First sentence: THEY came over the Pass one day in one big wagon—all ten of them—man and woman and hired girl and seven big boy children, from the nine-year-old who walked by the team to the baby in arms. Or so the story runs—it was in the early days of settlement and the town had never heard of the Sobbin' Women then. But it opened its eyes one day, and there were the Pontipees.
Premise/plot: Seven brothers are in need of seven brides?!
My thoughts: This short story inspired the musical Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. In the short story, the brothers are NOT named in alphabetical order. They don't go about singing and dancing. The eldest is named Harry. He marries Milly. Milly suggests to her brothers-in-law that they should go kidnap some women to marry. All ends well, as it does in the movie, with the women falling madly in love with the brothers.
"Hello, girl," he said, in one of those big voices men use when they're pretending not to be embarrassed.
She looked up at him straight. "Hello, backwoodsman!" she said, friendly enough. She didn't look a bit scared of him and that put him off.
"It's a nice morning," said Harry, louder, trying to lead up to his point.
"It is for some," said the girl, perfectly polite but going on feeding the chickens.
Harry swallowed hard at that. "It'd be a nice morning to get married, they tell me," he said, with the perspiration breaking out all over him again. He'd meant to say something else, but when it came to the point, he couldn't.
Well, she didn't say anything to that so he had to start all over again.
"My name's Harry Pontipee," he said. "I've got a good farm up the Valley."
"Have you?" said the girl.
"Yes," he said. "It's a right good farm. And some folks seem to think I'd make a good husband."
"Do they?" said the girl. I guess she was smiling by now but Harry couldn't see it—she had her head turned.
"Yes they do," said Harry, kind of desperate, his voice getting louder and louder. "What do you think about it?"
"I couldn't tell on such short acquaintance," said the girl.
"Will you marry me and find out?" said Harry, in a perfect bellow, shaking all over.
"Yes, I will, if you don't ask me quite so loud," she [Pg 146]said, very prim—and even Harry could see she was smiling now.
Well, they made a queer pair when they went up to the minister—the girl still in her chicken-feed clothes, for she didn't have any others, and Harry in his backwoods finery. He'd had to buy out her time from the innkeeper for twelve beaver pelts and a hunting knife.
But when the wedding service was over, "Well, we're married," said Harry, with great relief. "And now we'll be going home."
"Oh, no we won't," said she. "We're going to the store first and buy me some cloth for a decent dress—for landless I may be and dowryless I may be, but I'm a married woman now, and what's fit for a chicken-girl isn't fit for a married woman."
In a sort of daze, he saw her lay out the price of twelve more beaver pelts in cloth and woman's fixings, and beat down the storekeeper on the price, too.
He only asked her a question about one thing—a little pair of slippers she bought. They were fancy slippers, with embroidery on them. "I thought you had a pair of shoes," he said. She turned to him, with a cocky sort of look on her face. "Silly," she said. "How could anyone tell your wife had pretty feet in the shoes I had?"
Well, he thought that over, and, after a while, something in the way she said it and the cocky look on her face made him feel pleased, and he began to laugh. He wasn't used to laughing in front of a girl, but he could see it might have its points.
Then they rode back to the Valley, her riding pillion, with her bundles in the saddlebags. And all the [Pg 147]way back, she was trying him and testing him and trying to find out, by one little remark or another, just what kind of a man he was. She was a spunky little girl, and she had more education than she let on. And long ago, she'd made up her mind to get out of being a bound girl the first way that offered. But, all the same, marrying Harry Pontipee was a leap in the dark.
But the more she tried and tested Harry, the better bargain she seemed to think she'd made. And that took courage to admit—for the way was a wild one and a lonesome, and, naturally, she'd heard stories of Pontipee Valley. She couldn't quite believe they lived with bears, up there, but she didn't know.
And finally, they came to the house, and there were dark things moving outside it. "Bears!" thought Milly, kind of hopeless, and her heart went into her throat, but she didn't let on.
"W-what's that, Harry dear?" she said, holding on tight.
"Oh, that's just my brothers," said Harry, kind of careless, and with that those six hungry six-footers moved into the light.
"Oh!" said Milly, "you didn't tell me you had six brothers." But her voice wasn't reproachful, just sort of soft and quiet.
"I guess it was the wedding kind of knocked it out of my mind," said Harry. "But, there—you'll see enough of 'em anyhow, because we all live together."
"Oh," said Milly again, kind of soft. "I see."
© 2020 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews