by Sierra Rose
“And what would you know about it?” Letty had demanded. “Are you such an all-fired expert on making a match? I notice you’re still single.”
“Girls, that’s enough!” Camellia, who had called this council of war in her own kitchen to discuss trying to change what was clearly being seen as an inevitable event, felt dismayed and annoyed. Surely the three of them should be able to come to terms on such a crucial matter!
“Where is Molly, anyway?”
“She and her intended are somewhere making googly eyes at each other,” Letty reported with just a touch of acidity. “Cam, may I have another glass of lemonade? Trying to destroy the reputation of one’s sister is thirsty work.”
Hannah snorted. “We’re not trying to destroy her reputation, you simpleton. We’re trying to save her from making a horrible mistake.”
“So you say. Personally, I see no difference between what she’s doing and what Camellia did. You knew very little about Ben, did you, when you allowed him to put a ring on your finger?”
Aye, therein lay the rub. How could the eldest preach to the youngest about virtue and caution in such a case? Camellia would admit she could claim very little moral superiority when it came to the question of mail order brides.
“I had more time to learn what kind of man he was during our months of correspondence,” Camellia answered stiffly.
“Months of correspondence. Yay, hey.”
Silence for a moment, while each considered the ramifications of this impetuous pairing.
Through both kitchen windows, shuttered but open to allow a small movement of air, came the sudden rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker working away in one of the dying sycamores at the edge of the Forrester property. Almost in accompaniment, sweeter and softer, one could hear the “Tu-wheet” of a bluebird and a “Cheerily, cheerily” of the familiar robin. A whole phalanx of birds, and their song, provided a backdrop to any conversation. During daylight, bees and butterflies did their best to visit every blooming flower; during the evening hours it was fireflies and an occasional swarm of irritating mosquitoes.
Woodland sounds and scenes abounded, right outside the door. But the three women contemplating life in Camellia’s kitchen paid little attention.
“She’s headstrong,” Camellia finally commented, somewhat sadly.
Another snort from pragmatic Hannah. “We’re all of us headstrong, Cam, in our own way. It’s a family failing.”
They were seated, as always, at the large scarred and worn wooden table, where discussions so often took place. More problems have been solved, more arguments settled, more intricacies embraced, around a homely kitchen table, than in any other room of a house (unless it was possibly the private space upstairs); and this was no different.
Letitia looked from one to the other. “Are we resigned to the fact, then, that Molly will find her own path, and we can do nothing about it?”
“I suppose so,” Camellia reluctantly agreed. “And support her, through anything that comes along.”
Easily pushing back her chair, Hannah rose and took a step away. “She’s making her bed, girls. She’ll have to lie in it.”
Camellia, the proverbial mother hen, was feeling a trifle lost, as if her chicks were beginning to scatter far and wide, beyond her control. It was at that point that she realized she must spend a little time with her flighty sister, filling her in on what could be expected from the physical side of marriage.
“I suppose so,” she agreed thoughtfully.
Somehow, with that being one of the more interesting points, they made it through the week. Camellia’s “talk” left the bride-to-be wide-eyed, shocked, and disbelieving. Things went somewhat downhill from there, and the wedding preparations seemed not as filled with joy as they should have been.
And so events proceeded, with everyone concerned putting on a brave face.
“Dearly beloved,” said Rev. Beecham, smiling now at the small congregation of guests staring back at him, “we are gathered here today...”
Camellia, as matron of honor at the front of the church, could hardly break down in tears, although the waterworks were threatening. Her baby sister—married. Imagine it. She could only wish the very best for Molly, with all happiness. The girl deserved every bit of goodness and kindness—blessings rained down from above, if you will—that should come to her.
With such an intimate group of people involved, everyone could troop on over to the Drinkwater Café Rouge (the most upscale and luxurious restaurant in town) for a celebration dinner after the ceremony. Ben had generously—and absolutely of his own volition—offered to serve as host. Which meant paying the bill for some exuberant dining and drinking.
