“Mm. Yes, you are a talker, aren’t you? You’re not staying for dinner, are you?”
“No ma’am!” Polly squeaked quickly, a little bit too quickly to be able to pretend that she wasn’t counting down the seconds until she could get out of Meg’s room. “No, I’m not staying. My mum’s making something special, although I’ve no idea what that might be. If I may be so bold, she’s never been the most amazing cook. She does try though, I must say that. She puts her whole heart into it.”
“Right. Well good, it’s best that you go then. Supper’s almost ready to be put on the table and we don’t have enough food for you. Not tonight. We’ve already got a guest tonight.”
“We do?”
Now her mother’s cold eyes turned on her and Meg felt her heart sink. Some people loved having guests over to dinner, but that wouldn’t be true if they lived in a house like hers. A guest in the Whitley household almost always meant bad news.
“Yes, little miss, we do. Now run along home, Polly. Meg needs to get herself cleaned up. Her uncle has come to call.”
Chapter 2
Desperate. That was what Polly’s departure and her mother’s news had left Meg feeling. Utterly desperate and in need of divine intervention. The absolute last thing she wanted to do was sit down and have a meal with her uncle. She was sure that there were many people who had uncles who were completely loving, who made their lives better and not worse, but that just wasn’t the case for Meg. If her mother was formidable (and, if Meg was being completely honest with herself, entirely selfish), her uncle was downright cruel. He was a hard, angry man, one whose reputation preceded him wherever he went. She had heard whispers in the town from various servant girls who had been bestowed with the great misfortune of working in her uncle’s large estate. From what she had gathered, being employed in that particular residence as a young, attractive female made life very difficult. Her uncle, a man called Jack Whitley (a name that was more often than not whispered in hushed and slightly disturbed tones) placed a high premium on being surrounded by beautiful women. He seemed to believe that it was their greatest asset, the most significant thing they had to offer. If you asked Meg, it was the only thing he thought they had to offer. He did not pay attention to a woman’s other, less obvious merits and was not interested in getting to know them in any way. If a woman was sent to work for him by the agency (an agency Meg knew must dread the sight of him coming in to request new help) whose appearance was not up to his exacting standards, well then Jack Whitley just sent them packing, sent them right back out the front door, provided that he even let them step foot inside, which was highly unlikely.
This wasn’t the only trait responsible for Meg’s strong dislike of her uncle. There were other things, things that were at least as unsavory as his treatment of the help that worked inside of his massive home. There was the way he and her mother behaved when they got together, especially if the get together involved any amount of drink. It seemed that their cruel qualities were magnified when the brother and sister were together. Her mother became even colder and more self-involved than she was without her brother there, something Meg wouldn’t have thought possible if she hadn’t seen it with her own unfortunate eyes. And the worst part of it, the part that made it completely awful, was that she and her mother were both at uncle Jack’s mercy.
His financial situation was the complete opposite of the destitute condition the Whitley women found themselves in. He was obscenely wealthy and not at all inclined to be charitable. It was something he wielded like a weapon and his own family was not exempt from the brutal use of his iron fist. She knew why he was coming for supper, and it could only mean disaster for her. If only she could keep herself locked away in the small, stuffy attic that acted as her room, steal herself away from what felt like impending doom. She would be like one of the poor unfortunate girls from the fairy tales, the ones stuck in towers and guarded by imposing beasts so that only the most valiant prince or knight would be able to free her. What sort of a predicament must a girl be in to wish to be locked away in a tower? The sort of predicament that made her feel unsafe. The sort of predicament that made her want only to be left alone.
The problem that Meg Whitley was facing, the reason she was so unhappy to hear of her uncle’s impending visit, was that she herself was, objectively speaking, a very beautiful girl. One might have supposed that because she was Jack Whitley’s niece instead of another poor serving girl she would have been spared from his ghastly attention, but that was not the case. It seemed to be quite the opposite, actually. Although he was almost three times her age (he was considerably older than her mother), he was infatuated with her, completely obsessed. He had been after her since she was the appallingly young age of sixteen, and he had not let up as she had grown. He had only become increasingly insistent until it got to the point where she couldn’t stand the thought of being in the same building as him, let alone the same room. Things would have been different if she had been free to tell him off, to inform him in no uncertain terms that she would never become his bride, but she was not afforded that freedom. Her mother must have known what a terrible husband he would have made, but it didn’t matter to her one bit. What mattered to them was that they were poor and she didn’t want to be. What mattered was that the decrepit little house they called home and the small amount of money they lived on from month to month were all due to Jack Whitley. Without him, they would have no income at all. Without him, they would be homeless, out on the streets and forced to scrounge up a living by whatever means necessary. Meg liked to think that her mother loved her enough for that not to matter, but that was not the case. Her mother craved money and comfort and seemed willing to do almost anything to get them both. It didn’t matter to her that the thing her brother wanted was her daughter. She wasn’t concerned with her daughter’s happiness, only her own. She was selfish and with a woman like her there was no amount of pleading or argument that would make a difference. Even now, Meg could hear her mother bustling around downstairs, pots and pans clanging while she prepared for her brother’s arrival. She would put out the good china, break out the only good alcohol she had in the house (kept under lock and key unless Jack Whitley had come to visit). She would treat him like he was royalty because, to her, he might as well be. That was the kind of power he held over her. Any hope Meg might have had of appealing to her mother’s (sorely lacking) maternal leanings would be lost in the promise of the finer things in life. In all matters of preserving her own happiness, Meg was utterly on her own.
