Surprisingly, her sister began to cry. “But I can’t bear to have you do such a thing! It seems so shameful. So demeaning!”
“I suppose,” reflected practical Camellia, “it all depends on how one looks at it. We are desperate, Hen. You must realize that.”
“Oh, I do, I do! But surely there must be some other way out!”
Another sigh. Soon she would have no air left in her lungs, with all that had been and would be expelled. Would her body then just topple over, like a gunny sack emptied of its flour or salt? “I wish I knew of one. But this seems our only recourse.”
Hannah took a moment to quiet her tears and mop at her face with an exquisite black-bordered handkerchief. Soon there would be no one available to tend to those niceties of washing and pressing
a small fancy scrap of linen. All these homely tasks that would have to be undertaken by their own untried, inexperienced hands! “And did you—did you find someone—suitable?”
“I hope so. Through the offices of Mr. Farraday, I’ve written to him, anyway, this prospective husband of mine, to see if he’s interested.”
The younger girl, confronted by her sister’s matter-of-fact attitude, was beginning to brighten just a bit. “Was there a likeness included in his letter?”
“No. No likeness, so I’ve no idea what his appearance might be. He briefly described his temperament—yes, that’s important, too, Hannah, and you know it—and the town where he lives.”
Turnabout, Texas (a peculiar name, Camellia had thought, upon reading this information). An up-and-coming place, its population nearly two thousand souls, with much to appeal to the average citizen. A library, several churches, the one fine school, two banks, an actual post office, a mixture of first-rate and second-rate restaurants and hotels, Main Street’s sheriff’s department (and hoosegow), the combination stable and blacksmithy, lawyers and doctors and a miscellaneous scattering of other professionals. Ben Forrester himself owned the largest mercantile in the area.
“A shopkeeper!” Camellia couldn’t help gasping out, at the desk of Mr. Farraday and his Peerless Matrimonial Services that recent fateful day. She had decided to take a great step into the vast, murky unknown, and every nerve was quivering. “A shopkeeper!”
The marriage broker had given her a considering look over the top rim of his spectacles. “Is that a problem, Miss Burton? It was my understanding that you couldn’t afford to be too—well, too picky, shall we say?”
Slightly ashamed of her attitude, she had flushed and, of course, backed down. “No. You’re right. I can’t, and I shouldn’t sound so superior, as if a man of business intent might be beneath me. Go on, please, Mr. Farraday.”
He had shuffled through the stack of correspondence on his desk. “Well, ma’am, I do believe we’ve examined all the applicants. It’s up to you from here on, if there’s one in particular you would like to write to. But this Forrester fellow does seem to be the best of the bunch. Got his own house, and everything.”
Gloved hands trembling just a little over the clasp of her reticule, Camellia had bitten her lip with anxiety. “As you know, sir, our family attorney, Mr. King, referred me to you. Do you think—well, I’m quite torn, as you might imagine. Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”
“Miss Burton.” He smiled gently at her, as a father might. “I am certainly cognizant of your feelings. All of this is very strange and irregular to you; I daresay you would never begin to contemplate such a drastic step, were it not for your straitened circumstances.”
“No, I certainly would not.”
“Since you’ve asked my advice, I can tell you that it is better—far better—for your well-being to go boldly forward. Make your decision, stick with it, and don’t look back with regrets or recriminations. You might get a bad bargain, or a good bargain, but the outcome lies entirely in your hands. Does that make sense to you?”
Camellia had felt a sudden wash of relief. “It does, indeed. Thank you, Mr. Farraday. Very well. I choose Mr. Forrester. Let’s write the first letter to him today, shall we?”
“And so you sent your information, offering yourself in marriage to a man you’ve never met?” Hannah, awed by her sister’s hitherto unrealized courage, said now, in the privacy of the bedroom.
“Kings and queens have done so for centuries. If he accepts me, it will be a whole change of everything. A new adventure. A different part of the country. A chance for growth.” She was trying to put a positive spin on this great turn of events.
Wistfully, Hannah glanced around the room and its homely décor. “Leaving behind the home you’ve lived in all your life. All you’re familiar with. All you know. All of—” she hiccoughed, “us.”
“You? Oh, Hannah!” Aghast, Camellia swept the girl into her arms for a fierce hug. “Do you really think I’d abandon my sisters? No. If I hear from Mr. Forrester, and if he wants me, the three of you will be coming along. We’ll face whatever unforeseen happens, all of us together.”
“But—won’t he be angry? Won’t he feel—fooled?”
Soberly Camellia considered that. “Possibly. But, if so, I’ll—well,” her voice acquired strength and determination, “then I’ll just have to be the best wife I can to him.”
“What about Letty and Molly? Shouldn’t you tell them what’s going on?”
Chuckling, Camellia laid a light finger on the tip of the girl’s nose. “I hadn’t intended on telling you, poppet. It just slipped out. I think, probably, because I did need someone to confide in. At any rate, I’ll wait until I receive an answer, one way or the other, from Mr. Forrester. Then—well, we’ll just go on from there.”
Chapter Five
BEN FORRESTER HAD JUST started to cross the unpaved street when the cavalcade rumbled slowly into town. Like many others out and about on this fine day in late April, he paused to watch such a singular sight, while the lead wagon approached at a snail’s pace and then, teamed by six massive bullocks, plodded past.
“Now, that’s somethin’ you don’t see every day,” commented a fellow spectator, from under the shade of a porch roof. He, too, had just emerged from the Sittin’ Eat Hash House after a hearty lunch and now stood applying a toothpick with dexterity.