Mr. Jackson nodded and continued reading his book. But Abigail didn’t take the information so well. “What?” she asked in shock. “She’s considering men that are thirty-six and thirty-eight? Don’t you think that’s a little old for me? I’m only twenty-one, and—”
“Abigail, age is just a number when it comes to married life,” Mrs. Jackson interjected. “Your father is ten years older than me, and we have a wonderful union.”
“Ten years is one thing, Mother,” Abigail replied. “But these men are nearly twice as old as me.” It wasn’t like her to talk back to her parents this way. But the way she saw it, the only thing worse than being married to a boring, work-driven businessman was being married to an old boring, work-driven businessman.
“Older men are more stable,” Mr. Jackson chimed in. “If you’re to marry a man of thirty-six or thirty-eight, there’s no question that he’s settled in his business and ready to settle down in his personal life. Men of that age are good providers—and good fathers—and they’re sure to spoil you for your youth and beauty.”
Abigail didn’t care for her father’s response, but she wasn’t going to get into all that was wrong with it. “I just think we should pursue other options before marrying me off to someone that old,” she said. “We should try to find someone else, someone—”
“That’s why we hired the matchmaker, dear,” Mr. Jackson interrupted with a chuckle.
“But she’s trying to match me with men that aren’t a good match—” Abigail started, but her father cut her off with an admonishing stare.
“If you think you can find someone better than the matchmaker can, have at!” He laughed sarcastically.
“Really?” Abigail asked, taking his words at their face value.
“Sure,” he said, picking up his book again. “Just don’t make a fool of yourself—or this family—in the process.”
Abigail didn’t see it, but Mrs. Jackson rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Within seconds, boring normalcy returned to the room. But now Abigail’s mind was active. It was spinning with thoughts, and those thoughts centered on what her father had just told her. He’d given her permission to find a better match for herself, and she knew exactly where to find that match.
“May I be excused to go for a walk?” she asked, breaking a few minutes of silence.
Her parents looked at her, then looked at each other. “Go ahead,” her father answered. “But don’t be too long.”
A few minutes later, Abigail was outside and on her way to town. She walked rather quickly and got there in no time.
“I’d like a copy of the Matrimonial Times,” she said, rushing into the general store and walking right up to the counter. There were a few other women in there shopping, but she didn’t take notice of them.
“Another copy?” the clerk asked, obviously more comfortable with Abigail’s request.
“Yes, please,” she replied, shrugging off her subtext.
The clerk handed her the paper, and she paid for it. She immediately turned to the last page and looked for the ad she fancied. But lo and behold, she didn’t find it. She flipped the paper over and analyzed it critically. It looked different.
“This isn’t the right newspaper,” she said, holding it over the counter, trying to give it back to the clerk. “It’s different than the one I got the other day… I want that one, not this one.”
The clerk shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “That’s the only copy we have,” she said.
Abigail was about to ask something else, when she felt someone come up beside her.
“The new edition comes out every two months, on the third Thursday of the month,” a woman said. Her voice sounded vaguely familiar. “In other words, the new edition came out two days ago,” she added. “And the stores have gotten rid of the old one.”
Abigail turned around and saw the familiar face that matched the familiar voice. It was the young woman she’d encountered by the pond.
“Your only chance at getting the old one is finding someone who still has it,” the young woman said with a crooked smile. She glanced down at her satchel, and moved it so that the edge of the newspaper folded inside of it was more visible.
“Is that it?” Abigail asked. “Is that the last edition of the Matrimonial Times?”
“It sure is,” the woman answered.
“Can I have it?” Abigail inquired. “I’ll buy it from you. I’ll pay you twice the face value—”
“Oh, it’s worth far more than that to me,” the woman came back.
Abigail looked at the expression on her face and could tell where this was going. “So, what’s your price?” she asked the opportunistic young woman.
The girl smiled. “I was looking at dresses before you barged in here,” she said. “But sadly I can’t afford one on a factory worker’s salary.”
“All right,” Abigail replied, trying to rush things along. “I’ll buy you a dress.”
“But if I get a new dress, what shoes am I to wear with it?” the girl asked. “Surely I can’t wear these work boots!”
“All right,” Abigail replied again. She turned to the clerk. “Please see to it that this young woman is set up with a full outfit, from head to toe,” she instructed. “Provide her with a dress, shoes, a hat, a matching bag, and any other fitting accessories or garments. And charge it all to my family’s account.”
The clerk nodded, and the young woman grinned from ear to ear. “And I’ll need the most recent copy of the Matrimonial Times, too,” she added to the list. The clerk set it down on the counter, and as soon as she did, the young woman reached into her satchel and extracted the old copy. “It was a pleasure doing business with you,” she told Abigail as she handed it over.
Abigail practiced great restraint in not responding to the girl as she wanted and simply took the newspaper from her. She glanced down at it and was relieved to recognize it as the correct edition.
Abigail didn’t waste any more time leaving the store, and before she was even out the door, she was skimming the back page for the advertisement.
Once she was outside, Abigail lingered by the door to the general store as she read the ad, including the contact information at the end of it. For the first time, she read the name of the man who’d placed it: Edward Smith.