“Meg! What do you think you’re doing up here? What is this? You’re just lying around like a lazy old cow ready to be put down! Did you not hear me? Your uncle is coming! You need to get yourself ready. There is absolutely no way you are coming to the supper table looking like you do right now.”
“Well then perhaps I could stay up here in my room? I’m not feeling particularly well. I don’t believe I have much of an appetite.”
Her mother walked across the creaky bedroom floor (not like there was very far to walk) and slapped her right across her alabaster cheek. It made a dull, sick sound and her head rocked back with both the force of the contact and surprise. Not that she should have been surprised. She should have been used to this kind of thing by now. Meg’s mother hadn’t actually hit her when she was younger, especially not when she was a child, but as she had grown older her stance on discipline seemed to have changed, and now she had no problem punishing with her open palm. That was as much of an answer as Meg needed. She would be joining her mother and uncle at the supper table, end of discussion.
“You look lovely, Meg. Did you wear that dress just for me? You know how much I like the color pink on you. Makes you look just like a juicy piece of fruit. I’ve got half a mind to just take a big ol’ bite.”
“Thank you, uncle,” she said in a thin voice that earned her a sharp look from her mother. “That’s kind of you to say.”
She had in fact not worn the dress for Jack-- no
surprise there. She was forever trying to find something to put on that would not attract the man’s unwanted attention, but it seemed that he could find something lecherous to say about every article of clothing she owned. There was nothing she could do but accept the loathsome compliments and wait for this interminable supper to conclude so that she could go back up to her room, the only place that was even marginally safe. But when her uncle opened his mouth again to speak, what he said made her stomach sink.
“Now, it should come as no surprise, but this is not a purely social call. I’ve come on business.”
“And what business is that, brother?” her mother cooed, fawning over him in a way that made Meg angry and sad at the same time.
“The business of Meg. I’ve made no secret of my thoughts about the girl. At this point it’s high time she settled down, marry a man and be done with it. I intend to be that man. If she marries me, Eleanor, you can be sure that your financial worries will be a thing of the past. I could even see you moving into a house much finer than this heap.”
“Of course! She’s yours!”
“I’m sorry, but never. I can’t. I won’t.”
Meg and her mother spoke at the same time, yet expressing very different sentiments. The room went dead silent, not a single noise aside from the mindless tick, tock, tick, tock of the beat up old grandfather clock shoved haphazardly into the corner of the fading room. Both her mother and her uncle turned to look at her, but, despite the feeling of her cheeks burning and her eyes prickling with hot tears, Meg would not look away. She was not a piece of furniture to be bought and sold. She was not a commodity. She was a person, and her wants and desires mattered. They mattered to her, anyway, even if they didn’t seem to matter to anyone else. Her uncle’s face had turned so red it was almost purple now and he was spluttering indignations as he stood from the table. Her mother was wringing her hands and begging, pleading with him not to leave. She would take care of it, she would fix everything. It was done.
Neither of the wretched siblings was paying her a bit of attention at this point and so Meg rose quietly from the table, backed out of the room, and fled up the stairs. Once in her room she flung herself across the bed, her heart beating furiously in her chest and her mind spinning with all that had just happened. It was done. Those were the words her mother had spoken. Her time was up. She would be handed off to her uncle to be his pet or his slave or whatever it was he was looking for. If she was going to act, she would have to do it now. She sat up, trying very hard to keep her breathing steady in the hopes that she might be able to calm herself and pulled a stack of envelopes from beneath her mattress. This was Meg’s great secret. This was the ace up her sleeve, the reason that she still had some say in her own fate. Her mother didn’t know it, her uncle certainly didn’t know it, not even Polly knew about the man Meg had been corresponding with for these past few months. They couldn’t know that her last letter had contained only one sentence: “Please come. Love, Charles,” and a train ticket that would take her into uncharted territory. When Meg had received that last letter, she hadn’t been sure of what she would do. She hadn’t been sure whether or not she was brave enough to make such a drastic move. But now? Now the matter had been decided for her. She would go west, into the great unknown. It would be an adventure, she told herself, and at any rate, it had to have better things in store for her than the life she would have if she decided to stay put.
Chapter 3
Everything that had taken place after Meg’s retreat from the supper table up to this point had been completely exhausting. It had been exhilarating as well, and so her body was caught in a strange kind of limbo where half of her wanted nothing more than to sleep while the other half was determined to stay awake. Her body was bone tired, both from lack of sleep and from the waves of adrenaline that had propelled her forward with lightning speed only to leave her when the job was done. Her mind, however, though calling out for sleep in its own way, wanted so badly to stay awake, to keep a lookout, to make sure that her uncle and mother hadn’t somehow discovered her plan and sent someone after her. She also wanted to see. She wanted to see everything. She had never been allowed to go anywhere, not even in her own city, let alone outright travelling. The world was such a very big place, with such extraordinary things, and she knew nothing of it. She had hardly seen anything, and for a girl with a quick wit and a curious mind that was a very bothersome thing. Once she had made her decision, however, things begun to move very quickly. She had thrown the few things she believed she could carry, including her bundle of letters from Charles (easily one of her most prized possessions), into a bag and waited.
