to Sanders, Sanders & Jones was his need for a sensible housekeeper. As he could not expect that any respectable woman would travel so far west as Washington Territory without an assurance of safety and adequate means of living, he was very willing to give his hand in return. He had found her application very convincing, and her photograph only enhanced this first estimation. However, he did not want her, Miss Moore, to be deceived into romantic ventures as many might, considering the form and nature of their initial acquaintance. He was a man of thirty-three years with his own business and own home, and considering his situation in life as a single man in a remote land, had found it best to lay his 
future into the hands of Messrs. Sanders & Jones. He would greatly appreciate her answer, since by her application form he had surmised that they would not be altogether mismatched, though, naturally, it was entirely to her own choosing. Without much ado, his ‘Yours sincerely, C. O’Brian’ followed and that was the end of the letter. He had, however, also enclosed a photograph, which was a pleasant surprise.
Iris held it before her and saw a man staring obstinately into the camera. He had regular, sharp-lined features, thick brows over clear eyes, a straight nose and a relaxed, well-shaped mouth. There was nothing soft about his chin as she had sometimes seen in the sons and nephews Mrs. Rose’s friends insisted she meet. In the photograph, Christian O’Brian was clean-shaven, looked healthily built, and was possibly wearing his best suit with a matching vest and tie, from the monotony of the photograph it was all a crisp black and white. He held his hat as if he had just removed it, though it did not cover the arc of his watch’s chain nor his straight, almost defiant stance. His dark hair, black on the photograph, was rather long for a gentleman, though it was not wholly unbecoming, and living in the wilds as he did such an unusual length was probably to be expected. Iris, upon seeing the photograph, thought that she could like the real twin to the image. Christian O’Brian looked neither dangerous nor violent, maybe a little grim, but you never knew on photographs. She just hoped he had good teeth, but when looking through his application form, he had crossed ‘sturdy’ in the box of Health, and left the comments section empty, where Trevor Bowden, for example, had explicated that one tooth had been knocked out during a dispute over some land.
Iris agonized for many hours over her answering letter to Mr. O’Brian. She finally wrote her thanks for his letter and that she was both grateful and, yes, a little surprised by his honesty, since it was not usual for a suitor to claim from the first a total lack of romantic feelings. She appreciated his frankness, however, since it showed to her that he was a man who was not prone to subtleties which were often the beginnings of deception. Even so, in keeping with his forthrightness, she was curious unto what conditions she would be living with him (though Iris found that sounded a little harsh, but it was already written and she could not waste too much paper) and if there was anything more he would have liked to know about her character or person. She thanked him again for his honest letter. Iris did not know what more to write, and though it looked like a short, mean little letter, she did her best to soften her words by closing it with ‘My sincerest regards, Iris Moore’.
© 2016 threegoodwords
Madeleine catches a glimpse of herself in a shop window. The red of her coat is shockingly bright, like Red Riding Hood walking through the forest. All she needs is a basket with pastries, but her grandmére lives in Lyon.
She will not be cowed. So he says, ‘It’s just three more weeks.’ Madeleine nods, sadly. Luc can see she is trying not to cry.
Madeleine only runs to him because she is afraid he will stand too long and be hit, drivers are crazy in this city. She would rather be hit with him than be left in this cold world, alone.
He wants them to have the perfect weekend, far away from everything, especially the snow. Luc knows winter is inevitable in this city, but he could really live without the cold.
Madeleine often wonders how it is to work with people who know they have to make you like them. She often wishes Etienne would come and inspect everyone at her internship, but this is not the time to think of that. They’re dressed and ready to go, and walk down the stairs. Outside, Luc opens his umbrella, it is large enough for two. Snow falls on the black, a soft susurrus filling the dark street. Madeleine smiles when she sees the snow, joins Luc under the umbrella. They talk quietly to each other, anticipating a pleasant evening as they walk quickly through the snow, holding hands happily in the cold.
three good words 