Hopefully Matched
Ginny Sterling
Contents
Foreword
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Afterword
Lawfully Admired
Spying on the Billionaire
Lawfully Gifted
Also by Ginny Sterling
About the Author
Foreword
Author’s Note
I truly enjoyed writing Melissa’s story in Lawfully Admired, but in writing it – another story kept beating at my mind. Ava and Jeremiah’s love story simply had to be told!
I actually wrote this book simultaneously with Lawfully Admired- but published it first. Hopefully Matched is written during the same time period- if not a bit earlier in the year.
Both books can be read independently of each other and I hope you enjoy them as much as I did in writing them. I’d love to know your thoughts on perhaps another character in Maypearl possibly getting a story of their own… hmm…?
Introduction
Married at the brink of the Civil War, young Ava Buchannan dutifully bids farewell to her new husband as any proper southern woman would. The problem is she never dreamed that it would be the last time she ever saw him. In her heart, she knew she should wait for his return, yet her mind told her differently. In the seven years that have passed since her marriage, she’s seen other women move forward with their lives. Yet she is trapped maintaining the family business of undertaker for the town of Maypearl, Texas. Seeing so much death, having no prospects of happiness, and a squeamish constitution were all taking their toll on her… until hope arrived in the form of a letter.
Desperate for a fresh start after the war, Jeremiah Ellington responded to an ad in the paper for a job. His home had been razed, his family gone, and he had only the items on his back to begin his life again. When he received a response to the ad for an assistant to the town’s undertaker, it seemed to be a perfect solution for a former surgeon in the army. One look at the lovely undertaker and his dead heart came alive. Jeremiah would do anything to have Ava in his life, including making her forget her long lost husband.
Can Ava let down her guard enough to begin to enjoy the life around her? Can Jeremiah find a way to break through the shell that is protecting her heart?
1
February 1868
Maypearl, Texas
“Lordy have mercy poo,” Ava Buchannan silently muttered under her breath as the rancid stench wafted up from the body that was delivered to her. If someone had told her that accepting Peter Buchannan’s proposal before the war would have left her as the town’s undertaker, she might have put off the idea of their wedding. It had been no surprise that Peter had proposed. The fact that the handsome, young, rich man had been courting her was completely flattering. It was more devastating to be married and then suddenly abandoned. Her new husband had left a few weeks later to fight in a war for their independence.
A war they lost.
A war that left her alone for the last seven years.
The Buchannan family owned Buchannan Undertaker and Funeral Home. It was ironic. Buchannan meant death in German. Peter was from a long line of undertakers and was expected to take over the family business just as his father had before him. Unfortunately, there had been many passing in their family due to illness and Peter was the only Buchannan left. Their courtship had been exactly what every southern belle dreamed of. Public displays of affection from deep bows as he kissed her gloved hand in public to trinkets delivered to her home that tickled her father to no end. Her father knew if she married Peter that she would be set financially for life.
Oh yes… this felt like a life sentence all right, Ava thought. She stared calmly at the disheveled body that had been haphazardly placed on a sturdy wooden table in the back of the funeral home. She could hear the sounds of loss and mourning from the other room. There was still so much death from the war. Infections that had slowly sucked at the wounded soldiers’ lives and desperation that caused theft resulting in casualty. But worst of all were the suicides from the devastation and hopelessness that they felt in coming home.
Plastering a calm smile over her nausea, she turned to the two men that had limped into the funeral home’s lavish, but dated, parlor. The velvet settees were starting to get bleached from the sun streaming in the windows. The lace panels over the glass did little to block the hot Texas sun. There was no sense in pouring what little money she had left into the business when she was sustaining herself right now and doing a service for the community.
“Thank you kindly, gentlemen, for carrying him for me. I appreciate it greatly,” she said politely with a warm smile. Crossing her hands over her stomach, she prayed it would settle. Being squeamish did not help her new role thrust upon her one bit. “Shall we?” she said with firmness, guiding the men out. Pulling the doors closed behind her, she turned to address the new widow and his family.
“Mrs. Miller, your husband was a fine gentleman and fought valiantly in the war,” Ava reassured her, pulling the frail, shaking woman into her arms for a sympathetic hug. “Dear, dear! Please, calm yourself. He cannot hear your tears or sense your heartbreak any longer. Be strong and let us discuss his farewell.” Ava handed her a small glass vial and a handkerchief.
The vials were something that struck her as personal and she had incorporated them into the funeral home almost immediately. The ladies could delicately save their tears and mourn as was the fashion. The glass vials made them immediately thankful at the gesture while it helped support others. A mere penny spent was well worth it, if they could get down to business. This would enable her to get to the gruesome task ahead of her.
