by Paige Powers
"And if I do not marry? What then?"
"There will be provisions made, and it will be business as usual. But let us not think about that avenue. We will be prepared for things to go the way that your father mapped out for you, Amelia."
She rose abruptly from the chair. Extending her hand, she waited for the lawyer to shake hers.
He did. "Amelia, this is the chance for you to live life on your own terms. There are no women who own a gold mine, let alone a business. That is mostly a man's work. So imagine the doors that will open for you if you go out west."
So here was that freedom and opportunity that Amelia had longed for since childhood. That it came at the cost of her parents' death was hard to deal with, but Amelia knew that she only had one option at this time in her life.
Chapter 2
The skies in San Francisco were clear today. It was a phenomenon that Amelia was coming to appreciate. There was normally an overcast sky, but today was beautiful. The sun was shining and birds were chirping. People were out strolling and enjoying the day.
San Francisco was a bit like Boston. Both were cities on the water, and Amelia loved the fact that she could still go and watch the ships sail out to the ocean. San Francisco was also a political hotbed now, but in a different way than Boston. In Boston, there was a more stringent look on politics. People in the west seemed to be more willing to live outside the rules.
The new city was growing by leaps and bounds, and was very diverse. Amelia had never actually lived somewhere where there were so many different races and ethnicities living freely among each other. Not even in Switzerland. It was actually refreshing, and it fed her need for freedom.
Moving across the country was no easy feat, but she had moved to another country at one time in her life, so she figured moving west should not be too much more of a task.
Her father's brother had accompanied her on her journey, and helped her to get established in a quaint home close to the heart of the city. The thought of settling anywhere else other than the city was unthinkable because she had heard wild tales of cowboys and wild outlaws riding around on horseback, randomly killing at will.
The railroad brought great opportunity out west for expansion and a chance for a new life. And when Amelia arrived, she immediately wanted her slice of that new life.
Once she was settled in, she began the search for the space that would house her dream. She wanted to start a finishing school for girls. It would be the perfect thing to keep her busy while she was supposed to be finding a suitor for marriage.
Thinking about the events of the past few months kept her mind busy while she was on the train to California. Amelia was not exactly sure how she was supposed to make all of this happen. Living in a new city was not a foreign concept to her. Starting life over on her terms was familiar. At nineteen years old, she was practically an old maid. All of her friends in Boston had been betrothed to a suitor at this point in their lives. They had lavish weddings planned, and huge mansions to move into.
Amelia, on the other hand, was a single woman, practically orphaned, living in a new city, and thinking about starting a career versus finding the man she was supposed to marry.
She had never really thought that love would be for her. She did not even know what it felt like to be in love. She had heard about it, read about it in books and poems, but never felt it.
All of her childhood friends grew up giggling about falling in love and fantasizing about their weddings. Amelia never had those dreams. She wanted to see the world and learn what life was like outside of Boston society. As a young girl, that was not an aspiration she could openly share. Women were not supposed to have dreams or goals. They were not supposed to aspire to live outside of what their husbands provided for them. And girls certainly were not supposed to want anything of their own.
And everything that Amelia wanted in life was outside all of the things she was supposed to be. Maybe it was something that she got from her mother. Lulu la Rue had not come from much. When she was an orphan at age thirteen and living on the streets of Boston, she learned how to take care of herself. She was not the type of woman who wanted to depend on anyone, because she had experienced what it was like to be let down. Amelia did not know much about her mother's family or her mother's upbringing. Lulu would get a distant look on her face every time Amelia asked, so Amelia stopped asking.
Lulu would play the doting wife in public, as prim and proper as she could be, but behind closed doors she would convince Amelia that she could be anything she wanted to be, despite what society said about being a woman.
Being the owner of a brothel was not exactly the kind of thing Amelia aspired to do, but the idea of having her own money and not living completely off of her trust funds or her soon-to-be husband's money was appealing.
Once she allowed herself to appreciate all that she learned from the boarding school in Switzerland, she decided that she too could start a school for girls. Girls like her who had dreams to live outside of their husband's shadows and girls who wanted to travel the world like she did.
Her afternoon stroll led her to the building with which she would soon become very familiar.
Staring up at the building, she looked at the place that would soon be Ms. Amelia's Finishing School for Girls.
Her heart swelled with joy. There had been something good to come out of tragedy. She had sold the Boston house, gave a sizeable amount to each of the maids and the butler for so many years of hard work, and set out to move west.
So far, things were working out in Amelia's favor.
