In fact, she had never had a real conversation with Randall Coulson. She understood why she should be flattered. He and William Hunter owned the plant Ed Browning had been working at since it first opened eight years earlier.
No longer crying, Mary Ellen got to her feet and faced her father. An inexplicable wave of guilt washed over her. She regretted the careless accusation about trading her for a house. Not for a moment did she doubt her father would insist on this match even if it did not include a new home for the family. Mary Ellen Browning felt like a very ungrateful girl, especially considering the current condition of her mother.
“I’m sorry Papa,” Mary Ellen mumbled, tears filling her eyes again.
Edward Browning studied his daughter. For the past week, she’d been fighting against the marriage, and now it seemed she’d finally acquiesced. Perhaps I should have smacked her earlier, he thought. He would be sorry to see her go, considering she’d faithfully attended to her mother the last few weeks. He wasn’t sure how he would handle Sally, but he imagined having a new house—one that was paid for—would certainly help, and he could then afford to hire someone to tend to his wife.
Fortunately, he managed to keep Coulson away from Sally on his last visit. If Coulson suspected there was some mental illness in the family, he certainly would call off the match. Browning hoped his wife would soon snap out of the depression, as it was wearing on his nerves.
“Good girl.” Ed gave her a smile and reached over and patted her right arm. “Now you finish up packing, we need to leave for the train station within the hour.”
“Yes, Papa,” Mary Ellen said dully, watching her father leave the room. Silent tears streamed down her face. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she heard a door shut and suspected her father had gone outside. Perhaps he was going to pick up her aunt, who would be travelling with her to Philadelphia. Mary Ellen had never been to Philadelphia. She had never been outside of Virginia. Her only adventures and travels were through the books she read.
“Mary Ellen?” came a small child’s voice from the doorway. She looked up to see two of her younger brothers standing at the entrance to her bedroom.
“Billy, where are your brothers?” Mary Ellen asked as the two edged their way into her tiny room. Being the only girl, she was afforded her own bedroom, which doubled as her mother’s sewing room. The brothers had long since learned they were not allowed in without an invitation, something they seemed to have forgotten; yet just this once, she did not mind.
“In the barn, finishing morning chores. We just passed Papa and he said you’re really leaving today. I thought he was just fooling us. Do you really have to go?”
“I guess so,” Mary Ellen said sadly as her two young brothers moved closer, standing by her side. Although the boys were both the same height, Billy had just turned eight, while Johnny was a year younger.
“But who’s gonna take care of Mama?” Johnny asked.
“Or cook for us?” Billy wondered aloud.
Instead of answering their questions, Mary Ellen stared at her two brothers. Aren’t you going to miss me? she silently asked. Her brief moment of self-pity ended when Johnny climbed onto her lap and gave her a hug, insisting he was going to miss her—Mary Ellen Browning, his big sister.
Her other brothers, those who hadn’t gone off to war, finished their chores and came to say goodbye before she was taken to the train depot with her Aunt Rachel. There were tears, even a few from her mother who seemed to finally grasp that her only daughter was leaving home. Yet aside from giving Mary Ellen a brief hug and kissing her on the cheek, Sally did not ask her daughter to stay and seemed accepting of the girl’s fate.
At the train station, Edward awkwardly patted his daughter’s shoulder, kissed her forehead, and told her to be a good and obedient wife and to attend church every Sunday.
“Will you write me, Papa, and let me know how you all are?” Mary Ellen asked as she started to board the train.
“I suspect I’ll be all too busy to write, considering your mother’s condition. But I imagine you mother will write when she’s feeling better.”
• • • •
“Are you alright dear?” Aunt Rachel asked Mary Ellen a half hour later. The two women sat side by side in the train car as it rolled bumpily down the tracks. Neither woman had spoken since boarding the train, each lost in her own personal thoughts.
“I’m just nervous, Aunt Rachel. I don’t really know Mr. Coulson, yet I’m to be his wife.”
“Has your mother talked to you,” Rachel lowered her voice so the other passengers wouldn’t overhear, “what goes on between a husband and wife?”
“Yes, Mother explained things to me when Gertrude got married last spring.”
“Your mother’s niece?”
“Yes. Aunt Bertha and Uncle Harvey’s oldest daughter.”
“Oh, I remember. Bertha was a sweet girl, looked a great deal like your mother.”
“Yes, I’ve seen pictures of her. Uncle Harvey’s last wife died a few months before Gertrude’s wedding.”
“Harvey did have bad luck with his wives. She was his third, wasn’t she?”
“She was, which is why it fell on my mother to explain things to Gertrude.”
“Makes sense. I can’t imagine Harvey having that talk with Gertrude.”
“Mother decided to tell me at the same time, I guess she figured she’d get it out of the way all at once.”
“So you understand then, what is expected of you?”
“I—I suppose so. But it all sounds so strange, and mother says it will hurt at first. It all seems very embarrassing.”
“It’ll help if you close your eyes,” Rachel suggested.
“Close my eyes?” Mary Ellen didn’t want to admit she was rather curious about what a grown man looked like with his clothes off, yet suspected the lights would be turned off so she probably wouldn’t see anything anyway.
