An Inconvenient Marriage

by Christina Miller

  Clarissa started down the narrow stairs, her skirts touching the wall on one side and the railing on the other. “What book?”

  What difference did it make? “The one she’s hardly had out of her hand since we left Kentucky. It’s Our Mutual Friend by Dickens.”

  “That book’s full of people with secrets. Perhaps that speaks to her in some way.” On the bottom step, she stopped and gazed up at him, the thin winter light now drawing the gold from her eyes.

  Samuel paused, considering both her idea and her eyes. What other golden insight might she have, what gilded vision? And how did her interest in Emma make her even prettier to him?

  He reined in the thought as he would a runaway stallion. Outward beauty accounts for little, as Grandfather used to say. And well Samuel knew the old preacher was right. Veronica had proved it.

  Clarissa took the last step and as he navigated around her hoopskirts to open the back door for her, he caught a whiff of her sweet flower fragrance.

  Samuel braced himself against the scent. He considered holding his breath until she passed by. Instead, he hastened through the door after her and kept a respectable distance. “You did wonders with Willie this morning. He looked like a native Natchez boy.”

  Her tinkling laugh made him smile. “It was certainly a challenge. Grandmother cut his hair while my neighbor Tessa Collins, the woman sitting next to me in the choir, and I made over Grandfather’s oldest suit.”

  “So quickly?”

  She gave him a smile that could have warmed even General Grant’s heart. “We didn’t have time to do more than cut and tack it. All through the service, I prayed it wouldn’t come apart.”

  He laughed with her, and it felt good. Surprisingly good.

  “I’m sure I know where Emma is—the same spot where I read Wuthering Heights four times the summer I was fourteen,” she said, looking about the grounds. “But what would catch a boy’s attention at Camellia Pointe?”

  As they strolled across the brick-paved courtyard, Samuel took in the expanse of lawn, the gardens, the many structures and pond beyond. “The water, especially the bridge and the far bank with the cypress knees.”

  “And I see Emma in the gazebo.”

  By the time they reached it, only a blue hair ribbon lay on the seat.

  “How did she disappear so quickly?” Clarissa’s skirts swished as she whirled around, looking behind her. “I know I saw her. There’s no mistaking her beautiful auburn hair.”

  Samuel picked up the ribbon. “Is it hers or yours?”

  Clarissa’s tinkling laugh made him think of glittering snowflakes he’d seen drifting through a north Tennessee meadow. “I’m a little old for hair ribbons.”

  Of course. What a foolish question. But the laugh it brought dispelled what had remained of his earlier glum mood. Today he could ask for nothing more.

  “Should we search the grounds?” she said, her hand shielding her eyes as she scanned the area.

  “Her teachers in Kentucky told me she’d developed the unsavory habit of eavesdropping, and had gotten quite proficient at it. I suspect she’s hiding somewhere nearby, listening.” He raised his voice. “Right, Emma?”

  He got no response from his daughter and hadn’t expected to. However, Willie must have heard, since he bounded up to them, a can of worms, a small hook and a length of line in his hands. He set them on the gazebo railing and snapped off a salute. “I just got back from scouting the area, sir.”

  Samuel returned the gesture. “Where have you been, and what have you to report, Lieutenant?”

  “Just here in the yard. The enemy is hiding behind that bush, listening. Spyin’.”

  “Spying?”

  “And writing everything in her dumb ol’ book.”

  Of course. Samuel strode to the bush Willie indicated, a thick, tall one with white flowers. His daughter crouched there on all fours, dress and hair in disarray, and peered back at him.

  “Come for a walk with us, Emma. Clarissa is going to show us around.” Samuel clasped Willie’s shoulder and pulled him a little closer. “I want you to make Willie feel welcome.”

  Her stony eyes made him pause. He moved a step closer. “I’m getting a tutor for you both, and I’d like your input on your studies. Do any particular subjects interest you?”

  “A tutor for us? Him and me—together?”

  The raw look on his daughter’s face sent him a twinge of confusion. He reached for her hand to help her up, needing but unable to understand what pained her so. “How else would you both get your education?”

