Dear Miss Griffin,
I’m honored you chose to respond to me. I am soon to be thirty-three and own the livery stable with two of my brothers. While we learned the skill of metalworking from our father, I confess a preference for woodwork. We’ve expanded our business to include carpentry.
“Sounds good so far.” Daisy placed her chin in her hand and stared at the paper.
“I read it over and over. He seems hardworking and nice.” Memphis cleared her throat and continued.
I’m the second born and oldest brother to a half dozen siblings. My sister, Molly, is the oldest, then myself, Matthew, Moses, John-Mark and the youngest son is Malachi. Our baby sister, Maggie, was adopted into our family when she was four. Interesting enough, the two youngest are the only siblings who have a sincere interest in my father’s blacksmithing business.
Daisy squinted at the paper. “When he says the two youngest, does he mean his brothers? Surely he doesn’t mean his sister?”
Memphis smoothed the paper. “I recall from Mrs. Shelby’s stories that her friend's daughter designs wrought-iron pieces and helps her father with the metalworking.”
“Goodness, will wonders never end? I would never have thought of a woman blacksmith.” Daisy scrunched her nose.
“No telling what goes on outside the orphanage. Do you realize I’ve never been more than five miles from this spot?” Memphis gazed at her friend.
“Not too many of us have. Before my parents died, we stayed on the farm. Except for trips to church or my mother’s favorite merchants in town, we never strayed too far from home.” Daisy tapped her finger on her mouth. “What else did he say?”
Both parents speak fondly of their life in Tennessee and my mother especially shares stories of Mrs. Shelby. I agree their mutual stories tie us together.
Memphis retrieved the tintype and stared into the handsome face of Mike Montgomery. “Do you think he truly feels that way? Or is he repeating something I mentioned in my letter?”
“That’s the trouble corresponding. You can’t see the individual’s expressions or hear their tone of voice. He’s certainly good-looking.” Daisy separated the papers. “You have two full pages front and back. Poor Magnolia only received one paragraph in response to her letter.”
“How discouraging.” Memphis stared at the neat penmanship. His response would have taken a considerable amount of time. He seemed open and honest. She cleared her throat and continued.
My wife and newborn daughter passed away more than five years ago. Like you, I’ve never seriously considered entering into a relationship again, until I was pushed by well-meaning relatives to consider Mrs. Shelby’s new venture in matchmaking. When I read your correspondence, I was struck by your reference to courage. Although I never thought myself someone who lacked nerve, it made me realize I’ve allowed tragic events to paralyze me in matters of the heart.
“How tragic and yet romantic. Y’all are like characters in a fairy tale brought together as kindred spirits.” Daisy placed both hands over her heart and spun in a circle.
Memphis shook her head. Leave it to her friend to take one paragraph and make it a happily-ever-after. Her eyebrows narrowed. Although he’d penned an incredible response, she was worried. How does one know if the other party is honest? Are they really who they seem to be in their letters?
Chapter 8
“A person who can write a long letter with ease cannot write ill.”
― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Memphis adjusted the wick on the oil lamp to cast a soft light on her recent correspondence. Her friend, Daisy, pushed open the window to the attic dormitory. A hint of fall flowed through the air in the evening breeze, ruffling the cheesecloth curtains. “I’ve been looking forward to reading this all day.” Memphis smoothed the paper and settled at their makeshift table made from an upside-down crate.
“You certainly swapped a lot of correspondence these past months. I enjoy when you share bits and pieces from Mr. Montgomery’s letters.” Daisy folded her hands in her lap and waited. “Surely, you two are on a first-name basis by now?”
Memphis felt her cheeks burn. “Do you remember when I showed you Mike’s selection for favorite book?”
Daisy’s mouth twitched. “I recall you mentioning it. But until you started reading Pride and Prejudice to us in the evenings, I wasn’t familiar with the novel.”
“Although we’ve corresponded about other books, he’s not mentioned it again. In my last letter, I asked him a few direct questions.” Memphis ran her finger along the page and read silently.
“For example?” Daisy leaned forward
Memphis straightened. “Would you please hush, so I can read my letter?”
“Of course, right after you tell me what the question was.” Daisy grinned.
Memphis lifted one eyebrow. “In the world of Pride and Prejudice, to marry well, what do you think is most important—beauty, respectability, or money?”
“That’s easy.” Daisy waved her hand. “Money.”
“Interesting.” Memphis tapped her finger on her cheek. “Let’s see what he says.”
As I respond to your letter, your likeness stares at me in the form of a small picture. In my mind, I try to picture your blue eyes and gold hair. Your character comes across as kind, generous, diligent and wise. The combination of these characteristics leads me to conclude you’re even more beautiful in person.
In answer to your question, it reminds me of a phrase my mother often quotes, “pretty is as pretty does.” Therefore, my answer is beauty.
“How sweet.” Daisy sighed. “The man has recognized the complexity of your personality. You asked for one answer. He gave two in one and managed to compliment you in the process.”
Memphis felt her face flush. Why am I so pleased with his response? She reached for Mike’s photo. Dark hair, square jaw, his charcoal eyes crinkled in a smile—he seemed to peer into her soul. She traced the outline of his face with her finger.