Edward Smith, Abigail repeated over and over in her mind. She closed her eyes and thought of the wonderful dreams she’d had—the dreams she’d have of Edward.
Abigail shoved the newspaper into her satchel and headed back home. During the walk, she started thinking about the letter she would write to Edward when she got home—and by the time she was back at her house, she’d pretty much outlined the whole thing. It was just a matter of writing it. And that’s exactly what she set out to do.
Abigail went to her room and sat at her desk. She got out her writing implements and paper, bowed her head over her desk, and poured her heart out. In her letter to Edward, she introduced herself as Abigail Jackson of New York and said she was the daughter of a banker. She said nothing about her father’s prestige or wealth.
She did admit to living somewhat of a sheltered life and expressed her desire to break free from it and experience the world. She told him how she had an adventurous spirit and an open mind that also had a thirst for knowledge, and she discussed her interest in the outdoors, animals, and nature.
She concluded her letter by writing, I find myself in a position where my parents want me to marry soon, and I’m hoping to find someone who interests me before they pair me off with someone out of convenience. Like you, I’d like to find someone who makes my life complete, not just someone who fills a gap my parents want filled.
Abigail went back to town the next day to mail her letter. Then, she went back to her house and back to her boring routine. She decided not to tell her parents about writing to Edward, even though her father had told her she could look for a match. She’d heard him talk enough about his business dealings to know that i
t was best not to put too much faith in a potential endeavor until it became an actual one—or as the farm folk said, it was best not to count your chickens before they hatched—and she didn’t want to tell her parents about a plan that might not come to fruition. For all she knew, Edward might not ever get her letter, or he might get it too late. His ad was mighty compelling, and the edition it appeared in had been in circulation for a while, so there was a chance he might have already found a woman to marry.
Of course, Abigail hoped he hadn’t already found a woman to marry. But she wasn’t going to bank on it.
SIX
“Abigail,” Mrs. Jackson called out. “Abigail, please come here… I need to talk with you.”
It was the middle of the day, and the Jackson women usually kept to themselves during these hours. So Abigail was a bit surprised to hear her mother call for her.
“Coming, Mother,” she replied. She’d been sitting at her desk in her bedroom, staring out the window, daydreaming about Edward. It had been nearly a month since she wrote to him, and if he wrote back to her in turn, she figured his response would be coming soon—and she was very much looking forward to it.
“I’ve got wonderful news,” Mrs. Jackson said as soon as Abigail walked into the living room. Neither one of them seemed too excited though.
“I received word from Mrs. Thomas this morning,” Mrs. Jackson went on. “She’s found a man who’s interested in meeting you… And she has set up a meeting—tonight.”
“Tonight?” Abigail asked. Her jaw dropped. She had so many questions, but this was the first that came out.
“Yes,” Mrs. Jackson answered. “I know it’s short notice. But Mrs. Thomas said the man—Jeremy Porter—will be leaving for a business trip in the morning. He’ll be gone for at least six weeks, and Mrs. Thomas thinks it’s best you meet now, so that if things go well, you can begin courting right away.”
Abigail didn’t understand how she and a man who was leaving in the morning could begin courting “right away,” but that was the least of her concerns at the moment. She was being set up with a stranger out of the blue, though she was already secretly invested in a man from Wyoming. She was confused, disappointed, and worried.
“Your father and I will go with you, of course,” Mrs. Jackson continued. “And, please, let us guide the conversation. I won’t have your preoccupation with frivolous things dictate what we talk about, not when your father and I have more important things we’d like to learn about this man, his business, and his bloodline.
“And we’ll expect you to exude politeness and manners, and to act interested in this fellow, despite your opinion. It doesn’t matter much what he looks like or how old he is, so long as he is successful and can give you a comfortable life—so don’t let your first impressions get the better of you.”
Mrs. Jackson went on and on, giving Abigail additional instructions, warnings, and unsolicited advice. And all the while, Abigail nodded and feigned interest. But really she didn’t hear most of what her mother said, as she was too busy thinking about Edward. She hoped this wasn’t some cruel twist of fate, where she was forced to marry someone else simply because he didn’t get back to her in time.
“Did you hear what I said?” Mrs. Jackson asked, rousing Abigail from her daze. Abigail looked at her confusedly. “I told you to go fetch your blue dress and give it to the maid to air out and freshen up… It’s the perfect outfit for you to wear this evening.”
Abigail stood up and left the room unenthusiastically. She went to her bedroom and got the dress her mother had specified, then took it to the maid to be readied for the evening. Readying herself, however, would be another issue. Her mind was frazzled, and she did not want to meet Jeremy Porter.
But when evening came, that’s exactly what she and her parents went off to do.
Abigail had her hair pulled back, like her mother had told her to, so as to “open up” her face and draw attention to her “delicate features.” Indeed she did look quite beautiful, though she still felt a mess.
Mrs. Thomas had arranged for the Jacksons to meet Jeremy Porter at his office in town. He worked in real estate and had his workplace a few doors down from the bank.
