The Reluctant Bridegroom

by Shannon Farrington

  Wise in the ways of motherhood, Hannah had abandoned the tube and metal mouthpiece for a soft rag. Grace sucked milk out of the bottle from that. It was messy and still somewhat cumbersome, but at least it worked. The goat’s milk temporarily soothed the baby’s stomach, but her heart was another matter. Hannah’s fifteen-year-old daughter, Sadie, sat at the table beside Kathleen. She was steadily rocking Grace, trying to quiet her tears.

  Henry sighed. Hannah must have heard him. “Don’t you fret, Mr. Henry,” she said with an expression akin to pity. “It won’t always be this way.”

  How I hope she is right. For all our sakes. “We’ll think of something,” he promised her. “I’ll find us help.”

  “The good Lord will see to all our needs,” Hannah said. “We just gotta trust Him.” She punched down her dough. “You goin’ out on business today?”

  “I’m afraid I must. There is a matter to attend.”

  “You gonna visit folks, too?”

  She meant his constituents. From time to time he called on returning veterans, local merchants and others to see how they were faring. Most citizens welcomed him, and even those who were wary of public servants usually warmed once he heard their complaints.

  “Yes, but I won’t be gone long.” He cast another glance at Kathleen. She was poking her cake with her fork.

  “Like I said,” Hannah replied, “don’t you fret. We’re gonna be just fine. You go on and do what you planned.”

  Henry drew in a breath. How appreciative he was of the woman, of her assistance and understanding. “Thank you, Hannah.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Henry.”

  Leaving the house, Henry headed off to put the matter with Theodore Van der Geld and his daughter to rest. While traveling to the stately home, he went over in his mind what he would say. Henry didn’t know whether or not Miss Van der Geld had been told of the arrangement. He certainly hoped she hadn’t.

  If she had, he seriously doubted she would be heartbroken by the change of plans. Still, Henry wanted to be gentle. She may not like the idea of a union with a virtual stranger any more than I, but I am still refusing her, and no one likes to feel unwanted...

  Henry knew firsthand the misery such feelings could bring. While his mother, Eleanor, had married his father for love, believing he felt the same, it soon became apparent that Harold Nash had been interested only in her social standing and family fortune. When Henry’s mother realized this, the life drained out of her. She had died on Henry’s fifteenth birthday. Marianne had been twelve.

  Were it not for his interest in public service, Henry doubted he’d have much of a relationship with his father, if any. He did his best to honor the man as Scripture commanded, but he refused to be like him, especially when it came to selecting a wife.

  Henry believed in love. For him, marriage was a lifelong commitment of mutual respect and affection, not an opportunity to advance one’s political career. He wasn’t going to court a woman until he was certain he was prepared to give her his heart.

  Arriving at the Van der Geld house, he knocked upon the front door. An Irish maidservant answered, only to inform him that the state delegate was not home.

  For a moment, Henry was tempted to ask for the daughter but decided that would be unwise. If she did know of the marriage proposal, requesting to speak with her without her father’s presence would paint him as a much too eager suitor.

  And if she does not yet know, there is no reason to trouble her.

  He handed the maid his calling card. Henry didn’t like leaving matters like this. Miss Van der Geld was liable to get hurt.

  But there is nothing I can do for the moment.

  So he left the house, determined to return at a more opportune time.

  * * *

  Rebekah had heard the man’s voice coming from the foyer. Terrified by the thought that Henry Nash had actually come to pay a call on her, she crept to her room and closed the door behind her.

  If I stay hidden, she told herself, I won’t have to face him.

  From her sanctuary, she could no longer hear the conversation on the floor below, but she could make out the sound of Fiona shutting the door. Knowing Councilman Nash had gone, Rebekah moved to the window and watched him walk toward the street.

  At least he has the decency not to insist upon seeing me while Father is out, she thought.

  She tried to take comfort in that fact, but his sense of social propriety did little to quell her anxious spirit. She might not have had to face him today, but the moment was surely going to come.

  Reason told her that things could be much worse. At least Councilman Nash was a churchgoing man. In fact, they attended the same church, and from what she’d observed of him there, he appeared to have a pleasant disposition.

  But then so does Father when he is in public. In private it is an altogether different matter.

  Her stomach began to roll. Her breath quickened. I can’t do this! I won’t do this!

  It wasn’t as though she was against marriage itself. Three of Rebekah’s closest friends had been recently married. Julia Stanton, the daughter of a prominent local physician, had married her beloved Samuel Ward, a history teacher who was somewhat below her station.

  Emily Davis had been raised as a supporter of states’ rights, and yet her parents had offered no arguments when she’d married Dr. Evan Mackay, the Union army surgeon she had once despised.

  Elizabeth Martin had gone to work as a newspaper sketch artist after the death of her fiancé, Jeremiah Wainwright, then fell in love with his brother, David.

  Rebekah’s father claimed that all three were foolish matches and her friends would soon regret their decisions. Yet she knew how happy they each were. She could see it on their faces. They basked in the glow of men who truly loved and respected them. Rebekah longed for the same.