“What else does he say?” Daisy waggled her eyebrows. “Or is the rest of his letter too personal?”
Personal? There isn’t anything confidential about what he said, but I want to keep it private. Memphis raised one finger. “All right, I’ll read one more section from his response about the book.”
“I’m listening.” Daisy raised an eyebrow. “What was the question?”
Memphis placed one hand on her hip, then gave her friend a sideways glance. “What are your feelings about Mr. Bennet? Is he a good father, a good husband, a good man?”
“Lizzy seemed to enjoy him. But I’d say no, he wasn’t a good father or husband. What do you think, Memphis?” Daisy’s eyebrows drew together.
“My mother enjoyed telling me stories about my father. She made him seem like a wonderful man and husband. Based on my limited knowledge, I would agree with you.” Memphis scanned her letter, then cleared her throat.
Since this is a work of fiction, I’ll answer without a guilty conscious for maligning another man’s character. Mr. Bennet is witty, and I understand the need to withdraw due to his home situation, but I find his actions as a father lacking.
I was blessed to grow up nurtured by a godly, loving and hardworking man. If you are familiar with Longfellow’s poem, ‘The Village Blacksmith,’ my father is the man personified. A man of many talents, a skilled metalworker, he taught us his trade and shared his gift of music. As children, we learned to play the violin, guitar and banjo by sitting at his feet.
“Somehow I can’t picture the man in Longfellow’s poem playing the violin.” Daisy blinked rapidly. “My father played as well.”
“His family seems wonderful. If Mrs. Shelby didn’t know them personally, I’d wonder if they didn’t seem too good to be true.” Memphis offered Daisy a half-smile. “I know I’m cynical.”
Daisy wagged her finger. “Once you agree to marry this man, I’m coming with you.”
Memphis giggled. “I’ll warn Mr. Montgomery ahead of time, if he
invites me, you are part of the package.” She tapped her chin. “On second thought, I’ll wait. I wouldn’t want to scare him off.”
Daisy laughed. “His family sounds similar to mine. My father read to us each night. Most of the time, the music from his fiddle crooned us to sleep.”
“What a beautiful memory.” Memphis let out a deep sigh.
Daisy patted her arm. “War and disease robbed us. I want to be a part of a family again.”
Memphis shuffled her feet. “Even though we’re not related by birth, you, Mrs. Shelby, the pastor and the other orphans are my family. Perhaps that’s another reason why I’m hesitant to leave.”
“Did you ever stop to think if our parents were alive, they’d have encouraged us to pursue our dreams and leave home a long time ago? We’d probably be married with children,” Daisy said.
“And not a couple of spinsters?” Memphis shook her head.
“Speak for yourself.” Daisy lifted her chin. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
“I believe I just did.” Memphis elbowed her friend. “The question is whether or not I have the nerve to do anything about it.”
“You’ll find the courage.” Daisy inclined her head. “Even if I have to hogtie, label and ship you with the livestock, you’ll board the train.”
“You’re making me feel worse.” Memphis pressed her hand against her stomach. “You’ve created the perfect word picture of me as a side of beef.”
Chapter 9
“And to all this she must yet add something more substantial,
in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”
― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Mike tilted his head back and admired the freshly-painted white trim on the front porch of his two-story Folk Victorian. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and gazed at the hodgepodge of designs. The structure itself was a stick style. The roofline with two symmetric wings was Gothic Revival. The small tower that Annie declared the princess room boasted an Italian influence.
Maggie shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun with her palm. “I know you saw the possibilities from the beginning, but when you first purchased it, I couldn’t imagine it habitable much less beautiful.”
“Between the hole in the roof from the fire and the family of raccoons living on the inside, you couldn’t get past the smell.” Mike chuckled.
Maggie wrinkled her nose. “True.” She pointed toward the siding, painted a deep azure. “The color is the perfect complement to the blue sky. Didn’t you tell me you were going to paint it gray?”
“Memphis said one of her favorite colors is blue.” Mike felt his face flush. Why did I say that out loud?
“It’s your favorite as well, isn’t it?” Maggie wagged her eyebrows.
“Yes.” Mike gestured toward the open door. “Do you have time to come in? I want to show you the first floor.”
“I’d love to.” His sister took a few steps toward the house, then paused.
“The unpleasant aroma is gone.” Mike’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Everything is clean. I’ve been airing it out for weeks.”
Maggie rubbed her stomach. “I hope I’m past the tendency for waves of nausea at this point.”
“We’ll soon find out.” Mike grinned and followed Maggie onto the front porch and into the house. “I traded for work with David Taylor, the sawmill owner, which allowed me to obtain the lumber I needed. Good thing too because I had to replace more than I figured.”
Maggie gasped. “It’s beautiful.”
Mike followed her gaze from the twelve-foot-ceiling center hall to the curved staircase. He motioned toward the room to the left. “I painted the parlor a creamy white. Ma said she thought it would make things bright.”
Maggie’s feet made quick taps across the longleaf pine floors. She waved her finger toward the crown molding. “Was the millwork here before?”
