“Oh Emily,” Sawyer gasped at seeing her on the floor in a ball. He ran over to her, threw himself on the ground, and started removing the cloth that gagged her.
“There’s so much I have to tell you,” he went on, pulling the cloth down. “There’s so much I have to ex—”
“You don’t have to!” Emily shouted once the cloth was out of her mouth. “I heard you talking to your father from the window… I know you’re a Reed, and I know you’re responsible for all the suffering Peter and Amanda have endured. You and your brothers should be—”
“No, no,” Sawyer interrupted. “It’s nothing like that! I may be a Reed by name and blood, but by nothing more. I told you how my father tried to push a certain lifestyle on me. But, I wouldn’t have it. I couldn’t live the type of life he and my brothers lived and expected of me. So, I ran off to start my life anew—and, I took to working for Peter to help offset some of the damage they’d done and stand up to them should they try to do more.”
“A likely explanation!” Emily barked.
“It’s God’s honest truth!” Sawyer retorted. “I swear! If I was in cahoots with them, why would I come here to bargain for your release? If I was on their side, wouldn’t I, too, want to see you dead?”
Emily took a deep breath. The air in the dank cellar tasted horrible, but it was made much easier to swallow by what Sawyer had just said.
“And, how did you bargain for my release?” Emily inquired, deciding to give Sawyer the benefit of the doubt.
“Well, if you heard me and my father talking from the window, you heard the basic terms,” Sawyer answered, pulling a knife from his boot and carefully taking it to the rope that bound Emily’s hands behind her back.
“My brothers kidnapped you to exact revenge,” he went on, close to Emily’s body. “They believed it was Peter who had my brothers killed. But, it wasn’t—and, I had proof that it wasn’t. You see, when I learned that my brothers were ambushed, I knew, for certain, that my father would think Peter was responsible and would try to take revenge. So, I set out to find the real culprit, and, lo and behold, just yesterday, I did.
“I discovered that Paul Jenson and Henry Miller—two of the men who my family terrorized several years ago—did it out of their own sense of revenge. Paul was drunk at the tavern and confessed as much to me, and a few hours later he confessed to the sheriff as well. I brought a copy of his statement and arrest papers to show my father, as proof.”
Sawyer was just about done hacking his way through the rope that tied Emily’s hands. But, he stopped for a moment, leaned back, and looked at her. “By the way, that’s why I missed the dinner at your house last night,” he said with a smile that touched Emily’s aching heart.
“Anyway,” Sawyer resuming, leaning back over to finish cutting through the ropes, “my father believed the evidence I showed him. But, he wasn’t sure as per what he should do regarding you… To make a long story short, I managed to convince him to set you free by offering a truce. I told him that if he let you go, unharmed, we would not pursue any type of legal action for your kidnapping and Peter would drop any further actions against my family for the past wrongs my brothers committed against him.
“Now, I haven’t talked to Peter about this yet, of course. But, I’m confident he’ll be on board. He dearly loves Amanda, who dearly loves you, and I know for sure they’d consider such a bargain a small price to pay.”
Emily’s hands were now free. She brought them in front of her and rubbed her wrists.
“Much to my relief, my father agreed,” Sawyer went on. “And he seemed quite pleased with the deal.”
Sawyer took his knife down to the rope that bound Emily’s feet and started cutting at it.
“What about the other thing you said?” Emily asked without even realizing it. She felt a great joy to learn she was freed, and a great joy that Sawyer had saved her and proved not to be the scoundrel she’d feared.
“The other thing?” Sawyer asked, looking up from Emily’s feet.
“The part about intending to marry me,” Emily blushed. “Did you just say that to persuade your father or—”
“I meant it, Emily,” Sawyer smiled. “Before these recent misfortunes, I’d already fallen head over heels for you and know that the feelings were returned. So, if you’d like to be my wife—”
“One thing at a time, cowboy,” Emily interrupted with a playful grin. “Let’s finish getting me untied first. Then, we can work on everything else.”
Sawyer laughed a sweet laugh and returned to untethering the woman he loved.
Later that day, Emily and Sawyer returned to Peter’s ranch. They explained everything that had happened, including Sawyer’s true identity and the agreement he had drawn with his father. Without hesitation, Peter forgave Sawyer for misleading him and agreed to the terms of the truce.
For the next several months, everything at the ranch went smoothly. There were no more acts of vandalism, rustlings, or other misdeeds. By all measures, things were uneventful… until one particular day.
Eight months after telling his father that he intended to marry Emily, Sawyer made good on his word. He and Emily were married in the church at Copper Rock, and their feuding families became one, never to be divided, along any lines, again.
The End
14. a match for the bookish Bride
Copyright © Hope Sinclair 2018
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and writer except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a contemporary work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
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Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ONE
“Come along, dear,” the finely dressed woman said, waving her hand at her equally well dressed daughter.
Abigail Jackson didn’t see or hear a thing. She had her nose buried in a book and was far too distracted.