  “I won’t do it.” She jerked her hand from his and shot to her feet. He tried to stop her, but she ran off across the croquet lawn and toward the stables, her precious book and what looked like a little diary in her hands. “Leave me alone!”

  “Emma, wait...” He may as well have shouted to the air.

  Clarissa called to her too, but she raced on like a foot soldier with a platoon of Yankees on her tail.

  With a whoop, Willie took off after Emma, dangling a worm before him. At Samuel’s gentle rebuke, the boy wandered back over to them.

  “She isn’t usually this rude.” Samuel spat out the first words to come to his mind. Then he hesitated. According to the Kentucky school headmaster, she was, indeed, this rude. But now, since both Samuel and his new wife had witnessed her behavior, he could no longer deny it. “I should have accepted her conduct problem long ago. And I should have told you about it before you agreed to be her mother.”

  And if such behavior continued—or worsened—would Clarissa regret the arrangement?

  “I knew it would be hard, especially at first.” If she wanted out of their agreement, neither her words nor her tone betrayed it. “Give her time.”

  “I have no idea why she’s so upset.” Samuel let out a groan. “I’d say your grandmother was right. Between Emma and Willie, we have our work cut out for us.”

  “True, but Grandmother thinks it’s a worthy cause.”

  Willie explored a short distance from Clarissa and Samuel as they walked through the gardens, past the angel and the vine-covered pergola. The boy returned to them every few minutes as if needing reassurance that his chaplain was still there.

  “This means your grandmother is staying?”

  “For now.” Her tone carried less relief than he might have expected. “Let’s go straight to the stables in case Emma stopped there. We need to mend this rift between you.”

  She wanted to see his failure up close—even closer than she just had? That made no sense. “Let her cool off instead. She won’t talk about it. She never does.”

  “I’m afraid your method doesn’t work well with young girls. They need to be lovingly convinced to talk about their troubles.”

  Clarissa’s calm but insistent tone stopped him cold. “I’m merely giving her time to overcome her wayward emotions, not applying some method.”

  “But you are, if it’s what you do every time she misbehaves.”

  Samuel clenched his jaw. How could Clarissa know more than he did about raising a child? He glanced at her impossibly huge hazel eyes, green in the bright sunlight, and saw deep serenity, even peace. Which further proved she understood neither Emma’s problem nor his response.

  Entering the stable, Samuel heard a quiet sob from the area of the stalls. When he called to his daughter, the sound stopped. He hastened toward her and found her petting the nose of his rented bay roan, her back to Samuel. Clarissa moved to the horse’s other side, running her fingers through the mane the color of her own hair. “Her name is Strawberry,” he said, vaguely recalling Emma’s affinity for horses.

  “I know,” she said in a whisper.

  “What’s the matter, Emma?” Didn’t she know she was ripping his heart out? He took a tentative step closer.

  Her cold stare stopped him from taking anoth
er.

  “Remember, fathers don’t always understand their daughters.” He barely heard Clarissa’s sweet, low voice. “But not because they don’t try or don’t want to. It’s because they’re men and don’t understand women.”

  That much Samuel could attest to.

  “For example, your father doesn’t realize how embarrassing this is for you.”

  Samuel hesitated, struggling to make sense of her words. “What’s so embarrassing about having a tutor?”

  “I’m a grown woman.” Emma stamped her foot on the straw-covered ground. “Willie is just a child.”

  “Grown woman?” Samuel chose not to point out that he’d often seen Willie acting more mature than Emma had this morning—had just now, stomping like that.

  His expression must have given away his thoughts, because his daughter’s petulant look quickly turned to anger, her eyes a roaring fire that burned into his heart. “Yes, and if you were ever around, you’d know it.”

  “I was at war.” Samuel lowered his voice to hide the pain she shot into his heart like a cannonball.

  “It’s all right. I didn’t really miss you.” Emma’s tone hardened all the more, making him wince. “I had my mother.”