As soon as the Jacksons entered Jeremy’s office, they all were struck by the appearance of the place. Mrs. Jackson smiled in approval of her rich surroundings, and Mr. Jackson remarked on it. “What a lovely place,” he said.
Abigail however was not impressed. The place was… ostentatious. The furnishings looked nice but uncomfortable, and the decorations seemed over-the-top but impersonal.
“Hello,” a man said, stepping out from a desk partially set back in the corner of the room. He was tall, thin, and fairly good-looking, though he did look to be much older than Abigail. The man stepped further out into the room and introduced himself properly. “I’m Jeremy Porter,” he said. “Welcome to my office… Please, come, have a seat.”
Jeremy was well mannered and soft-spoken, and he brought out the same in Abigail’s parents.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Jackson said in a voice that sounded a little too sweet. “And thank you for having us.”
The Jacksons sat down. Sure enough, the nice-looking seats were uncomfortable, but they all acted at ease in them.
“So, Mr. Porter,” Mr. Jackson said, addressing his junior, “I see that you work in real estate. As you know, I am a banker, and I’m quite successful in my endeavors.”
“Yes,” Jeremy replied. “I’m aware of your success. Your reputation precedes you. Mine might not yet. But I assure you, I’m quite successful in my endeavors as well… And, please, call me Jeremy.”
The two men went on to talk business for a while. They discussed how their different lines of work were similar and talked about some contacts they had in common. Mr. Jackson asked Jeremy where his business took him, and how frequently; and Mrs. Jackson asked him questions about his home and its amenities.
Abigail heard some of what they said, but she didn’t really listen to it, let alone take any of it to heart. Her heart and her mind were elsewhere. She was still thinking about Edward and how she’d rather be sitting across from him than from Jeremy Porter.
The more Jeremy talked, the more monotone his voice sounded, and the more monotonous he proved himself to be. At one point, Abigail realized she and her parents had been there with him for going on two hours, but that she’d learned nothing personal about him. She’d heard where he was schooled in his professional studies, the commission he made on his first big sale, and the name of the hotel house he stayed at in Chicago. But she’d learned nothing about his hobbies or his pastimes, nothing about what made him happy or sad.
Does he like the outdoors? she wondered. Judging from his pale skin and the business hours he kept, she pretty much knew the answer. Is he fond of animals? she asked herself. Given how bland he was, she couldn’t very well see him petting a dog vigorously or praising it for fetching a stick, and she couldn’t imagine him admiring a horse as it grazed in a pasture. Does he stop to see the landmarks and explore the different landscapes when he travels? Does he talk to the locals and learn about their place, or does he merely pass through it?
Abigail was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t even realize when the meeting with Jeremy ended. She only realized when she saw her father stand up and reach out to shake Jeremy’s hand. At that point, she looked at her mother, and when her mother gestured for her to do so, she stood up as well—and a few minutes later, they left Jeremy’s office. In over two hours, Abigail had contributed maybe a dozen words to the conversation.
“That went well,” Mr. Jackson said once they were in their carriage.
“Yes,” Mrs. Jackson smiled. “I expect we’ll be hearing good news from Mrs. Thomas some time soon.” She glanced over at Abigail, whose face was white as a ghost. Marrying Jeremy Porter was now a very real possibility, and the thought of it terrified her.
SEVEN
Abigail didn’t know what to do. If, or when, they
got “good news” from Mrs. Thomas, she didn’t know how she’d respond to it. And she didn’t know if she should do anything in the meantime. There was still a chance that Edward would get back to her—and if he didn’t, maybe a chance that there was someone else out there, other than Jeremy Porter, who was suited for her.
I could tell them about the letter I sent Edward, she considered. And I could tell them about the Matrimonial Times and mail-order-bride periodicals in general. Perhaps I could persuade them to reconsider things. Perhaps I could—
Abigail didn’t even need to finish her thought. She already knew she had no chance of doing any of that. She tossed and turned for a long while that night, thinking about her predicament. It wasn’t until she started reciting some of her favorite Bible verses in her head that she was able to calm herself enough to finally fall asleep—and peacefully at that.
The next morning, when she awoke, she started worrying again. She was so distraught, and torn, that she didn’t even want to get out of bed. When the maid came to call her for breakfast, Abigail turned her away to do just that.
“I’m not feeling well, Nancy,” she called out. “I won’t be coming out for breakfast this morning, or at all until I feel better.”
Abigail listened to the maid’s footsteps as she walked back down the hallway, then she turned over in her bed and buried her head in her pillow. Her heart ached—for Edward. Granted, she’d never even met him, or even heard back from him, but she’d become so enchanted by him and the type of life his words promised. She’d thought she had a chance at what she always wanted, and now, she mourned the loss, the death, of that chance.
Abigail spent most of the day in bed, in what some would call a depressive stupor. She hadn’t eaten in a while, but she had no appetite. She hadn’t exerted herself in any unusual way, but she had no energy. She had already slept well and was rested, but still she was able to sleep more.
Late afternoon, Abigail was finally roused by her mother calling to her. And a few moments later, her mother came to her door, knocked, and told her she needed to speak with her in the living room.
New Beginnings Spring 20 Book Box Set Page 62
