An Inconvenient Marriage

by Christina Miller

  “That’s silly. He does want you, specifically.”

  “No, he wanted me because I could keep him at Christ Church. Any Natchez girl could have married him and made him eligible for this pastorate.”

  “He wouldn’t have married any other girl but you.” Grandmother’s words burned through Clarissa, her eyes like fire. “What kind of man do you think he is, that he’d marry any girl who came along?”

  No, Samuel did not choose her, because no man ever had. Not Father. Not Harold. She’d never been enough, never been adequate. “I’m just the convenient one. That’s why they call it a marriage of convenience.”

  “No, you were in the place God intended you to be, at the time He intended it.”

  “Then what happened when Harold left? When my father left? Was I in the wrong place at the wrong time? I don’t think so.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Papa always used the Delta plantations as his excuse for abandoning me. Then we said he neglected me because of his grief.” Her tone sounded shrill in her ears, and she took a deep breath to lower it. “My love for my father could neither keep him here nor bring him back, any more than it could keep Harold.”

  “You read more into this than you should. Lots of people love you.”

  But Clarissa could no longer shove away the knowledge that her father had abandoned her long before he’d exited her life. And her mother’s love, sweet as it had been, hadn’t filled the gap he’d left.

  Did anyone really want to be with her, to love her, to stay with her?

  She set the now-sleeping baby in the middle of the bed and knelt at her grandmother’s feet, her sudden tears blurring the older woman’s face. “When my mother died and my father left, did you and Grandfather keep me out of love or duty?”

  Grandmother Euphemia turned from the mirror and touched Clarissa’s hair in a rare tender gesture. “Why did you take Lilliana? Why do you still have her?”

  Not from duty. Duty without love would have taken her to the orphanage.

  “We didn’t have to keep you. We wanted you.” Grandmother’s voice turned nostalgic. “You were a sweet child, and now you’re a sweet woman. Your father left because of his own failings, his own moral defects. Not yours.”

  If only it were true. She—not Father, not Harold Goss—was the flawed one. “He wasn’t the only man who left me.”

  “Yes, Harold Goss—he has no more sense than Absalom does. You’d have been miserable with him.”

  Yes, but she’d also been miserable without him. “He made me feel special, as if I stood out from the other girls in town.”

  “You are special, and you still stand out. Harold was too greedy to understand what a treasure you are.” Grandmother turned, secured pins in her hair, then stood and smoothed her skirt, breaking the warm mood. “I’ve never dressed this late in the day in my life.”

  To be sure, Grandmother was changing. Turning loose of time-honored traditions and habits no one would ever have thought she would abandon. Camellia Pointe was changing, as well.

  But Samuel? She was certainly seeing new sides of him, and he was learning to laugh and relax a bit. But just an hour ago, he’d turned from a moment that might have become tender.

  Grandmother was wrong. Samuel didn’t love her and never would. Because Clarissa wasn’t the kind of girl a man would love.

  * * *

  If only Clarissa could slow down time tonight.

  An hour before dark, she slid open the pocket doors between the parlor and drawing room, making one big room for the household—all but Absalom and his family. And Sergeant John, who’d insisted on standing guard outside to prevent her cousin from wrecking any more of their work. With the grounds renovation completed, Joseph would arrive at any moment to inspect their efforts, and then he’d open his decades-old portmanteau. When he did, she’d hear her grandfather’s last words to her.

  She’d treasure those words, as she still cherished the memory of Mother’s last touch, her last, precious breaths. And then they would be over, and she’d have no more communication from him until the day she would see him again in heaven. She held Lilliana a little tighter in her arms. God had a way of bringing comfort in the midst of sorrow, and the baby certainly brought comfort and joy to this home.

  Funny how an infant could do that...

  Lilliana affected even Samuel. Having her in their home and using Camellia Pointe for ministry clearly made it easier for him to live here. Tonight, for the first time since he’d come to this house, Samuel looked at home, relaxed, with his easy manner and quick smile. As Emma floated toward him in the drawing room, her creamy yellow hoopskirt swaying prettily, he smiled at her.