Hugs and kisses and congratulations all around, and a radiant bride and her placid groom could take center stage at the main table as glasses were raised and dishes passed.
“And what are your plans from here on, dear?” Elvira Gotham, dressed in the light and airy best that Forrester’s had to offer, asked with interest.
After a quick glance down at the gold band on her finger, as if to ascertain that this marriage had actually taken place, Molly beamed up at her new husband. “After this nice reception, Quinn and I are returning to Camellia’s so that I can change. And then—” A soft blush stained her cheekbones with color, “it’s off for a wedding trip.”
“Indeed? Traveling very far, are you?”
“Not far at all,” interceded Quinn. “I’m afraid some unexpected expenses will prevent our journeying anywhere at the present time. But have no fear, dearest Molly. We’ll make plans for some sightseeing soon.”
Elvira, who had paused at the table to chat, raised her brows. “Then where are you going?”
“I have rented a small cottage for us a couple miles out of town,” said Quinn proudly. “On a patch of land where a garden can be grown, and possibly some farm animals raised. A homestead just close enough, but not too close, if you take my meaning.”
The lady did, but wasn’t sure how that might be important. However, hers was not to question. Instead, she considered a moment, then, curious, repeated: “Some small cottage a couple miles out of town? You’re surely not thinking of the old Rutledge place, are you? Why, my goodness, that’s nothing more than a rundown shack.”
Molly’s beautiful blue eyes widened. “A rundown shack? But, surely—”
“I haven’t heard the name, I must confess. But it didn’t seem too rundown to me. A bit more primitive than Molly is used to, possibly, and without the—”
“Quinn. Is it livable?”
He essayed a small burst of laughter. “Of course it’s livable, don’t be such a goose. I wouldn’t subject you to a hovel, Mrs. Hennessey.”
“Well, then,” Elvira, quizzically watching this byplay, asserted. Time to mind her own business. She had no right to expose such an innocent child, at this juncture, to the more sordid facts of life. More explicitly, that the old Rutledge place, long abandoned in its distance from Turnabout restrictions, had been occasionally used as a convenience bordello. “Once again, my felicitations to both of you, and I hope all goes well in your future.”
Left alone for a few minutes, in their own small private circle that temporarily excluded outsiders, Molly turned a puzzled face to her groom. “You’ve rented a house? Without my seeing it first? But why, Quinn? And this is the first I’ve heard anything about our not being able to go away. Everyone goes away for a bit, you know, when they’ve just gotten married. What happened, that we can’t afford to do—”
“Hush, Molly.” Quinn’s smile, a baring of teeth through his Mephistophelean beard, came in concert with his squeezing of her hand. The squeeze was not as gentle as he thought, however, and she winced. “I’ll explain more later, sweet girl, all right?”
Amazing, how many aimless residents, cowpokes and businessmen alike, hearing about the wedding and the festivities, had wandered into the dining room to join in. Amazing, how quickly the lighthearted pleasure of a family gathering began to de
teriorate as the liquor flowed freely and the action started getting a bit rowdy.
About the fourth time Ben stepped in to break up an incipient fight between two wranglers far along in their cups, he decided the Hennessey wedding party should call it quits and vacate the premises, before a few heads got broken. In a voice loud enough to carry to the next block, he informed everyone—guests invited and those present but not invited—that he appreciated the turnout; in a lower tone, he thanked the management and told those who were interested to c’mon over to the house where he could keep a lid on things.
Somehow, in the midst of all the hullabaloo, Molly managed to escape to the Forresters’ upstairs bedroom, along with Camellia, to change from the beautiful satin gown into a traveling outfit she had earlier chosen. Even though, she confided a trifle shakily to her sister, there would be no traveling.
“But, then, where are you going?” Camellia, surprised, asked blankly.
Words muffled by the heavy skirt being pulled over her head, the bride breathlessly explained.