“And I have something that might help you. I prepared it after Edward told me you were getting married,” Rachel confided. She reached into the handbag sitting on her lap and pulled out a small glass mason jar and handed it to her niece. Mary Ellen took the jar and looked at it curiously. It appeared to holding some sort of thick liquid.
“Before you go to your husband, to—you know—you’ll want to wash up and put on your nightgown,” Rachel whispered. “Don’t wear anything under the nightgown, instead—well apply this, well—down there. It will make it all less uncomfortable.”
“Mama never told me about this before.” Mary Ella frowned, then slipped the jar into her own handbag.
“Well dear,” Rachel said as she patted Mary Ellen’s knee, “there are a few things I know that would quite shock my dear brother and your mother.”
They were silent for a few moments when Mary Ellen asked, “Do you think Mama will get better? It’s like she isn’t even there.”
“Losing Ed Junior was quite a shock for the poor dear. I do believe he was always her favorite.”
“But Papa and the boys need her. She has to get better.”
“Give her time, dear. I promise to look in on her frequently when I return home. And I’ll write you.”
“I’d appreciate that, Aunt Rachel. And I also appreciate you coming with me. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to make this trip alone. Will you be staying long?”
“I’m afraid not. From what I understand, when we arrive in Philadelphia we’ll go directly to your fiancé’s house.”
“Fiancé—that sounds so strange.”
“The ceremony will take place when we arrive, and I’m to be a witness.”
“You mean I’m going to be married today?”
“Of course, didn’t your father explain?”
“No, not really.”
“I’ll be taken back to the station after the ceremony, and head back home.”
“Can’t you stay a while?” Mary Ellen pleaded.
“I’m afraid not, dear. Edward made it very clear that I must re
turn this evening.”
“Then that must mean—tonight—Mr. Coulson expects me to perform my wifely duties tonight.”
“Yes dear.” Rachel patted her niece’s knee again. “Just remember to close your eyes and use the ointment I gave you, and you’ll get through it with minimal discomfort.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said dully.
“Nonsense. Women have been performing their wifely duties since the beginning of time.” Rachel studied her niece for a moment.
“Dear, by any chance is it your time of month?”
Mary Ellen blushed at the question and shook her head no, and whispered the date her menstruation had last stopped.
“Do you understand that if you chart such things, it’ll help you determine if you’re with child, when that time comes?” Rachel asked, not certain how much her niece really understood about these delicate matters.
“Yes, mother explained.” Mary Ellen studied her folded hands that fidgeted nervously on her lap.
“And you have been charting yours, I assume?”
Mary Ellen nodded in the affirmative, still looking down.
“Are your cycles fairly regular? Do you start about the same time each month?”
Mary Ellen nodded again, wishing her aunt would cease asking such embarrassing questions. However, Rachel Browning Spencer had a reputation for saying what was on her mind, regardless of social protocol. In some ways Mary Ellen was a little surprised her father had asked his sister to accompany her on the trip, considering there was no guarantee Aunt Rachel wouldn’t say something that might offend Mr. Coulson. Yet there was really no one else he could ask.
“I’ll tell you a little secret,” Aunt Rachel whispered.
“What is that?”
“If you allow yourself to grow fond of your Mr. Coulson, you might actually find pleasure in the act.”
“Really? That certainly isn’t how my mother explained it.”
“Yes dear, but your poor mother is married to my brother.” Aunt Rachel patted her niece’s knee again, leaned back in the seat, and closed her eyes to take a short nap, satisfied she’d given the young bride all the tools necessary to successfully start her new life with a man she barely knew.
Chapter Three
Pulling the gold pocket watch from his vest’s pocket, William Hunter flipped open the timepiece. The train had already arrived and passengers were unloading. Glancing down at the face of the watch, he calculated when he might make it back to Coulson’s estate. Randall should be the one meeting his bride, he told himself. Yet somehow, Randall had convinced William to pick up the women and bring them back to the estate for the brief ceremony.
Shaking his head in disgust, William closed the watch and tucked it back into his vest pocket while watching the passengers unload. Either the bride wasn’t on the train or she wasn’t anxious to get off the car. Passenger after passenger walked down the steps, each clutching onto the iron handrail to avoid a misstep.
After watching countless passengers disembark, an elderly man slowly made his exit from the car and William expected to see Mary Ellen and her aunt behind him. Yet there was no one. It appeared that all passengers had gotten off the train. William wondered if Mary Ellen had convinced her aunt to get off at another stop, for he knew she had boarded the train that morning.
About to turn away and return to Coulson’s estate to inform Randall the bride had fled, he paused when he spied two more passengers emerging from the train. It was Mary Ellen and her aunt. Instead of rushing to meet them, he took a moment to observe the pair as they made their way down the car’s steps, each carrying a hat and handbag in one hand while using the other to hold onto the handrail.
Randall was correct, William begrudgingly admitted to himself. Mary Ellen Browning no longer looked like a child. The blue-gray ankle length skirt accentuated her tiny waist. He imagined he could easily wrap his large hands around her middle, with his opposing thumbs touching on her belly side and the tips of his fingers meeting at the base of her back. The thought intrigued him and he felt something stir under his britches, causing him to shift his weight in an attempt to dispel such unwanted bodily responses.