  Actually smiled. The sight brought a mistiness to Clarissa’s eyes.

  His ease calmed the rest of the family in the cozy back room as well. Peter and Prudy sat on the rug with Willie and played quietly with the puppy for once. Even Lilliana had quieted a bit in Clarissa’s arms, merely making little squawking sounds instead of crying her heart out as before.

  If only Clarissa could compose herself as well. In a few more minutes, they would be one step closer to the end of the contest. Both she and Absalom had fulfilled their duties well and completed the second stipulation, but what was to come? She still believed her grandfather had intended to award her Camellia Pointe and Good Shepherd. But his first two letters had certainly held the unexpected. Who knew what he’d thought up for the third?

  After a long afternoon of hard physical labor, the small crowd of workers looked as tired and sore as Clarissa felt. Willie, Peter and Prudy, Mister Forbes, Emma—even Grandmother had helped by minding Lilliana and Honey during the hectic afternoon.

  She sat next to Samuel on the red velvet sofa. “A big part of me doesn’t want to hear this last letter.”

  He arched his brows. “Whatever it says, it’ll be the truth that will set you free from Absalom.”

  One way or the other.

  Joseph’s two-horse brougham pulled up, its unmistakable deep-toned bells ringing outside the parlor window. Samuel hastened to the hall as if he’d been greeting guests in this house all his life.

  Nothing could have surprised Clarissa more than his obvious, sudden pleasure in Camellia Pointe. Then again, it shouldn’t have, considering the way he’d preached in the little sanctuary this afternoon.

  She shifted the baby in her arms in the hope of distracting the child, kissed her sweet little cheeks. She could hardly believe she’d married a man with a pastor’s heart as big as her grandfather’s. Her eyes stung a bit as she remembered Samuel’s intensity, his fervency, as he’d preached the Gospel to the tourists in Grandfather’s chapel.

  As her pride in him grew, her longing grew as well—to be more than just ministry helper and applesauce-cookie baker and stepmother to his daughter. She nuzzled Lilliana’s sweet-smelling neck, hoping to hide her own embarrassment and flushed face.

  Because as sure as the sunrise, she was beginning to lose her heart to her husband.

  “I brought a new governess and cook.” Joseph’s basso voice snatched Clarissa from her unruly thoughts as he and Samuel entered the big room.

  Maisie.

  Clarissa hastened to welcome the former seamstress, whose peach-colored, iridescent dress had one of the new elliptical skirts and a matching snood. High style for Natchez after the war. Clarissa tucked under the slightly frayed cuffs of her own made-over green-and-white gingham. “Maisie, we need you desperately. I simply don’t know what I’m doing.” About more issues than one.

  “If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s taking care of children. I helped raise most of my nieces and nephews.” Maisie held out her plump hands and took the complaining baby. Lilliana continued to fuss, but more quietly. Maisie simply patted her back and crooned a song so sweet and low, it calmed even Clarissa a bit.

  Jos
eph had known exactly how to help them, as always.

  As she instructed Emma and Willie on settling Maisie and the baby in their new room, the back door opened and then banged shut. A moment later, Absalom and Beau barged in. Absalom plopped himself into the gold fireside wing chair.

  “Let’s get this inspection over with.” He glanced at Grandmother, who had raised her cane. “And don’t start with that weapon of yours.”

  Seated next to him, Grandmother poked him in the shin anyway. “You needn’t have sat down. We’re heading straight outside for the grounds inspection before dark.”

  So soon? “Joseph, wouldn’t you care for coffee first? It gets damp outside this time of evening.”

  The attorney hesitated, cocking his head at her. “Best to get it done, little girl.”

  Little girl. He hadn’t called Clarissa by his pet name for her since she’d started wearing her hair up. He must know something she didn’t...

