Old Gatestown Chronicles

by Eva Conrad

Alice Markley’s Suitor

  Alice Markley was a lovely girl.  At fourteen she had long, full, silken hair that, when let down, reached to the backs of her knees, and when coiled and braided and piled atop her head formed a crown of raven-dark hair that was the envy of all of Gatesville’s women.  She was a slight girl, but her womanly curves began to fill in early.  Her skin was creamy with a tendency to blush; her eyes were clear and changeable, being grey or a shade of blue depending upon her clothing and her mood.  Her mind was sharper than her gaze, and she spoke the truth far more often than was acceptable.  In short, Alice was a problem.

  Unbeknownst to Alice, at age fourteen she had already attracted many suitors.  This was not her intention in any sense.  For example, the schoolmaster who had taught her had fallen for her when she was twelve and still seated in the front row in his classroom.  He had lingered with her after school, and he had become sure that her questions about how clouds formed and the poetry she had read indicated not only a sharp mind but an inclination toward him when in fact it indicated her interest in weather and a deep desire to form excellent literary taste.  She had finished the eighth grade at thirteen, and now, he only saw her at church and in passing.  His love for her had only deepened, and a shrill of panic ran through his chest and brutally pained his twenty-seven-year-old heart whenever she was near. 

  The Holbrook brothers both had their eye on her.  “Oh, Ben, you old fool,” Zachary would say, she’s much too fine for either of us,” and Zachary would respond: “I’ll stick a knife in the eye of whatever fool goes lookin’ at her the wrong way, I declare.  Ben, she’d never fall for the likes of us.”  They knew they were too old and too common for her, but they made it their solemn vow that they would watch after her. 

  Some speculated that Captain McIntosh would sometime propose to marry Alice, being of a tendency to marry young women, but, after his seventh wife died while in the family way at age twenty, he decided to live as a widower for a while.  “Alice is far too young, besides.  Folks out to keep in mind the difference between a woman and a child,” he’d say.  And he made sure to say it in the presence of Timothy Crace, the schoolmaster, as frequently as possible.

  And now, Alice was wearing her hair up; she no longer allowed it to fall down her back or to hang in pigtails.  The problem was that she looked like a young woman, and allowing her to go around with her hair down seemed to be an impropriety, so her mother started making her keep it up. Likewise, her skirts now reached the floor and her dresses and bonnets were stylish.  This wasn’t something Alice liked.  But she tolerated it.  She also tolerated not being allowed to go fishing with the boys any more.  She was too young to be in society, but too mature in so many ways, per her mother’s estimation, to act like a child, and the result was that she lived like a doll in a cabinet.  There was cooking and housekeeping and darning of socks; there were piano lessons with clever Mr. Middy, who had a flair for the dramatic and proved to be an excellent friend, but who only had reason to darken the parlor doorway twice or three times a week.  There were books to read.  There was visiting the sick.  Church.  Tending the garden.  She began to feel as though her soul was curling up and withering.

  Her brothers came and went, ignoring her now that she was no longer their companion and resenting her for what seemed like her rejection of them, even though it was their parents who had made these decisions.  She daydreamed about running away and joining the circus so she could become an acrobat or a fire-eater like Lady Persephone.  She thought about teaching school, but no teachers were needed. 

  As she became more and more withdrawn her parents became concerned.  They increased the frequency of her piano lessons, because she liked Mr. Middy so much.  They knew she wanted to continue her studies, and Master Crace knew French.  Why not hire Master Crace to teach her French, they thought, provided they could afford it?  If money had been no object they would have sent her to a seminary for young ladies.

  Master Crace began their studies under the misunderstanding that this arrangement was not only confirmation that Miss Markley had sought him out, but that her parents approved of her supposed affections and supported a courtship.  The Markleys, under the misunderstanding that Master Crace viewed their daughter as a bright and promising pupil and had offered to teach her French at a rate even less than they were willing to pay, thought it well enough to leave the two unsupervised for large stretches of time.  The arrangement began in summertime, when school wasn’t in session and Master Crace had many spare hours.  By the end of the first week of tutoring Alice was quite tired of Master Crace’s company. 

  “What’s wrong, Alice?” asked her mother.

  “I’m not sure that I like French, Mother,” she answered.

  “I think you should give it more time.  And besides, it’s valuable to be an accomplished young lady.  You’ll make a better marriage if you have French.”

  “Yes, mother,” she replied, her eyes cast down, drawing a shawl tightly around herself despite the heat.

  Master Crace was teaching her all sorts of things.  “You must learn the culture as well as the language in order to understand the language,” he said.  “And, of course, French is the language of love, Miss Markley.”

  He would show her prints of French paintings and sculptures, most of which she appreciated to some degree, but some of which scandalized her completely.  At the same time, she did find some of the pieces rather stimulating in a way she did not completely understand, but she associated that feeling with the sensations she’d felt when she sat next to Edward Elisson in church.  Edward was about two years older than her and a smart boy.  His eyes were dark brown with flecks of amber, and he helped run his father’s sawmill.  He had grown strong from lifting logs; his arms were well-muscled.