“The Rutledge place? Molly, dear, that building is a hovel—not even a decent roof over your head. You can’t possibly go there. What must Quinn be thinking? Surely he can do better than that; surely he can’t mean for you to settle in such a—a pigsty?”
Molly, stripped down to lacy camisole and petticoats, reached for the pretty sugar-pink frock with its buttons and soft pink bows. “Do you suppose he was joking with me?”
“I sincerely hope so.” Camellia’s eyes were blazing bright blue with annoyance. Not a good way to foster any sort of relationship with one’s new brother-in-law. “What about the Drinkwater, in a nice hotel room, at least for your wedding night?”
“I—don’t know.” Her voice suddenly sounded quivering and uneasy. “He said—Quinn said something about—expenses...”
“Ah.” Camellia, capably folding away the lovely sheer veil into its covering of tissue paper, paused. “Molly.”
“Uh-huh.” Attention diverted, she was stuffing her stockinged toes into the small white kidskin pumps set out for use.
“Molly.” Camellia put both hands on her sister’s shoulders to give her a little shake. “Listen to me. You’re leaving shortly with a man you know very little about, to begin a partnership for the rest of your life. Please, dear—please. If anything goes wrong, or if you’re terribly unhappy for some reason, understand that you can always come home again.”
“Come home? Where is that, Cam? Back to the boarding house? Or into the spare room here, with you and Ben?”
“It doesn’t matter. We’ll work something out. Just promise me. Promise you’ll remember that.”
“Oh, Cam.” Dimples bloomed with the girl’s sudden wide smile. So contagious. So heartwarming. How could anyone resist such charm? “Did you see the way Quinn looked at me? We’re in love, you silly thing. We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. You worry too much.”
Chapter Six
“OH, QUINN, ISN’T IT a beautiful afternoon?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And wasn’t it a beautiful ceremony?”
“Sure enough.”
“And weren’t we lucky to be given such a beautiful sendoff from my family, and from everyone who joined us for the celebration?”
“S’pose so.”
When she was happy, when she was excited, when all was right with her world, Molly often wriggled like a tiny ecstatic puppy. She did so now, wrapping both arms around the crook of Quinn’s elbow, jostling his grasp of the reins so that, for the merest of instants, he lost control.
“Molly, have a care, if you please!”
Reuben, the mild-mannered old bay Quinn had rented from Abel Norton’s livery, along with the surrey in which the couple was riding, sent a disgruntled look back over one shoulder. Humans! his eyeroll seemed to say.
“Oh,” said Molly, deflated as a small child whose toy had just been stolen away. “I’m sorry.”
Couldn’t he just have laughed and snuggled her close, as any newly married man might be inclined to do? Couldn’t he simply delight in her company, as she was delighting in his? During their oh-so-brief courtship, she had not noticed this tendency toward a quick temper in her betrothed, nor his critical attitude. He had made sure to show her only his best, to give her only love and tenderness in his every word, every motion, every gesture.
Or was it possible she had seen solely what she had wanted to see?
“This house you’ve rented—”
“As a sop to you, my dear. We might have lived right there at the Drinkwater, convenient to everything. But you insisted upon having some sort of permanent habitation.”
“Uh. Well. All right, yes, I supposed I did. At any rate... this house—do you know if it has furniture and supplies? I mean, we’ll certainly need food right away. And the proximity of a well. And the basics of human habitation.”
“Your sister sent along quite a gunny sack full of comestibles. Canned goods, a whole ham, I believe, and so on—stored right in the back of this surrey, as a matter of fact.” He jerked a thumb, to indicate direction.
“I’ve only one change of clothing along,” Molly murmured worriedly, as if to herself. “And just a few personal things.”
“Not to worry. Camellia even made me promise to bring you back tomorrow, to retrieve some of your belongings. And, yes, the place has a well. And furnishings. They may not be as imposing as what you’re used to, but I have no doubt you’ll adjust. No grand piano, as you may realize.”