  When everyone had filed out and Clarissa followed Joseph into the hall, Honey growled, long and loud. Clarissa turned around to the drawing room again and found Beau making for the round walnut table in the center of the room and reaching for the portmanteau resting there.

  The sneak. Staying quiet in the back of the room until they’d all forgotten about him. “Don’t touch it.”

  Beau’s wide-eyed stare might have looked innocent on a child half his age, who wasn’t the son of a renegade like Absalom.

  “You’re coming with us, where I can see you.” Joseph strode back into the drawing room, grabbed the handle of his aged leather bag with one hand and Beau’s arm with the other. “March.”

  The young man stalked outside, his naive look gone. Clarissa snatched up the puppy and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “You’d better watch them every minute,” Joseph said, still the protector.

  Twenty minutes later, they stopped at the sanctuary after a tour of the gardens and lawns. Joseph laid his hand on Clarissa’s shoulder, a fatherly pride in his eye. “You’ve done well. In my opinion, you’ve met the criteria of the will.”

  “Of course she’ll pass the inspection, since her husband has the final say.” Absalom’s voice turned spiteful. “But even with all the help she had, she didn’t finish. The live oak behind the sanctuary needs trimming.”

  “Reverend Montgomery, what say you?” Joseph said.

  Samuel didn’t hesitate a moment. “According to Clarissa, the late Reverend Adams let the tree grow as it wished. Clarissa has fulfilled both the letter of her grandfather’s request and the spirit thereof.”

  “Well spoken.” Joseph turned toward the house and started up the slope.

  Fifteen minutes later, with the house inspection complete, Absalom flopped into the gold wing back again, the frame groaning under his weight, and lit the fat cigar he’d pulled from his coat pocket. “Let’s get this over with. I have an appointment.”

  Clarissa turned her face away, fussed with the seam on the side of her skirt. How could Absalom be so cold as to rush through this painful ceremony? Or was she the only one to mourn Grandfather, to realize they were about to hear the last words he had for them? Never again would he share his mind, his heart, with them. “Must we hurry through it so? Could we not take a moment and—and remember Grandfather, his kind ways, his love for us? Can we not—pray?”

  “Prayer would be appropriate.” Samuel hastened to his feet and began a prayer.

  Clarissa drank in the tenderness and kindness in her husband’s voice and breathed a wordless prayer of her own. Grandfather Hezekiah—kind and always gentle. Surely he meant this situation for her good. Surely he wanted her to have Camellia Pointe and Good Shepherd. Surely he meant Clarissa to win.

  But she’d broken her grandfather’s trust when she’d become engaged to Harold Goss that summer. For reasons she didn’t understand then, Grandfather didn’t like him. Almost hated him. Could he be testing her with this will?

  Clarissa glanced over at Samuel again as he completed his prayer. She needed some of the control he had such a grip on.

  Joseph opened his bag and drew out a bundle of papers tied with string. “As with the second letter, the reverend is to read it to Absalom and Clarissa together. Everyone else, please vacate the room.”

  Within moments, the four were alone, the divider doors pulled shut again, the drawing room door closed tight. Joseph handed an envelope to Samuel, who slid on his eyeglasses and opened the single page.

  “‘To meet the third stipulation of my will, my grandchildren will formulate and execute separate plans for the improvement of my properties. Absalom Adams will take charge of Good Shepherd Dining and Lodging. Clarissa Adams will do likewise for Camellia Pointe.’

  “‘To succeed in this third phase, one contestant will improve his property to make it the more useful, aesthetic and functional. Since this phase is a contest, attorney Joseph Duncan, the current minister of Christ Church of Natchez, and the deaconate of said church will determine which candidate has better achieved his objective. The winner will become heir of Camellia Pointe and Good Shepherd Dining and Lodging. Plans must be submitted in three days and completed in one year. Listen. “His compassions fail not. They are new every morning.’”

  New every morning... Clarissa was going to need that. A stone sunk in her middle. Could her grandfather have made this contest any harder?