  Clarissa held up a hand to each of them as if trying to separate two sworn enemies. Which, in his daughter’s eyes, they were. Then she cast a pleading glance in his direction, and he couldn’t help but nod, ready to listen to whatever she had to say. Clearly, Samuel wouldn’t be the one to solve this issue.

  “Let’s stop and think about this,” Clarissa said. “Is there a way to alleviate Emma’s embarrassment and still provide an education for her and Willie?”

  Samuel began with the obvious. “I’m sure there’s a school in Natchez.”

  “A private school?” Emma’s face brightened a fraction.

  “Our private schools closed during the war.” Clarissa smoothed Emma’s auburn hair as her countenance fell. “All we have are the Freedman’s Bureau schools, and Emma has already passed their highest grade. But I could instruct her in French, the classics, religion—”

  “And music,” Emma said, a hopeful lilt in her voice.

  “I think not,” Samuel said. “I’d like you to guide her and oversee her education, and of course give her voice lessons, but you’ll have extra church responsibilities as my wife. And you must give attention to the conditions of the will.” For that remark, he earned a glare from his daughter.

  Clarissa’s face lit then as if she’d hit upon the solution. Or at least thought she had. “Yesterday, Absalom said he’d retained a tutor for Beau. He starts tomorrow, and he could teach Beau and Emma together. Willie could study separately, since he’s younger.”

  What? Emma under the influence of that renegade youth for hours every day? It would never work. “Surely we can think of—”

  “I’ll do it.” Of a sudden, the atmosphere seemed charged with Emma’s new enthusiasm.

  Apparently it was less embarrassing to take lessons with an older boy than with a younger one. But that didn’t make this idea acceptable. “Since Beau nearly got you killed last night, I’m not sure this is the wisest solution.”

  Emma’s disappointment cut through him as her earlier outburst had. If only he could agree to this arrangement, he might win a bit of her favor. But Beau was undependable at best...

  Clarissa caught his gaze and tilted her head toward the door, nearly imperceptibly. She wanted Samuel to leave? Fine. He nodded slightly and made for the outside, the wind feeling like the cold hand of death on his cheeks.

  Why was this transition so hard? He’d left his traveling ministry to make a home for Emma, but nothing had gone as planned. A beautiful stranger for a wife, a mansion unbefitting a pastor’s home and a money-grubbing braggart for a cousin-in-law. Perhaps Samuel had been unrealistic, thinking a change of address and a new music teacher could make him and his daughter into a real family. But he’d thought he’d heard from God.

  Then he heard Grandfather Jonas’s voice in his memory. God shows us His glory in the hard times.

  Samuel didn’t like those words any better now than he had as a boy. But if they’d been true back in Grandfather’s time, they were likely still true today. If so, one thing was sure: they’d all better get ready to see a whole lot of glory.

  * * *

  Oh, Emma...

  The girl had a way of making Clarissa feel twice her own age while simultaneously hauling out every youthful yearning she’d thought she’d put to rest. Of all people, Clarissa understood the difficulties of a daughter whose father didn’t understand her.

  And yet Samuel certainly tried harder than Father had.

  The unrelenting thought pounded through Clarissa’s mind as Emma melted into her embrace. The rawness of the girl’s pain, her hesitant desperation, somehow brought Clarissa’s own shallowly buried desolation to the surface. Refined it. Even redefined it.

  And it was the last thing she wanted now. Why must revelation always come at inopportune times? And at such a cost?

  She forced herself to push aside her traitorous thoughts of her father. Emma’s needs came first. But before long, Clarissa would need to take out that thought again and wrestle with it until she could make peace with it.

  If peace were to be found...

  As the girlish frame trembled in Clarissa’s arms, she whispered a prayer for her, for Samuel. Emma’s emotions clearly ran deeper than mere embarrassment over being seen as a child. Something more foundational was at stake, some crack in the deepest part of her.

  Then she remembered the tears staining Emma’s face the first time she’d seen her, when she’d wondered if Samuel had somehow hurt her. Could Emma be unsure of her father’s love?

  Did she doubt her late mother’s love as well?

