Shannon Farrington - The Reluctant Bridegroom

“Indeed.”

He looked as if he were about to offer something more but hadn’t the opportunity. Rebekah’s friend Elizabeth Wainwright and her husband, David, came then to greet them.

Apparently the councilman was well acquainted with the couple, who both worked at a local newspaper—Elizabeth as a sketch artist and David as a journalist. He asked them about their recent time spent in Washington.

“We were there to cover General Grant’s return from the war and Lincoln’s celebratory speeches,” David said. “We had no idea we’d be witnesses to his assassination.”

Rebekah gasped. “You were at Ford’s Theatre?”

Elizabeth nodded grimly. “We were seated in the second row. John Wilkes Booth landed on the stage right in front of us.”

Rebekah felt her fiancé’s arm tense. She wondered if he was imagining the horrific scene just as she was. “To come that close to such an evil man...” she said to her friends. “What did you do?”

Elizabeth exchanged a sad glance with her husband. “At first I thought it was part of the play,” she said. “I had never seen Our American Cousin performed before.”

“But I had,” David said, “and I couldn’t figure out why they had added gunfire and an additional character to the scene. I recognized Booth right away. I had seen him act.”

“I could tell he had injured himself leaping from the presidential box,” Elizabeth said. “He limped as he ran from the stage, but I still didn’t recognize what had actually happened until someone shouted that the president had been shot.”

“We realized then,” David said, “that we were no longer witnessing a theatrical production, but an act of murder.”

Rebekah drew in a shallow breath. She thought of her time spent serving as an army nurse. She’d seen the cruel damage a bullet could do to many a soldier, but she’d never witnessed a shooting actually take place. Cold chills ran down her spine. “What did you do?” she asked.

David told her how panic had erupted, and described the devastating scene that followed when the president was carried away. Elizabeth shuddered at the memory. Rebekah watched as David slid his arm protectively around Elizabeth, steadying her, offering unspoken encouragement. His wife drew strength from the action. The two of them seemed fashioned for each other, complete.

How Rebekah longed for the same. Yet I stand beside a man I barely know and will have little opportunity to learn about before I am bound to him for life. A shiver again ran through her.

The councilman must have felt it, for he laid his free hand atop hers. The gesture was not as intimate as the comfort Elizabeth had received, but the touch was gentle and conveyed compassion. Rebekah allowed herself to look into his face. Dare she think he would not always be a stranger?

The councilman turned back to David. “Will you return to Washington?” He asked.

“No. Our editor wishes us to remain here, to cover the effects the assassination is having on the city.”

“I see.”

“In fact,” David said, “if I may be so bold, I’d like to interview you. It would be good to have a councilman’s perspective.”

“I don’t know how much help I could be...”

Listening, Rebekah marveled. Her father would never turn down an opportunity to get his name in the paper, and yet Henry Nash humbly hesitated. She was so struck by the difference that she couldn’t help but smile. When he gave her one in return, her heart quickened.

Elizabeth pulled her aside.

“I believe you have made a very wise match, Rebekah,” she whispered.

“You do?”

“Indeed. Henry Nash is a respectable, honest man. David has told me so.”

“He knows him well?”

“He’s met with him several times. According to him, the councilman is a committed public servant. He has a true heart for the people of Baltimore.”

A true heart... Rebekah couldn’t explain the feeling that flittered through her own heart upon hearing those words. Yes, she was still nervous about becoming a bride, and she was still resolved to guard her heart carefully, but was it possible—might she indeed one day have the kind of marriage of which she had always dreamed, one grounded in love and mutual respect?

It seemed almost impossible...and yet she desperately hoped so.

* * *

The moment he saw her smile, Henry felt as though a dagger had been run through his chest. He knew he’d given Miss Van der Geld all the indications that tenderness lay at the root of this match on his part. He had held her hand. He had smiled at her. He was slowly convincing her that he wanted her, when in reality what he truly wanted was the protection her father and his connections could offer him and his sister’s children.

And he was more and more certain he was going to need that assistance. Detective Smith had entered the room. After circumspectly navigating the lingering crowd, he once more singled out Henry. As soon as the reporter and sketch artist bid their farewells, Smith stepped forward.

“So this is the lovely bride,” he said.

The detective was eyeing his fiancée in a way that any gentleman would not like. Henry protectively threaded her arm through his. Though disinclined, he introduced them.

“May I present Miss Rebekah Van der Geld...”

Smith nodded cordially. She very promptly thanked the man for his dedication to duty in locating John Wilkes Booth.

“Rest assured, miss,” Smith said. “Booth and every other traitor who dared conspire against our beloved late president will soon be brought to justice.”

Every traitor... Henry’s collar felt even tighter than before. He dared not tug at it again, however, for fear Smith would read something into the gesture.

Theodore Van der Geld then came to them. Smith acknowledged him with a nod.

“Rebekah, I am leaving now,” her father said. Then he turned to Henry. “Councilman, would you be so kind as to escort my daughter home?”

A blush immediately colored her cheeks. Henry wasn’t certain if she appreciated the request or was disconcerted by it. Likely the latter. A carriage ride unchaperoned? So Van der Geld trusts my character, but she does not. Wise girl. He drew in a shallow breath. Tell her, his mind insisted. Tell her you’re doing this to save your own skin. Tell her before she gets hurt.

Detective Smith was watching the entire exchange with a look that made Henry even more uncomfortable. What should he do? If he spilled the entire story here and now, he’d embarrass Miss Van der Geld in front of everyone. She deserves better than that.

“Well,” her father said. “Off you go.”

Henry was not in the habit of taking orders from others, but not knowing what else to do in the present moment, he offered Rebekah his arm. “Shall we?”

The blush on her cheeks darkened, but she allowed him to lead her toward the building’s exit. Outside the rain had stopped, but puddles covered the cobblestone.

“If you’ll wait here, I’ll fetch the carriage,” he said.

“Oh, that isn’t necessary. I don’t mind walking.”

So they started off. Henry had to resist the urge to look behind him, to see if Smith was following them.

“I cannot help but think of Mrs. Lincoln,” Rebekah said. “Of the pain she must be suffering. Her entire world has been turned upside down.”

Henry forced himself to focus. “I have heard she will remain in Washington for the next few weeks, until she is better able to make the journey back to Illinois.”

“Her heart must be broken.”

“Indeed.”

“I wonder if she knew what she was getting herself into when she married him.”

“I suppose not,” he said. And neither do you.

She looked up at him. Henry saw a myriad of emotions reflected in her eyes. Uncertainty. Vulnerability. Hope. Fear. He couldn’t take it any longer. Stopping in his tracks, he looked her square in the eye.