Rachel picked up the cat and took Neil’s chair beside her father.
“Something must be wrong if you’ve made cookies a second time in twenty-four hours.”
She gave her father an obligatory grin. “I suppose it’s silly of me to wish to be a plain ol’ housewife when I’m averse to cooking.”
Papa leaned over the arm of his chair and twisted up the wick of the lamp glowing dull beside him. “Now hold on a minute. You’ve got too good a head on your shoulders to be a regular housewife.”
“But what if that’s all I want to do?”
The strain of Mozart abruptly stopped. “What did you say, honey?”
Rachel took in a deep breath. Momma wouldn’t want to hear this, but since Papa would inform her later, she might as well air every doubt now. “I’m not certain I want to go to school. If I want to marry, then—”
“That’s ridiculous. You’ve been studying languages, mathematics, and literature since you could read and write, and Elmira accepted you two years ago. We could have used the money we set aside for your tuition to buy a bigger printing press and probably earned enough by now to cover your expenses twice over.”
“Now, Ava. Don’t blame her. I could have bought some more property or expanded my inventories as well, but we decided together to save it for Rachel. We didn’t know how well my paper would grow then.”
Momma slid to the end of the piano bench, her ramrod spine held up by a corset cinched as tightly as Patricia could ratchet. “I haven’t insisted before, but it’s time for you to go. You can find someone to marry when you finish.”
“I’ll be an old maid in four years.”
“Do you have a beau, love?” Papa asked whisper-soft.
Rachel sniffed. “No, Papa.”
Momma crossed her arms. “You can find a beau in New York, a better man than any around here.”
“At a woman’s boarding school?” Rachel couldn’t look at Momma. “Just because a man lives in New York, it doesn’t mean he’s better than . . . anyone around here. Papa never lived in New York, and you married him before he had money.”
“Papa’s an exception. He’s a hard worker with a good head on his shoulders.”
“Exactly.” Rachel smirked, just a little. She wouldn’t point out the flaw in Momma’s argument. “But if I do go, I want to attend Mary Sharp’s in Tennessee.”
Momma’s mouth closed and opened. Then she shrugged. “We’ll think about it.”
“But I’m not sure I should go at all.” She turned to Papa. “You should buy your printing press.”
“I want what’s best for you, love. But what do you want? You’ve only ever talked about school.”
“Of course school would be stimulating, but I didn’t realize how many men would dislike me for going. I’m too smart for some of them already. If I add a degree declared to be equivalent to any male’s . . .”
“Degree or not, love, you’ll have to find a man who recognizes your intelligence and believes it’s an asset. Like that Dex Stanton fellow, he’s—”
“I’m sorry, Papa, but I haven’t found a man who thinks my mind’s an asset.” Especially not Dex, who’d rather marry a stranger over her. But she couldn’t think about that without tearing up. She could cry later, after Patricia fell asleep. “And if you had that press, you could put out more weeklies—”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t use the press but that I love you more than a brand-spanking new typeset.”
“You must go, Rachel.” Momma strode over and sat on the arm of her chair. “When I was your age, I would have given my left foot to go to college instead of a finishing school. Then maybe I could have been your literature professor. But the only true foundation for the social elevation of women is honorable employment and an independent livelihood. If no women earn degrees, they’ll stop offering them. If you don’t attend school for yourself, then do it for the women who wished they could.”
Momma smiled over at Papa. “Most fathers would be pushing you to marry, obliging someone else to support you, but we want you to find pure affection, not a marriage of pity or necessity.”
Momma pushed away the cat that insisted on a petting from the one person in the house who didn’t like her. She pierced Papa with a glare. “Right, Marion?”
Her father, who’d taken a cookie to nibble during the lecture, quickly brushed crumbs off his chest. He’d clearly not anticipated the sermon running short. “There are pros and cons to both choices, my dear. If Rachel wants to hide her intelligence from potential suitors, a college degree will not help.”
“No, Papa. I don’t want to do that.” She took her mother’s hand and gazed up into her glinting eyes. “I won’t play dumb to catch a beau. If I wanted to do that, I could have married Jedidiah Langston. He said he’d marry me if I stopped reading books that crowded my brain, blathering on about how a wife couldn’t properly take care of a house and children if she read too much.”
Rachel couldn’t help but snort. Jedidiah hadn’t ever realized he’d insulted her mother. Besides the library, mother’s literature collection was the best in town. “But just because I don’t attend school doesn’t mean my intellect will disappear. I can still study whatever I get my hands on.”
“It’s not the same, Rachel.” Momma extracted her hands and placed them on her hips. “But I don’t understand why we’re arguing this. Are you seeing someone in secret?”
“No.”
“Has a man of good breeding and wealth caught your fancy?”
Rachel swallowed and tried not to envision Dex’s rakish smile and thick ash-brown hair. He wouldn’t pass any of Momma’s criteria. “No.”
“Then what will attending school hurt?”
“But what will it help? I’d be taking money from father’s dream to pay for your dream.” Rachel scooted against the opposite edge of the chair, putting space between them. “It’s been your dream, Momma, not mine.”
