Hyacinth (Suitors of Seattle)

by Kirsten Osbourne

  "Well, I make my agent do all the legwork for me. I just send him my finished manuscript and he shops it around. At least that's what I did at first. At this point, I'm writing a series of Western novels, and my publisher knows they will purchase the next one each time. Once you've had your first book published, the others do become easier." He stopped the buggy and jumped down, tying off the reins before walking around and helping her down.

  Hyacinth took a step back from him as soon as her feet hit the ground. It felt...strange to be so close to a man when she never had before. He offered his arm to her, and she took it, walking into the restaurant with him. "Mr. Bennett, welcome back! I see you brought a beautiful young lady with you."

  Lawrence smiled at the host. He ate at the restaurant a great deal more often than he ate at home, because he liked to watch people. Every person he met somehow became a character in one of his books. It wasn't deliberate, and he never really copied a person exactly, just a little piece here and another piece there. All the strange little traits he saw added together could make up a very interesting person.

  "Could we sit back in a corner somewhere?" he asked. Usually he preferred to sit off to the side of the main dining room where he could see everything that happened around him. He knew there was a quieter corner off to one side, though, where he would be able to talk to Hyacinth more easily.

  Hyacinth felt funny letting him hold the chair out for her. No one had ever done that for her, except maybe when she was a child. She sat in the chair and did her best to act as if she'd had men perform the service for her all the time. She looked down at the menu on her plate and sighed. This was the nice restaurant in town. The fancy one. She'd been to the diner many times with her sisters, but never to the nice one. There were restaurants associated with the hotels and saloons in town as well, but this one was the one for a romantic evening.

  Waiting until he'd seated himself, she nodded down at the menu. "What's good here?" It was as good of an opening for conversation as she could come up with, having no real idea how to talk to a man. Of course, she could later put her heroine in the same position, so maybe this would help. She could imagine herself in love with Lawrence...yes, that's what she'd do. He wouldn't mind her chatting with him as if she was in love for research would he?

  Lawrence smiled. "I love the pot roast, and the pork chop. I also like the fried chicken."

  Hyacinth smiled at him as sweetly as she could muster, thinking back to the way Rose had always smiled at her beaux when they'd come to court her. She thought she did a pretty good job of imitating her eldest sister. "You just pick for me, please. I'm sure I'll like anything you choose."

  Lawrence grinned at the girl beside him, thrilled she was showing an interest in him. "I'll do that then. Is there anything you don't like?"

  Hyacinth shook her head. She'd always been willing to eat just about anything. "Nothing." She waited as he chose what he wanted, desperately wanting to ask him about his writing. She'd read one of his books back when he'd been courting Amaryllis, although, she wasn't certain she could really call what they'd done courting. Amaryllis had been in love with Alex before, during, and after her short courtship with Lawrence.

  Lawrence closed the menu and reached out to take Hyacinth's hand in his. Her look was one of astonishment for a moment, and then her face settled into its normal passive look. "So tell me about your writing. I know you didn't just decide one day when you finished with school that you were going to start writing every day. When did you start?"

  Hyacinth thought about the question for a moment, contemplating how to answer him. She was startled that he'd asked her the very question she was going to ask him. Maybe it was a normal question for writers to ask one another. "I think since the first day I realized that the letters I'd been practicing writing formed words I knew that someday I wanted to write something people would want to read. I've read so many things because I had to, but I've had very little time to read just because I want to. Now that I'm out of school, I'm trying to change that. I'm writing as much as I can, because I love it so much, but I'm making certain I take time to read as well." She loved losing herself in the world of storybooks. She and her sister Amaryllis had that in common. Some of the others enjoyed reading, but they all preferred people to books, except maybe Hyacinth and Amaryllis.

  Lawrence nodded. "Keep reading. I think of reading as a way to fill the space that's emptied with all the writing I do. That may not make much sense...." He frowned for a moment, trying to think of a better way to describe it.

  "I think I understand. You mean that it's like you have a finite number of words that you have inside you, and once you've written them all, you have to replenish them with more reading?" She'd never thought of reading that way, but it made a lot of sense to her. When she spent a lot of time writing and little time reading, the words were harder to write.

  "Exactly! I'm so glad you understand me even when I'm not being very articulate."

  Hyacinth shook her head. "You're a published writer. Are you admitting you're not always articulate?" Was that even possible? She'd always put writers on such a high pedestal and wanted to emulate them. Could they be just like everyone else?

  He laughed softly. "I don't know why people think that writers are so articulate all the time. I'm not. I work hard at writing which is why I can be articulate there. Talking to someone I don't have as much time to ponder my words." He shook his head for a moment. "Sometimes it really annoys me that people think writing is so easy. Honestly? It's hard work!"

  She nodded. "I'm discovering that. I thought that when I had time to write the words would just flow from my pen, and I'd finish a book in just a few months, and I'd be done forever." The opposite had proven true. The more time she had to write, the less easy it seemed to be for her.

