Shannon Farrington - The Reluctant Bridegroom

“There is no need for forgiveness.”

No need? She dared reclaim his gaze. His look was charitable, his tone soft.

“But since we are dealing with assumptions,” he said, his tone softening further, “is there anything else about me that you question?”

Anything else? There were a thousand things, but Rebekah didn’t know where to begin.

“You’ve probably been told by someone along the way that I never served in the army,” he said.

“I have.”

He nodded as if he had expected such an answer. “The truth is, I did serve, but I was never given a commission. I was part of the balloon corps. In the army’s eyes, I was still considered a civilian.”

“Balloon corps? As in hot-air balloons?”

He nodded again. “Yes. Although ours were filled with hydrogen. They were used for reconnaissance. We provided tactical information to the commanders on the ground.”

“You mean the position of the rebel army?”

“Yes.”

“But didn’t your brother-in-law serve—?”

“In the Confederate army? Yes, he did. He did what he believed was his duty. I did mine.”

He was not the first man from Maryland to be pitted against his own family. Rebekah couldn’t help but feel a measure of pity toward him. “That must have been very difficult for your sister.”

“It was.”

“And yet she named you the guardian of her children?”

“John was killed at Monocacy Junction, a battle in which I had no bearing. Marianne also knew I was not personally at war with her husband, any more than John was with me.”

They had reached one of the benches. He invited her to sit. A shiver ran through her as she claimed a place as close to the edge as possible. He claimed the opposite side. An awkward silence now prevailed. She and Councilman Nash were not here to discuss the war, or even his extended family. There was another matter to be resolved.

“Miss Van der Geld,” he said. “I won’t trouble you any longer. I’m certain your father has spoken to you. While he may consider this matter concluded, this moment only a formality... I do not. I should very much like to know what you think of all of this.”

Rebekah was stunned. What I think of all of this? Was Henry Nash giving her the opportunity to refuse?

“Your father has given his consent, but all that means nothing if I have not yours.”

“My consent?” she asked.

“Of course. It is your future you are deciding...not that of your father.”

My future? Yes! Yes, it is my future! Suddenly she felt as though she’d found that elusive back gate, and freedom stood just beyond it. The councilman is granting me leave to escape! Like a butterfly in flight, she could go anywhere she wished!

As exhilarating as the feeling of freedom was, however, she realized it was not truly within her reach. Whatever flight she might take would be very short-lived. Her father would recapture her. And then to whom will I be assigned?

“You seem at a loss for words,” Mr. Nash observed.

“I am afraid I am.” What else could she say? What could she do? She was trapped.

Suddenly the door to the house opened. A little girl, four or five at the most, came charging down the path.

This must be one of his nieces, Rebekah thought.

The child froze the moment she saw a stranger in the garden. Rebekah’s heart immediately went out to her as she recognized the look on the child’s face. Rebekah knew it all too well. It was a look of loneliness, of fear.

Apparently the councilman recognized it, also, for he spoke to his niece with a tender voice, welcomed her forward. “It’s all right, Kathleen. Come and meet my friend, Miss Van der Geld.”

Friend, not fiancée. Again Rebekah noted the choice he was granting her.

The man held out his hand toward the child. She crept closer. Rebekah couldn’t help but notice the family resemblance. She had the same blue eyes, but whereas her uncle’s hair was slightly curly, hers was completely straight.

Rebekah offered her what she hoped was a disarming smile. The little girl gripped the leg of the councilman’s trousers.

“It’s all right,” he assured once again as he slid his arm around her protectively. Watching, Rebekah’s throat tightened.

“There’s a man in the parlor,” Kathleen whispered, although the tone was loud enough for Rebekah to overhear.

A man, she thought. My father. Had the child had some sort of encounter with him? That would certainly explain her fear.

“Yes, I know about that man,” the councilman said. “He hasn’t come to take you away. You need not be afraid.”

Rebekah heard the unspoken promise. I’m here. I will protect you. What was it like to receive such an assurance? What is it like to be nurtured? Loved?

Henry Nash then turned to her. “Kathleen has only very recently come to live with me.”

“I see,” Rebekah said, hoping he hadn’t noticed the hitch in her voice. “And I understand you have a sister.”

The girl stared at her.

“Her name is Grace,” her uncle offered.

“Grace,” Rebekah repeated with a smile. “What a beautiful name, as is Kathleen.”

The girl didn’t return the smile, but her grip on her uncle’s trousers loosened slightly. Rebekah took that as an encouraging sign.

The back door opened again. This time the young maidservant appeared. She hurried down the gravel path, stones crunching beneath her feet. “I’m sorry, Mr. Henry. I was puttin’ the baby down to sleep, and when I turned ’round, Miss Kathleen was gone.”

“It’s all right, Sadie,” he said, and the expression on his face told Rebekah he truly meant that. It was a far different reaction than her father would have given.

Councilman Nash looked again at Kathleen. “Go inside with Sadie, pretty girl. I’ll be in to join you after a while. When I come, I will read you a story.”

He calls her pretty, Rebekah thought. He promises to spend time with her. Such declarations were unheard of in her home. This is the man my father insists I must marry?

Kathleen slowly moved away from her uncle and took the maidservant’s hand. After they had returned to the house, the councilman said, “She doesn’t remember much of her father—he had very little leave during the war. But she misses her mother terribly.”

“I imagine she must,” Rebekah said. “How old is Grace?”

“Eight weeks.”

Eight weeks? Then she is an infant. A helpless infant. Rebekah wondered how he was managing the feedings. Had he employed a wet nurse or did the baby drink from a glass bottle?

“Marianne died giving birth to Grace,” he said. “The children were then shuffled from one neighbor to the next until one of them finally contacted me.”

Rebekah’s heart squeezed. Poor little things. “Did you have to travel far to collect them?”

“Virginia.”

In other words, to enemy territory. He had risked his safety for them, yet acted as if the danger had been of no importance. “This has certainly been a difficult time for your family,” was all Rebekah could think to say.

“Indeed.”

After another long silence he said, “Miss Van der Geld, I know this is no ideal situation...”

No, it isn’t, she thought, but she realized she could do a lot worse than Henry Nash. Granted, she did not know him well, but she sensed a humility, a gentleness about him. That was something her father had never possessed.

“I will make you this promise,” the councilman continued. “Should you choose to become my wife, a surrogate mother to my nieces, I will care for you, provide for you and encourage your personal pursuits. I will do everything in my power to make your life a comfortable and happy existence, and I will never treat you with anything less than respect.”