Momma’s eyebrows descended as she glared. “Of course it’s your dream. What have you been studying for?”
Rachel shrugged. “I like studying.”
“Who likes studying and doesn’t want to go to school?” Her mother scratched her head, messing up her coiffure, though she didn’t seem to notice. “Help me, Marion.”
“Well, we’re letting Neil and Patsy go off to the wilderness though I have my doubts it’s the best thing for them. Why can’t we accommodate Rachel even if it’s not our preference? She’s old enough to make her own decisions.”
Momma angled her chin at Papa. “You’re not helping.”
Rachel smiled. “Thank you, Papa.”
“But love,” Papa grabbed her hand between both of his. “A man who won’t offer his hand because you have a degree isn’t worth remaining degree-less for.”
“Absolutely.” Momma slapped the back of the chair with her open palm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, but you’ve got me so flustered.” She re-situated the doily neatly across the headrest. “You could accomplish so much more for yourself and women everywhere if you embrace the intellect, finances, and college acceptance God’s given you. How can you ignore the doors He’s opened?”
Rachel sighed. She had no marriage prospects, and she would enjoy school. This whole business with Dex was wreaking havoc with her decision-making. “You’re right, Momma. If God has a man out there for me, it doesn’t matter where I am or what I do. I’ll pray about it some more.”
With a paper bag in one hand and a book in the other, Dex stood in front of the Olivers’ front door. He closed his eyes and took in a few cleansing breaths. But the longer he stood there, the more his insides quaked.
He quit trying to gather the nerve to knock and turned to pace. If his plan failed, he’d only have to suffer one day in the same town with a woman who’d rejected his court.
But if he went through with this, he had to do it well. Not slapdash or tripping-over-himself nervous.
The creak of the front door spun him around.
Neil eyed him from head to toe. “You going in?”
He tried to make his voice work, but nothing came out, so he blinked his acknowledgment.
“Good luck.” And then Neil tromped down the stairs and walked toward town.
Dex swallowed, his necktie suddenly tight about his neck. He needed more than luck. Looking at his hands full of stuff, he could hide the items under the bench and endure his fifth lesson—trying hard to read, trying hard not to stare at his teacher like a lovesick schoolboy—or he could storm the castle with his weapons of choice. The damsel may not be in distress, but it’d sure feel nice to carry her away in his arms.
He rubbed the cover of Lily’s book. His sister-in-law had helped him riffle through her shelves yesterday looking for just the right one. She’d thought his plan would work. Now all he needed was courage on the eve of battle. He’d been brave enough to write a mail-order bride company in anticipation of pledging himself to a stranger, so showing Rachel a little of what he felt shouldn’t be making him sweat.
He dragged a sleeve across his perspiring forehead. How could he not try? Did Jesus not say one should seek in order to find, knock so the door would be opened? He’d pined after Rachel from afar, as if she were a palace door unworthy of being knocked upon by a lowly beggar. But isn’t that what God asked everyone to do? Knock, and knock constantly on the Creator and Ruler of the World’s door, though man was sinful and unworthy to touch it?
And those who delighted themselves in the Lord got the desire of their heart.
He would be happy with however God blessed him, and he had been content in the past, but he shouldn’t just wait for things to fall in his lap, right? Not if being ashamed of how God made him caused his hesitation.
God, I’ve never asked, because I’ve been afraid You’d give me that snake instead of a fish when the Bible clearly states You’re a Good Father and would never do that. But even if You don’t help me win Rachel, I know it’s not that You’re giving me a snake, You’re just . . . Well, I don’t know what, but You obviously can’t give me anything if I don’t hold out my hand.
All right then. He cleared his throat and strode toward the door Neil hadn’t quite shut. He wasn’t doing anything drastic, not really, only letting Rachel know he cared and asking if she’d write to him from school. He wouldn’t even demand she think of him as often as he would her—since that would be thirty times an hour. Or more.
Without knocking, Dex let himself in. He took a look around the foyer and glanced into the sitting room. No one. He let out his breath, shuffled to the parlor, leaned against the door jamb, and took his fill of her. The weight of those dark brown curls piled upon her head didn’t bend her creamy, long neck a fraction. Her tongue moved about her lips as they formed half-spoken words as she read, the pages turning faster than should be humanly possible.
At the turn of her sixth page, she stretched and startled. “Dex!” She folded the book in her lap. “How long have you been there?”
“A bit.”
“Spying’s not very gentlemanlike.”
“No, but I’m all right with that.”
Her forehead scrunched, and she glanced at the things in his hands. “What do you have?” Her eyes roamed, taking in the length of him. “And what are you wearing?”
“I’m dressed for the Founder’s Day activities this evening. And I’ve got candy and a book.” He took a glass bowl with a bit of ribbon candy left in the bottom off the shelf and dumped his assortment on top, then shrugged. “I didn’t know what kind you liked though.”
“So you bought several pieces of everything?” She pulled the bowl toward her and sifted through the candy with her fingers.