  Lord, I need those new compassions now. I can’t wait until morning...

  “How much money did the old man give us for these improvements?” Absalom ashed his cigar on the parlor rug.

  Clarissa bounded up from the sofa. “You never cared for our grandparents, only their money. Well, there isn’t any left. What the Yankees didn’t steal, the Confederates confiscated.”

  “Then explain those coin silver candlesticks on the piano. And Great-grandmother’s garnets that you still wear. And the old man’s silver traveling communion set—”

  “How did you know the communion set was here?” Against her will, her voice rose an octave. “You’ve been snooping in Samuel’s study. I checked the spare key ring in the kitchen, and the key to his study was missing. You took it, didn’t you?”

  “I’m still family, like it or not.” He pounded his fist on the Hepplewhite side table. “I have a right to know!”

  “Fine. It’s none of your business, since Grandfather left the house’s contents to me,” Clarissa said. “But he hid the silver and garnets because they were irreplaceable. He was the fourth generation to use the communion set, and Grandmother’s ancestors brought the candlesticks and garnets over on the Mayflower.”

  “What else did he hide?” Absalom lowered his voice to a menacing growl. “Confederate gold?”

  That settled it—her cousin had gone crazy. “I know your scheme to keep us occupied with tourists so you and Harold can look for hidden treasure. I never heard of anything so childish.”

  “Time to go, Adams.” Her husband stood and slowly strode to Absalom’s side, sliding his eyeglasses into his inner coat pocket. “Keep in mind that anything you find belongs to Clarissa. And if you take anything, you’re stealing.”

  When Absalom had stomped out and slammed the back door, Clarissa hastened to scan the hall and parlor. Upon returning to Samuel and Joseph, she closed and locked the drawing room door. “I don’t trust him not to eavesdrop.”

  “And I don’t trust him not to tear the house apart stone by stone, looking for treasure,” Samuel said as Clarissa returned to the sofa.

  She reached under the Hepplewhite table next to her and opened its drawer. Then she pulled out the newspaper advertisement and handed it to Joseph. “Do you know anything about the Daily Memphis Avalanche? Harold owns it and printed a picture Drusilla drew of our little sanctuary.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out. Keep the sergeant around to secure the place. He’s a tough one. He could scare grown men off the
property with one glance.” Joseph read the advertisement and handed it back. “I’ll be here Sunday afternoon to hear your plans.”

  Plans completed in three days. Work finished in one year. If Clarissa had wished to hold back the clock hands before, she’d slow them to a near stop now.

  Or would she? “Will the first person to complete the work have a better chance at winning?”

  Joseph nodded. “If the quality of the plan and work are similar, the first person finished would have an advantage.”

  “Then I’ll make sure we’re done first.” Somehow.

  When the attorney had taken his leave, Clarissa sighed and turned to Samuel in the hall. “I have a lot of work to do and not much time. I’ll get a basic plan together, and we can meet tomorrow evening—”

  A clattering sound in the formal dining room stopped her. Clarissa crept toward the noise and flung open the door.

  In the waning light, Emma and Beau crouched near the door, obviously eavesdropping on Clarissa’s private meeting with her attorney.

  Clarissa opened her mouth to question them then hesitated. Emma’s father needed to handle this. She raised her gaze heavenward for a moment and then put all her encouragement and confidence in him into a bright smile—at least, she hoped that was what it looked like.

  Could he do it? She believed he could. Dear God, please remind him not to frown at her.

  * * *

  Looking back, Samuel couldn’t have said where he’d suddenly gotten the idea to take Emma out to the sanctuary yesterday after catching her spying. Why he’d been able to have a fatherly talk with her instead of merely “scowling,” as Willie called it, and then given up, not knowing what else to do. Or why Emma had agreed to go with him. But for the first time, he’d refused to let his past failure cripple him in the present.

  One sweet smile from Clarissa had broken the habit—permanently, he hoped—as she showed him her faith in him.