“Yep, under layers of smoke residue.” Mike ran his hand along the fireplace mantel. “The parlor, entry and dining room needed a good cleaning and painting. The back wall and attic room were the most damaged. Come on back to the kitchen. It’s the only room with chairs.”
Mike felt elated Maggie appreciated the transformation. If he could get Memphis to come, he wanted everything to be perfect. He pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. The aroma of new lumber greeted them. The large window over the sink streamed sunlight onto the newly installed wooden floors. He motioned between the stove and sink. “I’m going to make a worktable for this area. I was hoping you could help me figure out what color to paint the walls. Ma suggested I paint it white and let Memphis decide when she gets here. But I’d like to surprise her. She mentioned she likes green too.”
“If you want it to be a surprise, I’d be happy to help you pick out something.” Maggie’s eyes sparkled. “Have you received more correspondence since we talked last? I’m curious to know if she responded to your answer about Pride and Prejudice.”
Mike pulled a pouch from his pocket. “I keep all her letters here. She’s going to have to agree to come and marry me, or I’m going to need a bigger pocket.”
“Goodness, you’ve been holding out on me. How many letters have you received?” Maggie tapped the packet.
“I’m not about to share all my secrets, even with my baby sister, but we write about once a week.” Mike unfolded the letter. “I came up with a question of my own and asked her if she thought Charlotte Lucas was right to marry Reverend Collins.”
Maggie patted her finger along her cheek. “That is an excellent point to ponder. My thought is, she seized the opportunity to have her own home and live a comfortable, yet not enviable life. How did she respond?”
“She answered in the same way, then added a bit of commentary.” Mike turned the letter over and read.
On the one hand, I’m inclined to feel sorry for Charlotte. While on the other, I believe she made a strategic and opportunist move to secure Mr. Collins. She knew the shallowness of his character and yet it wasn’t happiness she wanted. She wanted security, which by society’s definition could only come through marriage.
Maggie beamed. “Even though it’s a work of fiction, I imagine myself in the place of the characters. It must have been scary for Charlotte. There was minimal opportunity for a female to make enough money to support herself. I’m glad Mama and Papa made sure I had a vocation the same as my brothers.”
Mike rubbed his chin. “The way I remember it, Pa didn’t have much choice but to treat you like the boys. You followed us like thunder does lightning.”
Maggie giggled and patted his arm. “I’m sure I was a pest. Thank you for letting me tag along.”
“You bet.” Mike felt his eyes grow uncharacteristically misty. He cleared his throat.
Through her characters, perhaps Miss Austen's intention is to set an explanation of how one should go about seeking a life’s partner. There were many unhappy marriages in this book. A case in point, Mr. Bennet settles on the fact his wife is incapable of carrying on a rational conversation and chooses to gain satisfaction by laughing at her. Possibly Miss Austen utilized humor as a way to add amusement to an uncomfortable relationship.
Mike shook his head. “The Bennet’s relationship struck me as annoying. It makes me shiver to consider a union like theirs. I want a marriage like Pa and Ma’s.”
“Our parents truly enjoy one another’s company. Although their conversations are not nearly as lively, B.J.’s parents are similar. Dr. Benton makes it a point to set time aside in the evening to tell his wife about his day. She is a captive audience and his biggest fan.” Maggie offered a smile.
“Respect and friendship last longer than initial attraction. That’s the way of things.” Mike flipped the letter over and continued.
The author wants to convey that the ideal marriage is one where love is at the center. Perhaps more importantly, an ideal marriage is one where each partner has confidence in the strength of character of the other.
Mi
ke returned the letter to the packet. “I shake my head each night when I reread her letters and recognize how much pleasure I receive from corresponding with a woman I’ve never met. Not to mention, we’re discussing a book I have no desire to read. Even more strange is how I have enjoyed every minute of it.”
“This is one time where our brother’s interference was well received. Did you mention to Memphis that Moses filled out the initial questionnaire?” Maggie’s eyebrows drew together.
“It’s been on my mind every time we correspond. Even so, I think it would better to explain in person.” Mike chuckled. “With any luck, I’m hoping to put it off until our fiftieth wedding anniversary.”
Chapter 10
“My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them—
by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents.”
― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
After spending the morning shucking corn, Mrs. Shelby sent Memphis and her friend Daisy for a much-needed break. “You two make the most of the rest of your Saturday. Why don’t you go over to the swimming hole? I’ll ask Cook to pack you a lunch to take with you.”
Without additional prompting, both women hurried to retrieve towels, soap and a change of clothes. They strolled to the gorge and headed for the bubbling spring. Creeping their way along the rocky path, they paused at the site. Cascades of spilling water beat a rhythmic sound on the rock, sending small droplets in various directions. Large boulders in the middle of the stream created a barrier and formed a shallow swimming hole.
Memphis and Daisy left their dresses, shoes and stockings on a boulder. Wearing only their shifts, they inched their way into the tranquil pool. Daisy shrieked, then retreated from the water.
“Did you forget how cold it gets?” Memphis laughed. “Let’s hurry to the middle. Once we’re totally wet, it won’t feel like such a shock.”
“If you say so.” Daisy stepped carefully. A large fish swam between them and she squealed again.
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