Christine Johnson - The Matrimony Plan

She dipped the compress in cold water, squeezed and re-applied.

His face had been the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes, and his concern had nearly melted her to the spot. She had to look away.

At first she’d been confused. How had she gotten on the ground? She didn’t feel any bruises or bumps, so someone must have caught her when she fainted. She prayed it was Daddy. Just the thought of Gabriel holding her sent hot shivers from her head to her toes.

There’d be no escaping the man or the rumors that would connect them. Practically the whole town had seen them together today including the Billingsley boy who clerked at the mercantile and Mrs. Evans. Felicity sucked in her breath. Mrs. Evans would tell everyone. All of Pearlman would know by tomorrow.

The trail of witnesses didn’t stop at the mercantile. Anyone at the businesses between the store and the train depot could have spotted them together, not to mention people on the street. And then there was the depot.

Her stomach flip-flopped. Maybe she was ill. Typhoid, influenza or scarlet fever would be better than facing the ridicule. Even Eloise Grattan, whose parents couldn’t buy her a beau, would snicker. And Sally Neidecker would lord it over her.

She groaned and sandwiched her head between two pillows. She could hear her childhood schoolmates now. Felicity and Gabriel, sweet as can be. Every childhood rhyme taunted her, each worse than the other. She needed to marry but not someone who would keep her in Pearlman the rest of her life.

What would Mother do when she found out? Felicity tossed the compress in her sink and paced back and forth across the room. Her mother would lecture and impose restrictions: no unsupervised walks, no unsupervised anything. How could Felicity meet the real Robert Blevins with Mother hounding her every move? It was terrible, horrible, the worst possible thing that could have happened.

She wrung out the compress, plopped on the bed again and pressed the cloth tight to her eyes. She needed a plan. A new plan, a better plan, one that could not fail.

The front door slammed. Mother. When that was followed by the strident ringing of the bell, she popped out of bed and re-pinned her chignon. A lady never has a hair out of place .

“Felicity,” Mother called out. “We need to talk.”

She knew. Daddy must have told her what had happened at the train station. Maybe Gabriel had spilled the whole story at the meeting. They’d doubtless had a jolly laugh over her while they sipped tea and downed Mrs. Simmons’s shortbread cookies.

Felicity tucked the last loose strand in place as Mother climbed the stairs. Thump. Thump . For such a small woman, Mother had a heavy step.

How could Felicity explain her reaction to Gabriel?

Thump. Thump. Mother’s steps matched Felicity’s heartbeat.

Heels clattered down the hallway.

Think.

“Felicity?” Mother threw open the door, her expression grim.

Too late. Felicity tried to swallow but her throat was dry. “What?” The word was barely audible.

“I told you not to walk to the meeting. I told you it would make you light-headed, and look what happened. You missed the most important meeting of the year. You left me alone. Why, if I hadn’t had Mrs. Williams’s support, you wouldn’t be chairwoman of the Beautification Committee. There wouldn’t even be a Beautification Committee. And the new minister. Felicity Anne Kensington. A lady always keeps her commitments.”

Felicity bore the lecture with bated breath, waiting for the worst to fall, but when Mother failed to mention anything about the train station or Daddy finding her with Gabriel Meeks, she relaxed.

“Thank goodness you have me to look out for your best interests,” Mother sniffed. “Change out of that filthy gown and try to make yourself presentable. We’re having a guest for dinner.”

A little knot formed in Felicity’s stomach. “A guest?” It had to be the new minister. Oh, how could she endure an evening with Gabriel Meeks? Daddy was bound to make a joke about finding them together. Mother would be horrified when she found out. Somehow she had to stop this dinner party. “Who’s coming?”

Mother ignored her question. “I wonder if he has Newport connections.”

“Newport?” Felicity gasped. “That’s not possible.” He was dressed too plainly to come from money, especially that kind of money. If only he didn’t have such a welcoming smile and warm brown eyes. The mere thought of him sent that peculiar hot and cold shiver through her again.

“Of course it’s possible. A man with his status could easily summer amongst the social elite. Hmm.” Mother surveyed her closet. “Nothing too fine in case he isn’t from proper society yet expensive enough to impress him if he is. Wear the pale green organdy.” She tossed the gown on the bed. “Traditional. You can’t go wrong with that.”

“Yes Mother.” It was always best to agree with Mother, especially when a greater concession was needed. “In fact, let’s put off the dinner until we know for certain.”

“Put it off?” Eugenia Kensington glared at her. “You can’t withdraw an invitation.” She pulled a pearl necklace from Felicity’s jewelry box and draped it around the neck of the dress. “Pearls will do quite nicely. I expect you downstairs by six o’clock. Try to display some of the social graces we paid for so dearly. Mr. Blevins might prove worth the effort.”

“M-Mr. Blevins?” Felicity stammered.

“Of course, Mr. Blevins. Who did you think I was talking about?”

Felicity averted her gaze, not wanting her mother to see that she’d been thinking about Gabriel.

Robert Blevins was coming to dinner. After such a disastrous day, she just might be able to salvage her plan. With any luck, she’d capture his affection before he learned about this afternoon’s fiasco.

Nothing about this first day had gone the way Gabriel anticipated. He came to Pearlman expecting a country church filled with salt of the earth, hardworking folk who would appreciate a down-to-earth sermon and a pastor who worked alongside them. The inequities and misery of the city wouldn’t exist here—no divide between rich and poor, colored and white, immigrant and citizen, and no stifling poverty or raging crime. The stains of abuse, liquor and hunger wouldn’t exist. In Pearlman, he could lead a church that would reach out to the sick and poor, taking them in and nurturing them into strong God-fearing people. It was the mission of his friend Mr. Isaacs’s Orphaned Children’s Society, and Gabriel planned to make it his own.

Today that idyllic image went right out the window.

The ladies at the meeting had pushed daughter after hapless daughter before him, but the only woman who’d touched his heart was proud and rich.

Then there was the parsonage. Instead of simplicity, he stood in a huge, two-story house large enough for a family of eight. The gleaming cherry Chippendale-style dining set and electric lighting looked to be recent installments, whereas the indoor plumbing had been in place for years judging by the mineral stains on the porcelain. The marble-topped sideboard and brocade-upholstered wingback chairs reeked of money. This was not a parsonage; it was a palace.

“Had my man put your trunk upstairs,” Branford Kensington said as he opened yet another door. This one led to a handsome library and study. “Encyclopedia, concordance and the Bible in the proper translation.” The man blustered around the room like a bull moose. “Of course there’s room for your books—” he patted the one empty shelf “—though judging by the size of your trunk, you won’t need all this space.” He laughed at his own joke.

Gabriel swallowed his irritation. “I guess you’re correct there.” He’d only brought the necessities, not wanting to put off any of the congregation with his upper-class background.