  At the thought, a chill shook Clarissa’s bones—a chill as deep and unsettled as the Mississippi. If she was right, Emma’s pain ran even deeper than Clarissa’s. At least she’d always known Mother loved her, even if she hadn’t been able to show it in ways that would have reached the more hidden crevices of Clarissa’s heart.

  Crevices that remained empty today.

  The thought gripped her harder than the arms encircling her waist. She forced herself to relax, not wanting Emma to notice her sudden rigidity and think she’d caused it. The girl didn’t need to feel more rejection.

  As she held Emma, calming herself, Emma’s arms loosened until she pulled back and met Clarissa’s gaze. “Sometimes I almost hate him. It’s a sin, but I can’t help it.”

  The poor girl. Clarissa smoothed the auburn hair, dark in the dim stable. “You don’t hate him. You simply haven’t learned to control your emotions, but you will as you get older.”

  “I can’t study with Willie. He’s just a child.”

  Clarissa held out her hand as a notion came to her. Dare she act on it now, rather than take time to think it through? It seemed she must. “The sun is shining now, so let’s get out of this cold stable and walk around the grounds. I have an idea...”

  Emma snatched her book and notebook from the upturned pail they rested on, and they started outside and down the walk past the woods’ edge.

  “Your father is disappointed because you went riding with Beau last night without permission. You’re a good girl and didn’t mean to do wrong, so I’ll try to help you prove yourself to your father and get back in his good graces.” As further inspiration hit, she smiled into Emma’s brown eyes, drawing a tiny grin. “If you’ll help me with something, as well.”

  Emma nodded, her cinnamon curls bouncing as they started across the lawn.

  “I’ll ask your father to let you take French with Beau—”

  “Perfect!”

  Now the hard part. “And the rest of your classes with Willie.”

  Emma’s enthusiasm died like the wind at sunset, the glow leaving he
r face and a cloudiness overtaking her eyes.

  “I’d also like you to teach basic music theory to Willie. You’ll be the adult and assign his lessons. If you do a good job, your father will notice and, in time, he might let you take more classes with Beau. Of course, you’ll need to use good judgment when you’re with him, so your father will trust you.”

  From the distance, Clarissa heard the slamming of a door on the rear gallery. Turning toward the sound, she caught sight of Beau stepping out of his second-story room and lowering himself to the wicker chair beside his door. He gave a flirty wave in their direction. Clarissa ignored it and hoped Emma hadn’t noticed.

  Judging from her quick smile and wave, she had, indeed, noticed.

  “Remember, we need your father to trust you if this is to work.”

  Emma didn’t look at Beau again but rather cast her gaze downward, a tiny smile on her lips.

  Perhaps this arrangement would bring more grief than relief.

  They rounded the bend in the path and spotted Samuel at the sanctuary, his head in his hands, looking as if he were in either prayer or agony. Or perhaps his headache of yesterday had returned and he merely needed another cup of her good coffee.

  As they approached the little chapel, he raised his head and then stood. A tiny spark of hope lit his eyes when he saw the two of them together and Emma smiling.

  “Emma, I’m not sure what to do about this disagreement...”

  When his daughter made no response, acting as if he hadn’t spoken or wasn’t even there, Clarissa nudged her arm, her touch gentle. Emma looked up at her and Clarissa mouthed the word trust.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Emma lifted her gaze. “Clarissa has a solution.”

  They sat together, and when Clarissa had explained her idea, he turned to Emma. “Is this what you wish to do?”

  “No, I wish to take all my classes with Beau, but Clarissa says I first must earn back your trust. That’s what I want.”

  He hesitated, the air suddenly thick as if he fought a rise of emotions, some tide of expectation he dared not dream he’d fulfill.

  This tender, vulnerable side of him drew Clarissa against her will, and she couldn’t pull her gaze from him, from the heart she could see in those deep brown eyes. Sensing his struggle, she entered into it herself, fighting alongside him with silent words of prayer. Why not expect God to hear, to answer? Why not dare to believe she could help Samuel regain his daughter’s heart, to make her a home and give her a real family?