“Yep.” He twirled a chair across the floor and parked next to her. Sitting astride, he set down the book, crossed his arms atop the chair’s back, and gave her the smile that’d made her blush yesterday.
She dropped her eyes from his and flipped the book to look at the spine. “Sonnets from the Portuguese?”
“I like number six. Let’s read that one.”
“If you thought Robinson Crusoe was difficult, why would you attempt poetry?”
“Well, Lily said they’d be good.” And she’d read countless poems to him until number six caught his attention. But he wasn’t going to admit his sister-in-law read to him like a boy unless he had to.
“Good for what?”
“You’ll have to teach me to read number six and see for yourself.”
She took her hand off the book and backed away from the table. “But these are love sonnets.”
“Yep.”
She swallowed hard and took a butterscotch from his bowl.
“So butterscotches are your favorite?”
She pointed at her mouth as if the obstruction of one bright yellow disk was reason enough not to attempt speaking. “Read,” she slurred around her candy.
He pulled the slim volume closer and flattened the page he’d bookmarked. The familiar mind blurriness came over him, and he rubbed his eyes. Now was not the time to panic. He’d read the sonnet thirty times this morning, so he’d need to trust the words to work even if he messed up the cadence and rhythm.
“Go on.” Rachel laid a hand on his tense arm, but he couldn’t make head or tail of the first word.
She chomped on her butterscotch and swallowed, her lips slightly shinier than normal with a sweet candy glaze—
“Dex?”
His eyes jolted up to hers. Her cheeks were pink again.
“You need to relax. I’m not going to make fun of you. Tell me if you want me to help while you’re reading or after you’ve finished.”
“Definitely after.” That is, if he could start. He pulled the volume closer and forced his lips to move.
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore—
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
He blew out a breath, fairly certain the afternoon he’d spent memorizing had made his reading fairly decent. “So what do you think?”
She looked at the words on the page, but not at him. “Excellent job. Maybe these lessons have helped.”
“Not that you aren’t helpful, but I think the hours of memorizing had a lot to do with it.”
“Yes, you read so smoothly, it sounded as if you were reciting by heart.”
“I was.” His mouth dried before she looked up at him. “You know, I’d thought you’d think terribly of me a few days back after you heard me read.”
She shook her head slowly. “If people can look down on someone for being smart, I suppose people could look down on others for anything. But no, I don’t.”
“And do you think a smart woman could endure reading letter upon letter of my terrible spelling if she felt something for me?”
“I, uh . . . I’m sure she could.” Her eyes darted everywhere but at him.
“When are you leaving for college?”
She frowned. “I’m not sure I am anymore.”
Wait. That poem couldn’t have changed her plans, even if she’d guessed he meant those words specifically for her.
He scooted closer. “Why wouldn’t you?”
She sighed and ran a leather bookmark through her hand. “I’d be wasting my time. No man seems to want a woman smarter than him. I mean, not that college would turn me into a genius, but the degree—well, what good is it if I don’t intend to f
ight a man for his job or . . .”
So she did want to get married. He relaxed in his chair. But the twaddle about a man thinking college would ruin her needed to stop. “Don’t give up your dream, Rachel, no matter who tries to change your mind.” Though he wanted to give her every reason to stay like the poet had, she needed to take advantage of the opportunity.
“If I go to school, I’m essentially making myself a spinster.”
“You’re only nineteen.”
“And the earliest I’d get out would be twenty-three.”
Dex winced. That would be bordering on old maid, but if he was waiting for her, she wasn’t doomed. “But you have to go now. When you get married, it’d be too late.”
“Or it’ll keep me from getting married. Jedidiah asked me to marry him only if I’d forget about school.”
“Well, that means he’s a fool. And you wouldn’t marry a fool.” But with that reasoning, she shouldn’t consider him either.
He’d never stepped out to court her, giving other men time to win her affections. If she’d said yes to Jedidiah . . . what a fool he’d been. And he’d thought candy and a poem could win her last minute. But even now she’d be gone for four years with hardly a notion of how he felt.
Dex shook his head.
He had to do something, but what could he do now? More sophisticated, intelligent men lived in the big city and were bound to notice the jewel she was. And they’d not shy away from selling everything to gain a treasure like her.
Her frown pulled at his heart—stupid men shouldn’t make her second guess her dreams though. She encouraged every man, woman, and child in town to succeed; he could do no less for her.
He dared to put his hand on top of hers. “Whether you want to be a fancy professor or a mother, don’t let anybody discourage you from school. Being smart and having a diploma won’t make any difference to a man who loves you.”
She blinked those big golden-hazel eyes at him, and with each downward flutter, he took in her pert nose, her warmed cheeks, her slightly parted lips.
“He would wait years for you.” The whisper of his words seemed to make her hold her breath.
He’d never kissed a woman, not even the ones he’d walked home more than once. But the exposed flesh between her neck and shoulder called to his hand, and he leaned a fraction closer.
Love by the Letter (An Unexpected Brides Novella) Page 5