She knew that thanks to the amount her mother and uncle had imbibed that her mother would sleep like the dead. That was when Meg opened her door, crept down the stairs, and walked straight out of her front door. She sorely wished that she could speak to Polly before she left, to tell her goodbye, but it wasn’t possible, and she knew that her sweet friend would be happy for her for finally getting out. After all, it had been her suggestion in the first place to look at the ads in the paper, to look for a man who was looking for a bride and lived nowhere near her mother. They had started doing it as a lark, never thinking that it would turn into anything substantial, but then Meg had seen a notice left by a man named Charles and everything had changed. Charles, who lived in what she thought of as the wilderness of the south, the frontier, where adventure and discovery were still distinct possibilities. Polly had seen the notice he had left and had pointed it out to Meg, daring her to send a response. Meg had done it, but not only because of the dare. She had done it because the voice that came through in his notice was kind, and because he sounded like he needed a friend just as much as she did. And so they had begun their correspondence and the longer it went on, the more sure she became that there was something there with this man. She liked him. She had never considered that she might actually like a man and have the chance to marry him, but that was what Charles represented for her. He exposed her to a world that she had never believed possible for her, Charles and his wild west. When he had sent that train ticket she had known that she was at a crossroads, that she had a decision coming that she could not avoid forever. But she had never had to make a decision of such magnitude in her life; she hadn’t even been given the chance to do so, even if she’d wanted to. She wasn’t even sure that she would have been able to do so had she not felt that her hand was being forced, but it had been and so here she was, on a train for the first time in her life and pulling into a station in a part of the country she knew nothing about. It was a jarring experience, to say the least.
Because she was so very tired, having not slept a wink in almost twenty-four hours by the time everyone was loaded onto the train, she only managed to stay awake for so long before passing out. From that point on she was in a constant state of half-sleep, gasping and shooting bolt upright from time to time, looking out of the windows at the scenery rapidly flying past their train. Everything looked so strange to her! Perhaps it was because of their speed, or maybe it was the pitch black night with only the light of the moon to see by. Maybe it was the fact that she could never quite tell if she was asleep or awake but everything around her seemed to be from some place other than earth. She wasn’t even sure how long she had been on the train. She had forgotten to ask for the length of the trip before her journey began. Her entire life felt like it had been put on hold, like it was one big transition up until the moment when the train came to a stop. Her eyes snapped open and she looked around her in astonishment. She knew without having to be told that this was it. This was the place that was to be her new home and all at once she was completely terrified. Nothing about the small amount of this new town she could see out of her window looked like anything she could recognize or understand. What was she doing here? What was she thinking? True, the life that she had at her mother’s home with her horrid uncle Jack tirelessly nipping at her heels had felt unbearable, but how was she to know that s
he wouldn’t be walking into something equally unbearable here? Here, out in the middle of the western part of the country, she didn’t know anybody. And now she was supposed to take the only things that still belonged to her in the world, step off of this train, and walk into the arms of a man she had never met before. And if she had felt like she didn’t have a chance before, now she had even less of one. There was no way she would be able to return to her less than ideal home unless somebody decided to give her a ticket. She did not have a penny to her name. If this was not the place her journey was meant to lead her to, she had no idea what she would do next. It was frightening and also humbling. She supposed that it was always humbling to realize how little control one had over her own life, to be reminded that one could not do everything on her own. With that thought rooted deeply in her mind, Meg closed her eyes briefly, knowing that soon the conductor would be moving down the aisles of the train to speed up the passengers’ departure. She closed her eyes and called out to god, asking him to stay with her on this new road that she was taking. She called out and when she opened her eyes she fancied that perhaps she wasn’t quite as afraid as she had been only moments before. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Feeling more resilient than she had in quite some time, she stood, her depressingly small bag clutched in her little hands, and deboarded the train.
For a moment, she was completely blinded by the vibrant sunlight beating down upon her. She couldn’t remember ever feeling the sun beating down so entirely and insistently. She looked around her, squinting through shell-shocked eyes, and realized that at least part of it was how few buildings were around her. Unlike the crowded, dirty city she had just come from, the place where she found herself now was nothing but wide open space. There was nothing to keep the sun and the sky from swallowing her up, nothing to beat the nature back with a big, ugly stick. She closed her eyes, turned her face up to the sun, and took in a deep breath. Her lungs, her heart, every physical thing about her felt free here, regardless of the fear she still felt beating against her temples. How wonderful would she feel then if she could unburden herself of her worries? She wasn’t absolutely sure, but she thought that might be what it was to feel genuinely free, to be happy, to be at peace.
Romance: Western Mail Order Bride Bethany's Love -Clean Christian Historical Romance (Western Mail Order Bride Short Shorties Series) Page 163
