If You’re the First Husband of a Plucky Pioneer Woman in a Hallmark Movie, You Should Be Deeply Afraid

Love may come softly, but so does the Grim Reaper.

I see the hidden worry in your eyes, son. I know you’ve seen the way things are out here in the wild frontier. Perhaps you, like me, have reason to be deeply afraid. Well, that’s why I called you here today. From one first husband to another, let’s talk business.

First of all, how are things going in your marriage to that beautiful blonde woman with the enchanting wisps of loose hair that blow about her face in the rough prairie wind? (It’s a shame hairpins apparently haven’t been invented yet.)

Are things not so great with the two of you?

Well, that won’t last.

Are things all too great with the two of you?

Well, that can’t last.

Maybe you just married her because she’s beautiful in an off-brand movie star way and she felt indebted to you for saving her parents’ farm/rescuing her baby brother from coyotes with your heirloom shotgun/being the only fella in Vulture’s Gulch who still has all his teeth. Are you starting to feel the creeping chill that runs down your back when she talks about true love? Do you know, deep in your heart, that she doesn’t see fireworks and shooting stars when she looks at you?

Or — now, stay with me, this is just as dangerous — does she see those stars all too clearly? Do you hear a haunting violin somewhere in the distant mountains when she looks wistfully into your soulful brown eyes? And does that violin somehow remind you of that childhood illness that you never thought would come back to haunt you?

How are those cattle drives and long days in the cornfields treating you? It’s a rough, hard life, and I see you longing for something more fulfilling. But let me give you a few tips — don’t start riding off into the sunset with a posse of well-meaning, tobacco-chawin’ do-gooders ready to uphold morality and smash evil by catching that durn chicken thief. All it takes is one accidental slip with that heirloom shotgun and… well. You get the picture.

In a similar vein, you better not even be thinking about venturing to the darker side of humanity. Those cattle rustlers don’t need your help, no matter how glamorous their dust-kicking antics may appear. The fun will be short-lived — trust me.

Let’s just run through a few other red flags that might have cropped up lately. Have you ever kicked a dog to vent your frustration — or been too affectionate, perhaps, with the loyal family canine? I know, I know, that dog is like a brother to you, but have you ever considered how tearjerking it’ll be for your wife when that dog lingers over your grave in a future episode?

…What? Nothing.

So, uh, what’s your stance on communicating with those left-behind friends and family Back East? You know, the ones to whom you said goodbye forever and dragged your possibly pregnant wife away from, never to be seen again? Are you keeping her from writing to them? Probably not a good idea. What goes around comes around, so they say. If she’s only allowed to communicate with them over your dead body, then…

…yeah, never mind. Let’s move on.

From a strictly brotherly perspective, I’ve been sizing you up for a while, pardner. How would you rate yourself, appearance-wise? Are you ruggedly handsome, but only in a mediocre way — or, alternately, so handsome that you can’t possibly last?

Nah, forget it. Only a woman can adequately judge how a man looks anyway.

Let’s talk about your health, instead. Have you coughed in a foreshadowing sort of way lately? Maybe even… with a spot of ominous blood on your dust-streaked bandanna?

I’m gonna tell it to you straight, pal.

You’re not long for this world.

But take heart! We’re all in this together, my friend. I’ve got your back. Love may not come softly for you, but at least the world will hopefully remember you for being good at roping steers… or chewing tobacco… or…. whatever. You’ll figure it out.

Maybe write down a few notes about who should get your heirloom shotgun when the time comes, though. Just to be safe.

This post originally appeared in Jane Austen’s Wastebasket in 2022.