Mr. Miller had left for the war and returned with a massive limp. She was guessing from the smell that emitted from his corpse, that infection or gangrene had set in and eventually taken over. It would be a long night between bouts of nausea and fatigue that preparing him would involve.
Ava carefully went over details with the distraught widow. She hated the preparations almost as much as discussing the money. However, it was a necessary evil. When Peter had left, there had only been two levels of burial: rich and poor.
The rich ones had a flamboyant burial with a glass cart that would parade them down North Main as they circled the city in an effort to allow the townsfolk to say goodbye. The first time she had tried to maintain this style of funeral, the horse bit her as she tethered it. It had been most brutal trying to find someone to help her load the glass cart with the casket because she simply wasn’t strong enough, nor was she surrounded by men in town. Most men were gone off to the war. It had taken eight women to lift the frail man’s body into the glass cart. Ava had felt horribly mortified to ask for help.
As she drove the glass hearse wagon through the streets, she had seen so much of the town had been almost abandoned. Children came to the street as the bell jingled on the black, glass hearse wagon. Children and women. The looks of sympathy on their faces broke her heart. What was more crushing was the hopelessness she saw in their eyes. There was a good chance that all of their husbands would not return from the war, the death and destruction was so pronounced. They were also starving and working themselves to the bone. No one would be paying for the gaudy, flamboyant funerals and it seemed like such a waste. Instead, she put the cart into storage and changed the funeral packages that very day.
“Mrs. Miller, we have two options for your husband. We can bury him quietly with dignity to put y
ou and your family at ease. He would want you to save your money and take care of each other, I’m sure. Or, if you’d like, we can bury him with a bit more pomp and circumstance as his military honors dictate. It’s up to you,” Ava said, taking a second to gather herself. This was where the shock, hurt, desperation and pain all came flying back. The country was torn financially in the south after the war and they were just beginning to recover somewhat. Southern money was no good and the new dollars were simply hard to come by.
“If you’d like to do a private burial with just your family, something dignified and simple, the cost is five dollars.” Peter would be so upset to hear of her discounting the funerals. She remembered how he proudly boasted that a decent funeral was almost eighty dollars and “well worth every penny”.
“Or, if you would like a notice in the paper and a viewing with all the formalities, I would be happy to accommodate you. We’ll make him look quite regal in his uniform, if you have it.”
“How much is it?”
Ava steeled herself for the painful, wounded expression that seemed to always come. It wasn’t easy to wash or prepare the body. She hated embalming but the scent of death was much worse. Why couldn’t Peter come home? Why couldn’t they have been millers or blacksmiths? Although, she wasn’t sure she could wield a hammer or shoe a horse either. Darn things always seemed to go after her! she mused.
“A more elaborate ceremony is twenty dollars.”
“That’s disgraceful! How could…” Mrs. Miller bit off her outrage and drew herself up silently. Ava watched the expressions dance across her face. Anger, frustration, devastation, humiliation and then acceptance. Twenty dollars was a lot of money, but it was nothing compared to what the family had charged before the war. The Maypearl brothers had run off with what funds were in the bank leaving most of the town destitute. Ava had dropped the prices significantly simply because she couldn’t sleep at night with the thought of emptying the coffers of other families, when she herself might be widowed and not know it. She prayed and hoped that if Peter wasn’t coming home that someone somewhere would have done a simple burial for him.
“There is a third option. I didn’t mention it because I haven’t done many funerals like it since the war ended. During the war,” Ava dropped her voice down to a whisper as to not embarrass the widow in front of other family members. “When the war hit, we would do funerals for two dollars. It’s nothing fancy or elaborate. We’d simply clean him up and then bury him. No viewing, no frills. He would be put to rest quietly. I didn’t mention it because I knew John Miller and I apologize if I assumed wrong. He had been good friends with my father before the war.”
“Can we do something in-between? I have some Confederate bills saved aside for just this situation and will supply you with eggs for the year. We have plenty of chickens still. I only have three dollars,” the other woman whispered, mortified.
Ava swallowed hard and held back tears. This broke her heart. Mrs. Miller wanted to do right by her husband but, due to the war, she no longer could. The Confederate bills were worthless and the three dollars wouldn’t cover the cost of the casket.
“Of course,” Ava nodded. No embalming then. And today was Wednesday. She would have to hurry or it would be a wretched funeral for them all. She couldn’t have that on her conscience. “We’ll make sure that he is laid out presentably for you on Thursday evening. I will post the notice immediately in the morning. Can your daughter run the uniform back here this afternoon so I may get started? Time is of the essence.”
“She will return posthaste,” Mrs. Miller replied gratefully. Ava clenched Mrs. Miller’s trembling, veiny hand. This had to be so hard for them all, she would not add to the pain and loss. Ava guided them all to the door in order to begin her work. Shutting it firmly, she sagged against it wearily.