  He nodded. "Do you know I've even had people tell me that I should pay them for their ideas? It's crazy to me. I mean, no matter how good the idea is, I have enough of my own. Ideas are not the hard part of the job. It's the hour after hour of sitting, pen in hand, writing the words that come to mind, and then having to go back and cross off some of the words, because you realize later they made no sense to start with." He sighed. "It's a long hard process, and people think it's easy for me." He shook his head, wishing writing really was as easy as others believed it to be.

  "It's still not? How long ago did you have your first book published?" Hyacinth had believed writing would get easier with time.

  Lawrence smiled. "I was still at school when I wrote my first book. Honestly? I don't know how it ever got published. It was more about my idea of what the West would be like than what it's really like. The publisher should have laughed in my face. Instead, they gently helped me change the parts of my book that made no sense into something that was readable. The book was published when I was just nineteen." He leaned back in his chair. "I've gotten better over time. My style is more polished, and I do a much better job at researching my characters, but the work is still hard work and just as slow."

  Hyacinth did some quick mental math. Eight years ago. He'd been a published writer for eight years. She thought about that while the waiter took their order, setting a glass of water in front of her that she quickly picked up and sipped from. After the waiter left, she asked, "So how long does it generally take you to write a book?"

  He shrugged. "Anywhere from nine months to fifteen months, depending on how much research I have to do. I've found the best way to research something is to go to the source, so I have done extensive traveling throughout the West to talk to different people, look at different Indian tribes, and observe how things are done in various places." He took a drink of his own water, watching her over the top of the glass. "Thank God for trains. Imagine how long it would take me to get from one place to another by covered wagon. Modern transportation has made my job so much easier."

  She laughed. "I know! You know, they say that soon automobiles will be everywhere. I've seen photographs of a few of them, and th
ey don't seem all that safe to me, but I love the idea that they could go anywhere, even without a track!" Her eyes lit up at the idea. Of course, the idea of traveling in an automobile was as much science fiction to her as any Jules Verne novel.

  He nodded. "I was in Germany a few years ago, and I was able to see a couple of the automobiles there. They're just amazing." He shrugged. "They seem like an awful lot of work to use, though. I think we'll be using horses for many more years to come."

  Hyacinth thought about his words for a moment and then shook her head. "I'd bet that by the time either of us has a grandchild, motor cars will be in almost constant use." She shrugged. "Horses will still be used to plow fields, I'm certain, because inventors never seem to think about the work that the common man does."

  "Oh, I don't know about that! You certainly do have an imagination, though. It's a good thing to see in a writer." He beamed at her, as if her imagination was something he'd personally had something to do with developing.

  Hyacinth made a face, feeling like he was patronizing her, and she wasn't about to put up with that. "I do have a brain, you know."

  Lawrence squeezed the hand he still held. "There's no doubt in my mind of that. You seem like a very bright woman. I think you can do just about anything you put your mind to."

  Hyacinth wasn't certain how to respond to that, so she said nothing. Their meals arrived, and she had the pot roast put in front of her. She picked up her fork and slowly started eating, wondering what it would be like to have a man like Lawrence court her. Of course she understood he was just seeing her because of their mutual interest in writing, but he was a fascinating man. For the first time, she was with a man whom she sincerely hoped she would be able to get to know better.

  *****

  After dropping Hyacinth off at her home, Lawrence drove his buggy through Seattle's quiet streets to his own home, just a few streets over. Hyacinth was the woman he was looking for. He knew it.

  He walked into his office after asking the groom to unhitch his horse. His house was much bigger than it needed to be for one man, but he wanted a family. He'd thought once that Amaryllis might be the perfect woman for him, but when he'd kissed her, there had been no special feelings. He didn't know what he'd expected from the kiss, but it certainly hadn't been there whatever it was.

  He picked up his copy of The Seattle Times and quickly flipped through it until he found the column he wanted to read. At the beginning of November, a new column had made its debut in the paper, an advice column for lonely men who were looking to find wives. He read the column carefully, thinking about how it would apply to his new relationship with Hyacinth.

  When he was finished reading, he gave a brief nod. He could make certain he gave her as much attention as possible. Early in the morning he could wait in front of her house and walk with her to the library where he knew she'd spend her day. He would learn her schedule and make his presence known fully. She'd never doubt his love for her again.

  Chapter Two

  Women love flour. If you love a woman, you should shower her with flour. She will then realize how much you truly care for her and will thus be more receptive to your advances. William Livingston, Advice Column to Lonely Men published in The Seattle Times, December eighth, 1896.

  Hyacinth was starting to get nervous. When she left her house in the mornings, Lawrence was there waiting for her. He sat with her at the library all day, making his presence known, and most evenings he invited her out to supper. She had never been pursued by such an attentive man before. The word "stalker" had come to her mind more than once, but he didn't frighten her, really. He just overwhelmed her with his presence at times.

  They had gone to dinner and attended a play in the week since their first outing together. He had been a perfect gentleman the entire time, of course, and she had no complaints there. It was her morning to stay in, and she could see him standing across the street, waiting to accompany her to the library. In the rain. She thought briefly about running out to tell him she'd be staying in, but she hadn't asked him to wait out there for her anyway. Crazed man.