She was leaving behind the beloved instrument that had traveled so far with her, that she had hoped to move into her first home. Biting her lip to repress a stab of pain, Molly stared off into the distance and willed the tears not to fall. Silly baby. She was simply feeling tired, and a tad disappointed. Probably very normal reactions for a girl coming almost straight from her wedding, and needing to adjust to change.
Straightening her spine with determination, Molly once again pulled up a smile. Disappointed. Why was she disappointed? Just because Quinn wasn’t falling all over her with love and affection? Just because he wasn’t raving at how fabulous she had looked on this day of all days, how perfect her figure, how richly black and curly her hair, how wonderfully turquoise her eyes?
“Do you think you’ll be able to find work you’re interested in, here at Turnabout?” she asked casually.
Only to see his face darken. “You’re just full of questions, aren’t you?”
She refused to cringe away from the tone of his voice. “Well, yes, Quinn. What you do will affect the future for both of us. And we ought to discuss any subject that comes up, oughtn’t we? Just to clear away any potential problems? I’d like to help in any way I can, but—”
“Oh, I think you’ve done about enough, thank you.”
“What do you mean?”
Clearly her husband was pursuing some course of his own, down some highway and byway that she could not follow. His hold on the reins had grown slack, so that Reuben, taking advantage of such inattention, had slowed his pace along the dirt track to snatch the occasional mouthful of fresh grass. So much tastier out here in the open than penned in by the livery stable’s corral fence.
“I was under the impression,” said Quinn distantly, “that you and your family were independently wealthy.”
“Perhaps you skimmed over some vital information in the only two letters I was able to send you.” Taken aback, Molly had drawn slightly aside from the man she had just promised to love, honor, and obey. “I explained that, once upon a time, the Burtons were quite well-to-do. But my adopted father gambled everything away. Very little was left to us girls, once the debts were paid.”
“Huh. So you have nothing?”
A sick little shiver took up residence in her middle, and stayed there. What was going on? Where was this coming from? And, if this were the true face of the husband she had married, how could she have gone so wrong?
“I didn’t keep any deep dark secrets from you, Quinn. Why have you
started on this now, of all times?”
“Unlike you, my love, I asked questions. During our dinner, I talked with all three of your sisters. I even checked with that boring new brother-in-law of mine.”
“Does that mean you are disappointed?”
“Well, I sure ain’t happy about it.”
Molly drew in a deep breath. If some huge mistake had been made, it was hers. Lack of foresight; lack of maturity—the decision, once done, was irrevocable. And now, somehow, she must deal with it.
At the tender age of nineteen, being forced to confront an error in judgment for the rest of your lifetime would seem like sounding a death knell, and a lifetime in the wrong set of circumstances can seem like forever.
She must try to understand, and to clear the air.
“Quinn, I don’t see—you and I, we didn’t discuss anything of this during the week we were getting to know each other. I’m sorry; certainly I was at fault for not pressing more, as my sisters wanted me to do, but—”
“Oh, your sisters wanted to horn in on our tying the knot?” He slanted her a sideways look that was neither flattering nor reassuring.
“Well, no. N-N-Not what you think. Only that I’m young and—and naïve...and they felt that I—I ought to wait—a little longer...”
“In other words, no marriage. After I came all the way from Kansas, at my own expense, only because you wouldn’t leave this hick town.”
Their surrey was moving slowly along, unheeded by its driver. The slight bump and sway of the iron-rimmed wheels on a soft dirt road was causing her head to ache and her middle to feel like a dish of very undercooked custard. Or was that the result of the champagne she had imbibed at her celebratory dinner?
Was it his own consumption of too many alcoholic beverages that seemed to be changing his attitude for the worse? Had he gone just a step beyond being mildly intoxicated to being a step away from falling-down drunk? From yesterday till today, it was as if Quinn were two different individuals; and this one, a bit coarse, impatient, irritable, was not a pleasant one.