  Yet I am to be given to a man who scarcely knows me. One who most likely is more interested in an alliance with my father than with me. He seeks to further his own political career, and I will be expected to further his legacy. I do not love him, yet I will be expected to raise his sister’s children and bear him more.

  She paced the floor. There must be some way out of this...somehow...

  The clock ticked on, yet Rebekah found no solution. Hopelessness pressing upon her, she sank to her bed. She was still there when her mother came to see her later that afternoon. Susan Van der Geld floated into the room in a cloud of gray silk and claimed the chair across from Rebekah.

  “I understand that Councilman Nash came by the house today,” her mother said.

  Rebekah pulled herself into a proper sitting position, smoothed out her skirt and wiped her eyes. “He did.”

  “And you did not see him?”

  “He did not ask to see me.”

  “Of course not,” her mother said. “A proper gentleman would seek to speak only with your father, but you should have been gracious enough to greet him. Your father is very disappointed that you did not.”

  Disappointed. How often Rebekah heard that word? He was always disappointed with her in some way, and he always let it be known. What punishment would she receive this time?

  “I am sorry, Mother. Truly I am. I am just so—” Dare she say it? What good would it do to admit she was afraid?

  Her mother gave her a knowing look. “You do not wish to marry him, do you?”

  Hope sparked inside Rebekah. She understands! Perhaps there is a way out of this after all! Perhaps she will speak up on my behalf! “No,” Rebekah said. “I don’t. I don’t love him!”

  “Of course you don’t,” her mother said expressionlessly. “You must learn to do so.”

  The spark died. I must learn? “Mother, how can I—”

  Susan stopped her with an upturned hand. “This is the way it is done, Rebekah. T
his is the way it was for me, for your grandmother and for her mother before her.”

  And you are miserable, Rebekah desperately wanted to say. Just once, won’t you intervene?

  Her mother stood and brushed imaginary dust from her skirt. “Things will go much easier if you simply accept this,” she said. “Your father has firmly decided the matter. He will not change his mind. Now wash your face and come downstairs. You know how he dislikes tears.”

  Yes, I know. They only make him angrier. Resignation washed over Rebekah in suffocating waves. So this is to be my lot in life: a politician’s wife. I must mind my tongue, create an appropriate home and play the gracious hostess at all gatherings, just like you. And as for the children, his nieces and however many more may come in the future... I must manage them accordingly, for the voters will be watching.

  Anger roiled inside her, and so did hurt—two emotions she realized she must master. Rebekah had seen what those same feelings had done to her mother. For twenty-four years, Susan Van der Geld had pined for the affection of a hard-hearted man. Continual disappointment had withered her, and as a result, she’d grown cold and aloof to her own children.

  Rebekah steeled her resolve. I will not do so. I will not let him change me. I may be forced to give Henry Nash my life and my youth, but I will never give him my heart.

  * * *

  Henry did his best to forget all about Rebekah Van der Geld as he rolled toward the Baltimore Harbor. Long before her father and his had stirred up such trouble, Henry had intended to spend the day visiting his constituents.

  He hoped sticking to his original plan would take his mind off the unfinished business with the Van der Gelds. He made his rounds along the wharf. Then, upon reaching Eutaw Street, he stopped at the Branson Boarding House. Two Federal soldiers stood idly by the front steps. Henry acknowledged them, then knocked on the door. The proprietor’s daughter, Maggie, a young woman of about twenty or so, answered. Henry had spoken with her once before.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Maggie. Is your father home?”

  “I’m afraid he is not,” she said, “but may I help you?”

  Henry explained why he had come. When Miss Branson learned he was willing to listen to her complaints, she invited him inside. A boarder had taken up residence in the formal parlor, so she offered Henry the dining room. Once they were seated, she wasted no time.

  “Can you do anything about those soldiers?” she asked.

  “Which soldiers, miss?”

  “The ones outside. There are always two or three roaming about. Martial law hasn’t been good for business, you know.”

  Miss Branson’s family, as well as many others, had been forced to contend with the presence of scrutinizing Federal troops since the beginning of the war. Most of the soldiers Henry had encountered were honorable peacekeepers. There were always a few bad apples in every barrel, though, and knowing that, he was concerned for Miss Branson.

  “Have the soldiers been harassing you?” he asked.

  “Indeed so!”

  He listened as she recounted a host of irritants, none of which, however, crossed the bounds of illegality or impropriety. Thankfully, it seemed the men were simply an unwanted nuisance, a sentiment shared by many in the city.

  “Their presence drives away potential boarders,” she said. “They make it appear as though something treasonous is going on in this house. The war is over. They should move on now.”

  “I should think a great many changes will be occurring in the future,” Henry said, “although I wouldn’t expect the troops to vacate anytime soon. I will speak to my fellow council members about your concerns, however.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I would appreciate that. I will let my father know you called.”

  “Please do, and tell him that if he has any other concerns, he should contact me.” He handed her his card.

  Miss Branson smiled. “Thank you, Councilman Nash. My father will be pleased to know you stopped by. He voted for you for city council. He hopes you will run for state legislature.”