  Hyacinth descended the stairs slowly, thinking about the scene she'd be writing later that day. It was time for her heroine, Ambrosia, to receive her first kiss. Of course, Hyacinth had never been kissed herself, so she couldn't help but worry she couldn't do the scene justice. Perhaps she should kiss Lawrence -- for research purposes, of course. Why else would she ever kiss the man? It wasn't like he had full kissable lips or anything. And his shoulders just looked broad under his jacket. Surely he wasn't as attractive as her mind was making him out to be?

  Hyacinth bumped into the wall leading to the parlor. She sighed. She was always walking into walls. Sometimes she had a hard time focusing on the world around her, because she was so busy living in a world of her own design. Now she wasn't living so much in her literary worlds as she was in a world of fantasy with Lawrence as the star.

  Her mother looked up. "Did you hurt yourself this time, dear?"

  Hyacinth shook her head, mortified anyone had seen her bump into the wall. It was bad enough that she'd done it, but getting caught was something altogether different in her opinion. "No, Mama. I'm fine." Thankfully her mother didn't ask why she walked into the wall. Everyone just expected it of her.

  Mary patted the spot on the small sofa beside her. "Come sit with me for a minute. I want to ask you something."

  Hyacinth had always hated conversations that began that way, but she obediently moved across the room to sit beside her mother. "What's that?" Her voice was full of trepidation as she asked the question, but she wouldn't lie to her mother. Somehow, the woman always knew when one of her daughters was lying to her.

  "I know you've been seeing a lot of Lawrence, and I just wanted to know if it's time for you to talk to your aunt about him?" Mary referred to Uncle Max's wife who had agreed to investigate each of the men her nieces were interested in.

  Hyacinth shook her head. "Aunt Harriett? Well, no, I don't think so. I mean, he does act inordinately interested in me, but I think we've just started to realize we have a lot in common."

  Mary raised an eyebrow. "You do? He's a famous writer, and you're a young lady who just finished school in Seattle. What on earth could the two of you possibly have in common?"

  Hyacinth shrugged, realizing she'd almost given herself away. She didn't know why she wanted to keep her writing a secret from her family, but she did. The mere thought of her sisters finding out about it, made her want to run to her bedroom and throw the covers over her head, never to be heard from again. "Just opinions and things. Nothing important." She couldn't let herself be teased over her writing, and even with Jasmine gone, there was a great deal of teasing that took place in the Sullivan household.

  Mary shrugged. "If you're certain." She sighed. "He sent you a rather odd gift today. Well, several rather odd gifts actually." She was obviously perplexed about the gifts, whatever they were.

  Hyacinth frowned. Lawrence had never before sent her a gift. What could he possibly have sent her? "What did he send me?" She knew it couldn't be a ring, because they just had a friendship. Maybe flowers?

  "Fifty pounds of flour in five ten-pound bags."

  Hyacinth blinked a few times. "Why would he give me flour?" She'd never heard of such a thing. Did he think she liked to bake? And even if he did, that was an incredibly odd gift.

  "I was wondering the same thing, but I thought maybe you two had discussed something about baking? I don't know." Mary looked bewildered by the odd behavior of the young man courting her daughter. "At least Sean, Daniel, and Alex did things that made sense to me. I don't understand your Lawrence at all!"

  "He's not 'my Lawrence', Mama. We're just friends." How many times did she have to say it for her family to begin to believe her?

  "Then why is the man standing in the rain in front of the house again?"

  Hyacinth sighed. "I have no idea. I think I need to run out there and see, though." She stood and went to th
e coat closet in the entryway, pulling out her coat and an umbrella. She put the umbrella over her head as she moved through the chilly morning air to where Lawrence stood across the street watching her house.

  When she approached, he held up a hand in greeting. "Did you get my gift?" He watched her face eagerly, obviously proud of what he'd sent.

  Hyacinth nodded, a bit nervous. "Why did you send me flour?" She knew it wasn't polite to question a gift, but she needed to be able to understand him if they were to remain friends.

  He shrugged. "I received some very good advice from a man more knowledgeable than I that women enjoy receiving flour as a gift." He'd thought it was odd advice, but he was going to listen to everything the man had to say. He needed a wife, and more importantly, he needed Hyacinth to be that wife.

  Hyacinth made a face. "Are you certain he didn't mean flowers? I can't think of a single woman I know who would want flour as a gift, but everyone enjoys flowers." She thought of the many bouquets of roses her eldest sister Rose had received over the years, and thought it would be nice to receive a bouquet of hyacinths just once.

  Lawrence frowned, wondering if somehow The Seattle Times had published the article with a typographical error. He'd thought it seemed strange that a woman would want flour as a gift, but that's exactly what the article had said. "I suppose it's possible I misunderstood. Would you prefer to receive flowers?"

  She blinked at him a few times. "Well, of course, I'd prefer to receive flowers. My name is Hyacinth. I was named after a flower, as were all seven of my sisters. We love flowers. We've never really had a choice in the matter." The man must be even more unaware of his surroundings than she was to not know she liked flowers. She wondered absently how many walls he walked into every day.

  Lawrence sighed. "I'll do the trite thing and bring you some flowers then. What's your favorite flower?" He had thought the flour was at least an original gift. Who really wanted flowers?