  Master Crace taught her to say, “How do you do?” and “Pardon me.” After the basics he moved on to “My affections are yours, Master Crace,” and “I am sincere in my affections.”  This became uncomfortable after the second week.

  “Mother, can’t Elizabeth Hale come teach me French?” she pleaded.

  “Not for what Master Crace will accept, “she answered.

  “Yes, Mother,” she replied.

  Into the third week of French, Alice became more withdrawn.  Master Crace took this as shyness due to an increase of affection and thereby became all of the more encouraged.  He was overheard at Yowell’s tavern in his drink speaking of the “beauteous virtues of the fair Miss Markley,” who he planned to wed. 

  “When do you plan to wed her?” asked George Standford.

  “Well, I believe I will pro-pro-prose in about a week,” he replied.

  “Indeed,” said Ben Holbrook “Then I belieeeeeve I will propose tomorrow.”

  The next day Master Crace felt it urgent to broach the subject with Miss Markley.  “I am aware that you have another suitor who will be here later today to ask for your hand in marriage,” he whispered.

  “Master Crace, I have no idea what you mean!” she gasped.

  “Oh, darling!  Let us talk frankly of our affections!” he said smiling.  “Kiss me.”  He kissed the girl as she leaned away from him, then found it difficult to restrain himself and placed his hands where he shouldn’t have, boorishly.

  Miss Markley struggled to remove herself from the situation, crying out.  “Please stop!” she said.

  “I’m so sorry,” he answered, retreating.  “It’s just that my affections are so difficult to manage, knowing that so little stands between us.  I promise to do better in the future.”  And then they returned to French.

  Ben Holbrook did not arrive until late, after supper-time.  He asked to speak to Mr. Markley.

  “Yes, Ben,” said Mr. Markley, offering his hand.

  Mrs. Markley took Ben’s hat.  “Ma’am,” he said, “I thank you, and I hope you don’t mind, but I need to speak to Mr. Markley man to man.”

  Mrs. Markl
ey nodded and left the room.

  “You see, sir, I hear that Miss Alice is ready to marry, and proposals have been made. As far as I know, none have been accepted, but I would like to ask your permission, sir, to propose, though I figure her to be mighty young. But as I hear you are lookin’ to marry her off in a jiffy I just want to throw my hat in the ol’ ring before it’s too late.”

  “Ben, where on earth did you hear of this business of Alice being—of Alice—what are you—she is too young—what on earth are you talking about?”

  “Timothy Crace, sir, down at the tavern he said he is about to propose, and he feels it is already set, that you have matched them as a pair. To speak frankly, if I may, sir, I think it a bad match.”

  “I know nothing of that, Ben. I am certain you are mistaken,” replied Mr. Markley, who then offered Ben a cigar, which was gladly accepted.

  A few days passed, and Timothy Crace came into the tavern again for his supper. “Gentlemen, I am a happy man,” he cried, “for I kissed my darling Alice today!”

  This was most inappropriate. Zachary got up with his fist in a tight ball, ready to deliver a punch to the offending man’s face, but Ben caught Zachary’s arm.

  “Is that so?” asked Arlie.

  “It is so,” insisted Master Crace. “Oh, how she blushed, her fair innocence all the more evident by her reaction.”

  “Her innocence was offended!” said Arlie, pounding the bar so hard with his fist that all of the tumblers leapt.

  Meanwhile, Alice Markley was at home crying in her room. No matter what she had said her parents would not send away Mr. Crace, and if they found out about the kiss he had placed upon her they would almost certainly decide it was her fault. She had no recourse but to confide in Uncle Harvey at the earliest opportunity, which came the next day.

  Harvey wasn’t going to wait around for something else bad to happen, and with near-certainty his sister would be out visiting while the boys ran wild and his brother-in-law was at the office. He sent Alice home and advised her to be patient and that she must quietly let him and whoever came with him into the Markley house through about a half-hour before lessons. He then went to Arlie, who confirmed that he had heard Master Crace bragging at the tavern, and he suggested that they stop by and recruit the Holbrook brothers into the scheme. The four men arrived and Alice let them in; they would hide in various places and respond when they heard Alice’s distress signal, the words “all things sacred.”

  Master Crace arrived, and things proceeded as usual, except that yesterday’s advances had made him all the hungrier to press further today, and as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him, she could not cry out the signal, and, as she attempted to wriggle away from him, he caught her sleeve and it ripped; she had fallen to the floor by the time she could speak the signal phrase, and the four men instantly fell on top of the schoolmaster.

  They beat him senseless. In the process, many of Mrs. Markley’s fine furnishings and items of décor were broken; in fact, some of them were broken over Master Crace’s head.