She wore a pale blue, long sleeved blouse tucked neatly into the waistband of the skirt. Dark blue lace trimmed the cuffs and neckline of the fitted blouse. Her figure was trim, yet did not lack curves and he found her generous bust line a surprise. She had definitely changed since the last time he had seen her.
Her long dark hair was not cut to accommodate bangs. Instead, that portion, with strands along the side of her face, was pulled back and secured with a bow. The length of her hair fell at least six inches past her shoulders. The hairstyle was almost girlish. He wondered briefly if she would take to wearing her hair up in a bun once she was married. He hoped not.
The moment they stepped completely from the train, both women placed their hats atop their heads, adjusted the fit slightly by wiggling the headgear to and fro, and then looked around for whoever was there to greet them.
It was the first time he’d seen her aunt, and he again agreed with Randall; she was a handsome woman. He estimated she stood about five-feet-five-inches tall, several inches shorter than her niece did. The two looked nothing alike. Rachel Browning Spencer was a voluptuous widow in her mid-forties, with blonde hair worn stylishly in a bun atop her head. Although her ankle length dress was a conservative cut, it could not conceal her shapely figure.
Taking a deep breath, he decided it was time to approach the women and get on with the unsavory arrangement. Mary Ellen looked his way as he started walking in her direction. By her expression, it was obvious she recognized him. Her full lips curved into a welcoming smile and he wondered what it would be like to kiss those soft lips.
Where did that thought come from? William wondered. He told himself that was a shameful thought to have about his best friend’s fiancée, even if said friend was not in love with the girl. Instead of mustering a sufficient amount of regret for his inappropriate thought, he cursed himself for not coming up with Randall’s idea first. It was time he married, and he could certainly afford to buy old man Browning a new house.
That girl is just seventeen! he reminded himself. A seventeen-year-old woman, ready for the marriage bed. William groaned. You are as bad as Randall! he silently cursed himself.
“Mister Hunter, hello. I didn’t expect to see you here,” Mary Ellen greeted sweetly, offering her hand. William accepted and gave it a brief squeeze, then released it and gave a nod of greeting to the aunt.
“Miss Browning, it is so nice to see you again. I assume this is Mrs. Spencer?” William said, tipping his hat in greeting to the older woman.
“I expected Mr. Coulson to meet us,” Rachel said. “You are here for us, I assume?”
“Yes, Mr. Coulson had some last minute business he had to attend to. I’ll be taking you both to his home. I assume you have luggage?”
“Yes, one trunk,” Mary Ellen said, looking up into his face. William froze a moment, captivated by the innocent blue eyes staring up at him. The impulse to steal a kiss from her was almost impossible to resist, but he managed to do so.
• • • •
Mary Ellen recognized William Hunter immediately. He’d left quite an impression on her when he came to the Browning home for supper the previous year. Taller than Randall Coulson, Hunter’s shoulders were broader than his business partner’s and she wondered briefly how he might look without a shirt. The scandalous thought made her blush. Like his business partner, he did not wear a mustache.
His eyes were blue like hers, yet a deeper color, she thought. While both business partners were handsome men, William Hunter always seemed to be smiling, which Mary Ellen liked. Randall Coulson rarely smiled. She recalled how William gently teased her when she helped her mother serve dinner. It was as if he wanted to put her at ease. Randall Coulson seemed to be constantly inspecting her person, as if he was looking for some flaw. But Randall Coulson wanted to marry he
r, so perhaps she had misjudged him. Would a man wish to marry a woman that he felt was lacking? she asked herself.
Within a half an hour, they had retrieved her trunk and loaded it in the back of the motor car that waited to take the three to the Coulson estate. Mary Ellen said very little, lost in her own private thoughts while her aunt and fiancé’s business partner chatted away making small talk, as they got into the vehicle and began driving toward her final destination.
I am getting married today! Mary Ellen reminded herself as she looked out the car’s window and watched the sights of Philadelphia whiz by. She’d never been to the city before, yet she was paying little attention to the scenery. Under other circumstances, she would be eagerly soaking up the new sights. Instead, her stomach churned and she prayed she would not vomit when she arrived at Randall Coulson’s doorstep.
I am getting married to a man I don’t know, Mary Ellen told herself. For days, she had been resisting this fate. She had cried and pleaded with her father, and he would not budge. She did not finally acquiesced because her father slapped her, but because she eventually realized she had no choice in the matter. Her fate was inevitable. Growing up, she had been taught her duty as a daughter was to obey her father, and as a wife, she must obey her husband. Yet for some reason, the thought of obeying a man she barely knew troubled her.
Maybe moving into a new house will help Mama. Ultimately, it all came down to her mother, who seemed to be lost in grief. Mary Ellen told herself she would obey her father’s wishes to ease her mother’s burden.
She remembered how her mother cried when her older brothers went off to war, and how the family prayed every night to keep them safe.
Coulson's Wife (The Coulson Series) Page 2