How exciting, she thought to herself as she skimmed the pages. The book contained several true accounts from people who’d traveled around the world—and there were even photographs included!
“Come along, dear,” Mrs. Jackson repeated more firmly. Again, her words were lost on her daughter, as was her gesture and her sour expression.
“Abigail,” Mrs. Jackson added in the tone that mothers use to scold their daughters. “Come along now. We’ve got to get going.” She turned to the store clerk. “Charge this book to our account,” she instructed. She reached out and snapped the book shut, and Abigail snapped out of her daze.
“I’m sorry,” Abigail smiled, a bit embarrassed. “This book is just so interesting.”
“Apparently,” Mrs. Jackson replied, arching her eyebrow. “But put it away now. I won’t have you lost in it during our meeting.”
Abigail reluctantly did as her mother told her and put the book in her bag. Even though it was out of sight, it wasn’t out of mind, and she continued to think about what she’d read as they made their way to their destination. Thoughts of Europe and the Orient—of mountains, streams, different types of buildings, and different types of people—were far more satisfying than what she was supposed to be thinking about anyhow.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Jackson said as the two of them arrived outside of a small house on the outskirts of town. She knocked on the door, and within a few seconds, another well-dressed woman answered the door. She
looked to be very refined and was a bit older than Mrs. Jackson, perhaps in her late forties.
The older woman stepped back to allow her guests’ entry. “Right this way,” she said, once they were past the doorway. She led them through the lavishly decorated house, and Abigail eyed it for its treasures. She came from a very wealthy family and was used to extravagant things, but she still liked to see what others had. Some had interesting and thought-provoking items, like a family heirloom, a portrait from long ago, or a mounted kill from a hunting expedition. Sadly however, this house didn’t have anything like that, at least not that Abigail could see. The décor was lavish, but it was pretty general.
“Have a seat, please,” the woman said when they got to a large room set up like an office. She waited for them to do so, then she went to the other side of her desk and sat down as well.
“So, Abigail,” she said, glancing down at a piece of paper in front of her, “you are twenty years old, correct?”
“Yes,” Abigail answered. She smiled at the woman, but the woman did not take notice.
“And you are formally educated?” the woman inquired. Abigail was just about to answer, but her mother spoke up before she could.
“Yes,” Mrs. Jackson replied proudly. “She attended the neighborhood school until she was sixteen. Then, we hired a private tutor for her, and she was educated in the finer things in life for the next three years and reared to be a society woman.”
“Wonderful,” the older woman said, looking up again. Despite her word choice, she did not appear all that moved by what she heard. “Do you have any other attributes?” she asked, narrowing her eyes on Abigail. “You are quite pretty… But do you have any special skills or interests?”
Abigail’s eyes widened. For the first time in a long time, someone had asked her a question she actually wanted to answer. “I’m very interested in learning,” she said. “I guess you could say I have an open mind and adventurous spirit. I’m intrigued by travel, and I’m very fond of nature. I absolutely love animals and enjoy exploring outdoor landscapes.”
The older woman sighed and leaned over her desk, and Mrs. Jackson lowered her eyes so that the others wouldn’t see her roll them.
“No, dear,” the woman said, “I asked if you have any skills or interests—you know, practical things that one would consider an asset. Do you know how to sew, how to mend clothing or embroider? Can you cook or bake? How active are you with the church? Have you done any good works or participated in the women’s group? Have you sung at service?”
Abigail was overwhelmed by the woman’s questions. All of those things sounded quite interesting, and she wished she had experience in them. But the fact of the matter was, she didn’t. She’d lived a very sheltered life. Her parents hadn’t let her do much of anything, even things like those listed above that would have been to her advantage.
She was the youngest of three children and was the Jacksons’ only daughter. Her parents raised and educated her like people of their class were supposed to. They prepared her to be a “good wife” when the time came—and now, that time was upon them.
“No… I don’t know… I ca— I haven’t,” Abigail stuttered. “No, I don’t… I don’t have any skills or interests like that.”
“Yes, you do,” Mrs. Jackson excitedly interjected. “You can play piano.”
“Wonderful,” the older woman repeated, just as insincerely. She looked down at her desk again and picked up her pen, then wrote something down on the piece of paper in front of her.
“Any specific things you’re looking for?” she asked. “Or any specific things you’d like to avoid?”
This time, Abigail knew better than to get too excited about the woman’s questions. She would have loved to answer them honestly. But alas, she knew whatever she’d say wouldn’t be the type of information the woman was after—and in any event, it didn’t matter. Even if Abigail had tried to say something, her mother beat her to it.
“My husband makes his money in banking,” Mrs. Jackson said. “So Abigail is already familiar with the demands of a businessman’s schedule and lifestyle… Also, our oldest son Henry and his wife just had a baby three months ago. so we’re in no rush to have more grandchildren. Though, I guess it would be convenient to have them around the same ages.”