  Henry appreciated the compliment. Wishing Miss Branson a good day, he stepped outside. The soldiers she had complained about were nowhere to be found. Satisfied, Henry continued on.

  He visited several other citizens that day. Some were cheering General Grant’s victory. Others were anxiously awaiting the return of sons who had joined the Confederate army and were currently being held as prisoners of war. All, however, seemed eager to put the war behind them.

  As he returned to his carriage, he caught sight of a familiar face. Henry was fond of the theater, and one of his favorite actors, John Wilkes Booth, was just about to cross his path. He’d had the privilege of meeting the man early on in the war at a social gathering.

  “Mr. Booth,” Henry called out, “How good to see you again.”

  It took the actor a second, but when he recognized Henry, he smiled. “And you, sir. Are you managing to keep the local leadership in line?”

  Henry only laughed. “Are you in Baltimore for a performance?” He wasn’t aware of any such productions, but perhaps as busy as he’d been with his nieces, he had simply failed to notice the advertisements.

  “No,” Booth said. “I only came for a visit.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Henry said, remembering. “You are from Maryland, aren’t you? Harford County, is it?”

  Booth nodded as if pleased he knew such a detail. He reached up and shook Henry’s hand. Two women made eyes at the debonair, mustached man as they passed. Booth noticed them, smiled somewhat flirtatiously, then returned his attention to Henry. “As of now, I am on my way back to Washington.”

  “Oh? Then may I offer you a ride to the train station?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  He climbed inside the carriage, and Henry urged his horse forward. They chatted about the theater. Booth had taken time off due to illness but was planning to return to the spotlight very soon.

  “I am very pleased to hear that,” Henry said. “I have enjoyed your performances, especially Julius Caesar.”

  “Ah, yes,” Booth laughed theatrically. “Beware the Ides...”

  The traffic grew heavier as they neared the Camden Street station. Family members waiting for loved ones clogged the road, and those who would soon be passengers were hurrying for the ticket windows. Henry pulled up as close as he could to the station so Booth could disembark.

  The actor smiled. “Thank you, Councilman Nash.”

  “It was my pleasure, sir.” As Booth started for the train, he couldn’t resist calling after him. “Your next performance, sir...what role will you play?”

  Booth looked back and offered a proud smile. “You’ll soon find out,” he said. “Rest assured, my name will make all the papers.”

  Henry couldn’t help but laugh at the man’s answer. He would look forward to reading the reviews.

  But for now, I have more pressing matters...

  He needed to get home. Hannah would have supper on the table soon, and he didn’t want Kathleen eating alone. Henry hoped his niece would sleep well tonight, for his sake and hers. More than once since her arrival, she’d woken crying for her mother.

  As he made the turn on to Charles Street, he thought again of Rebekah Van der Geld. Tomorrow was Good Friday. Henry planned to approach her father following the church service and request a private meeting with him. He did not wish to prolong this matter.

  He wanted to observe a quiet Easter Sunday with his nieces—prayer and perhaps an egg hunt with little Kathleen. A restful, peaceful day with no unfinished business hanging over his head—that was exactly what he needed.

  * * *

  On Friday morning, silent and somber, Rebekah filed into the church pew just as she had done every other time the sanctuary doors were open. Immediately following her
were her younger brothers, Joseph, Austin, Gilbert and Teddy. Their mother then claimed her place. Last, Rebekah’s father took up residence beside the aisle. As usual, they had arrived a good fifteen minutes before the service was scheduled to begin.

  As a child, Rebekah used to think they did so simply because her father was eager to attend worship. When she grew older, however, she realized the truth. He came early because he wanted to be seen by his fellow parishioners as they arrived. He wanted the voters to take notice.

  Inwardly she sighed. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been on display. I’ve been told what to wear, where to stand, what to think and what to say. Once again, here she sat, polished, pristine, every bit the exemplary charge of a would-be governor. Inside she cried out for freedom.

  What would happen if I suddenly caused a scene? What if I had the audacity to bolt to my feet and declare to my father that I most definitely will not marry Henry Nash or anyone else he thinks will be of advantage to him? What if I then run for the door and keep running until I leave the city long behind?

  Rebekah again sighed, knowing full well that no matter how much she wanted to flee, she would not do so. She would not dare disrespect her father. She knew the consequences such behavior would bring.

  Her mother’s words echoed in her ears. “This is the way it is done, Rebekah... Things will go much easier if you simply accept this.”

  Behind her, the congregants were arriving. Rebekah wondered if Councilman Nash was one of them. She did not turn to see. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was eager for his attention.

  Her father had not spoken to her about the impending marriage since he had first called her into his study, although she knew he was well aware that Councilman Nash had tried to speak with him. Her mother’s disclosure that Rebekah had disappointed him by not greeting Mr. Nash was evidence of that. Rebekah wondered if her father would speak with the man after the service today. Would he require her to speak to him, as well? Her stomach knotted at the thought. It was troubling enough to deal with such matters in private, but here, in front of everyone?