A casket was five dollars. She would simply reuse the one she had purchased years ago just for this instance. She had bought it when she could afford to. Another widow had come to her with a dollar for her husband’s funeral. The dollar would cover the cost of the grave digging and the shroud. Ava had bought the casket and realized that the trail of women losing their husbands was only just beginning. She vowed that she would give each lost solider a proud send off if at all possible. It was the least she could do in thanks.
Ava left the windows open for long into the night as she worked. She had surmised that John Miller had died from infection and was quite right. The rancid smell coming from him was quite terrible, gagging her quite often. As she cleaned and prepped the corpse, she felt hot tears running down her own face. This life had changed her. She knew it and recognized it, but felt almost trapped.
There was no one else to take over the business until Peter returned. Ava wasn’t strong enough physically to do this alone. She remembered her husband’s large shoulders as he would work. His decision to leave for the war had forced long hours at his side learning a trade. She had been mortified at the thought of having to perform the job thrust at her. She was quickly put in her place by his strong words that burned in her mind.
“Wife, you’ll do your duty as I shall. I shall be fighting for our cause. You’ll be here holding our home together. Duty is always first. That is why we married. You know your place and your duty. My duty to my family is to keep the business in line. Yours is to me,” he had snapped when she balked at the morbid teachings. He was right. Duty had been ingrained in southern ladies from the very beginning. Duty, grace and pride.
She had kept the business going as instructed and learned quickly from her husband. Her very proud husband. As she stared at the soapy cloth that was about to wash the corpse, she hesitated.
It had been almost three years since the war ended and practically four years without word from him. The last letter had him in Virginia, over a thousand miles from home. Was he injured and making his way slowly? Was he dead? She pictured his smiling face at their small wedding. His blond hair and pale bright eyes. She had always marveled at his light coloring compared to her dark brown hair and eyes. He had been a kind husband to her and she eagerly awaited his return so she had companionship.
Shaking her head at the memories, she picked up a limp arm and began washing the cool skin. She had learned so much over the years regarding bodies, burial and decomposition. The bruising on the skin and marbling of the flesh would be hard to mask if they had put off the funeral any longer than Thursday. She was glad it would be done tomorrow. Grabbing some scented oils, she profusely added it to the soapy water to help mask the smell that was sure to get worse.
Dressing the body was carefully done. It had infinitely gotten easier by slicing the back of the uniform in order to tuck it underneath. Ava just couldn’t lift the limp body herself and every jostling movement made her sick to her stomach as the corpse responded in kind. It was disgusting and better to be done quickly. She tucked the uniform pant legs carefully and then wrapped them in shroud linens. Melissa Miller had brought the uniform and a flag. She would cover the majority of her handiwork with the flag. This could be folded and returned to Mrs. Miller as a keepsake. Grabbing a long, thin branch, she crossed it over and tied it with another, forming a small cross. This she tucked in his hand that rested peacefully on the chest of his uniform. The final touch would be carefully combing his thin, grey hair, powdering and rouging his face to hide the bluing that death brought.
Standing back, she looked over her work and stretched. Mr. Miller would lie in state, in his uniform, for the night undisturbed. Tomorrow morning, she would put the notice in the paper. She also would have one of the children of the town run up and down the streets as a crier, in exchange for a bit of hard candy. The grave digging would also be arranged in the morning. It was now late into the evening and time to go home.
Ava shut all the windows in the funeral home, knowing that the cloying scent of oils and decay would be stifling in the afternoon regardless of the cold temperatures outside. She would need to return here first thing in the morning in order
to get a breeze going. Leaving the windows open at night was not an option, else there was a chance an animal might gain entry. Lowering the lamps, she remembered how she had once been afraid to be in the room with the corpse. Now, she felt numb.
She was lonely, tired and missed having someone in her life. Picking up her tattered, woolen shawl, she threw it around her shoulders and stepped quietly out into the street. Very few carts and horses were on the road in the moonlight. It was, unfortunately, later than she realized and exhaustion was beating at her. There was much to do and it would be an early start. Crossing West Street quickly, she was glad her tiny home was practically cattycorner to the funeral home. She couldn’t imagine walking a long distance in the darkness alone nor could she fathom riding a horse. There was simply something about her and horses that did not mix!
Ava entered her small home and did not light any lamps. Rather, she simply locked the door behind her and climbed the stairs wearily. Entering her bedroom in the dark, she stared at the bed that she and Peter had shared wistfully. She missed simply having him nearby. They had been friends before and he had always been cordial to her. They’d never had a great romantic love, but rather a warm and tender friendship. She yearned for the peace and tranquility that having someone to turn to brought to her life. Sitting on the edge of her bed in the darkness, she stared at the moon that seemed to pierce the sky.
“Peter, where are you?” she whispered to herself.
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