The woman continued to write things down as Mrs. Jackson said them, and Abigail forced a smile on her face as she sat there and listened. On the inside however, she was not smiling. She was not at all happy about the situation at hand, or about her life in general.
TWO
“How did things go with Mrs. Thomas?” Mr. Jackson asked, leaning back in his chair. He’d just finished his second helping of lamb stew and was ready for conversation.
“They went as expected,” Mrs. Jackson answered. “She verified all of Abigail’s information, asked about our specifications, and of course, accepted our payment.”
Mr. Jackson laughed a small, sarcastic chuckle and curled his lip. “And what did she say?” he inquired.
Mrs. Thomas was a highly regarded, highly paid professional matchmaker, and the Jacksons had employed her to find Abigail a husband.
“She said much of what we already know,” Mrs. Jackson sighed. “Because of the war and westward expansion, the east coast has been left with a shortage of single men, particularly of single men of the caliber suitable for our daughter. Even girls who come from powerful, wealthy families—even girls who are quite beautiful, intelligent, or blessed with other attributes—are having a hard time finding men to marry…
“So it won’t be an easy task to find Abigail a husband. But Mrs. Thomas is thoroughly committed to it, and she assures me it’s only a matter of time.”
Mr. Jackson smiled, and Abigail wished she shared his sentiment. She couldn’t imagine herself living a happy life with any man Mrs. Thomas would match her up with. What she was looking for in a husband, and what Mrs. Thomas was looking for for her, were entirely different. Any man she’d want to marry wouldn’t care whether she could embroider or play the piano, he’d be more interested in her mind and spirit.
“Well, it better not be too long a time, for what we’re paying her,” Mr. Jackson came back with another small laugh. He sat upright in his chair, removed his napkin from his lap, and set it on the table. “I’ll take a cordial in the living room,” he added as he stood up.
And that was that. So ended the family discussion about the matchmaker. As Mrs. Jackson got up to fetch Mr. Jackson’s cordial, Abigail’s mind wandered. She’d always known that it was her parents’ intention that she find a husband, and she’d always figured they’d have a say in who she married. But she never imagined they’d go about things so methodically, or so… coldly. Marrying her off seemed more a chore to them than anything, and they didn’t seek, or seem to care about, her opinion.
Indeed, at times Abigail felt like she, herself, was a chore. It was quite clear that her parents were more invested in her brothers, their sons. They were men after all. They were carrying on the family name and family legacy, which were things a daughter, by nature, could not accomplish. A daughter’s best hope was to marry well, and that’s all Abigail’s parents hoped for her. They wanted her to marry well and weren’t concerned with whether she was actually happy.
When they’d first told her that they wanted her to marry soon, believe it or not, Abigail was excited. She expected something dramatic to happen. Perhaps they’d take her to a social hall or town event, or have a coming out party for her. Or maybe they’d introduce her to some of their friends’ and associates’ sons, or to some young men at church.
None of these things happened. There was nothing dramatic or grand about this milestone in Abigail’s life. She wasn’t taken places or introduced to anyone—except to the house on the outskirts of town to meet the matchmaker.
The way her mother explained it, “All things considered, it’s best we hire someone to find you a husband. There’s too much at stake to go at this alone.” A
bigail never questioned what this meant, but knowing her parents, she figured what was “at stake” was more about them than about her. And sure enough, she was right. The Jacksons hired a matchmaker so that she could find someone worthy of marrying their child, someone who wouldn’t rob, disgrace, or otherwise disappoint them (“them” being the operative word).
Abigail was none too excited about the type of men she expected the matchmaker to turn up. As her mother had told Mrs. Thomas, she was familiar with the demands of a businessman’s schedule and lifestyle. So too, she was familiar with a businessman’s disposition. The way she saw it, businessmen like her father were distant and impersonal. They were preoccupied with their work and were more concerned with it than anything else. They could be inconsiderate and short-tempered, and above all else, they were quite boring. Abigail didn’t want to marry a man like that—no way, no how.
“Take this to your father,” Mrs. Jackson said, walking back into the dining room. She handed Abigail a tiny glass filled with thick, syrupy liquid. Truth be told, Abigail didn’t want to take the drink to him, but she had no legitimate reason to challenge her mother’s instruction.
Abigail took the glass in to her father. She tried to hand if off to him and leave the room quickly. But of course, it was what he wanted that dictated how things went. Just as she got to the archway to leave the living room, he spoke up.
“I’m sure Mrs. Thomas will find you a good man,” he said, setting down the book he’d been reading. It wasn’t anything exciting. It was a treatise on banking law or some such matter.
“I hope so,” Abigail said sincerely without much optimism.
“I’ve heard she’s very good at what she does,” Mr. Jackson went on. “So I have every confidence she’ll find you a successful businessman who will support you and provide you with the type of life you’re used to.”
New Beginnings Spring 20 Book Box Set Page 60