*
"Alfred! Alfred!" The very sound of the high-pitched shrill of Mrs. Sharp's voice was enough to bring on a headache when Amelia heard the sound.
"Yes, Mother."
The petite woman appeared in the doorway. She never changed. Her hair was always pinned meticulously in a severe bun directly on top of her head. Amelia marveled at her ability to get the bun exactly in the middle of her head. Standing there in the doorway, her face was contorted in a way that looked as if she was dissatisfied with life in general at all times.
"We have dinner plans tonight. Mrs. Henson and her husband have invited us over at five o'clock."
Alfred looked at Amelia, those deep brown eyes looking to her for some sort of support.
"Mother, Amelia and I had plans this evening."
Mrs. Sharp's jaw drew tighter. She stared at Amelia before the remnants of what was supposed to be a smile spread across her face.
"Well now, we would not want to interrupt your plans, now would we?"
Amelia grimaced. Mrs. Sharp always spoke using the term "we" although there was no "we." It was usually just her on her own making things difficult for her son and for Amelia.
"Really, Alfred. It is not a problem. We can go to dinner tomorrow evening. It sounds as though your mother has something important for you to do."
Amelia gently tapped Alfred's shoulder. She looked out of the corner of her eye at Mrs. Sharp, who despised that when speaking to Alfred, Amelia usually referred to her as “your mother.” It was no secret that Mrs. Sharp did not care for Amelia. She said that she could just not understand how a woman would move across the country on her own, and why on earth Amelia would consider working when her parents left her so much money.
Her money was not the kind of thing that she discussed with anyone other than her uncle and Mr. McGill. She did not even discuss finances with Alfred. It was one of the things that was a point of contention in their relationship. Alfred felt that as the man, he should know just how much of an inheritance he was coming into when marrying Amelia. He said that it was his place to know about the ins and outs of the things that made the very money they would spend to fund their lifestyle.
Amelia of course did not agree. She had only known Alfred for a few months, and she thought that was something that she could eventually explain to him.
She looked over at Alfred, waiting for him to decide to spend the evening with her and not his mother
. Mrs. Sharp and her overbearing nature was another point of contention in their relationship. As a widow, she often laid the guilt trip on Alfred pretty strong, so he usually ended up giving in to her demands. It was the kind of thing that was not so much of a problem at first, but as of recently, it had begun to get under Amelia's skin.
Mrs. Sharp's invitation to dinner was more of a demand than an invitation. And the fact that she had not thought to open the invitation to Amelia, as Alfred's fiancé, made matters even more strained.
"Dinner starts at five." Mrs. Sharp turned to walk outside of the parlor.
"Mother. I did not say that I was going."
Mrs. Sharp whirled around. "Are my ears deceiving me, my dear son?
Her icy blue eyes were practically burning a hole through Alfred.
He tried to soften his approach. "Mother," he said standing up so that they were face to face.
Amelia sat her drink down, and waited to see if Alfred would do the right thing.
"You know that I am engaged to be married, yet you are always trying to find a suitor for me. I am capable of making decisions."
Mrs. Sharp froze. She clasped her hands together so tightly that she felt her nails digging into her skin.
"Mother, Amelia will be my date for the evening."
Amelia smiled. It was not only great to see Alfred standing up to his mother, but it gave Amelia hope that at some point, things would change for the better.
"I am not exactly sure that there will be enough space there for all of us to bring someone else."
"Mother," Alfred interrupted.
Mrs. Sharp stood back for a moment trying to decide what she should do about the manner in which she was being addressed.
"Mother, Amelia is going to be my wife shortly. What better way for a man to celebrate than to bring his loving, caring, fiancée to dinner?"
"Very well. I will send word that we have one more at the dinner. I hope that it is not too late to make the calls after all that they have done preparing for this meal."
"Mother, trust me. From now on, we have got to work together on this. We are about to be a family. There is no reason for us to go at each other like this."
Amelia counted down until Mrs. Sharp would decide that she had had enough of being reprimanded.
"Very well," was all that Mrs. Sharp said as she walked away.
Amelia tried her best to maintain her exposure, but it was almost impossible when Mrs. Sharp was so over the top.
"I am sorry my love. I will handle my mother."
Alfred took her hand in his and squeezed it with reassurance.
"I hope so. I am not sure how much more I can take."
"We will be married soon. That is all that matters, my sweet Amelia."
He leaned over and kissed her. The blood rushed to her head, and when his lips let go of hers, she felt lightheaded and woozy. A kiss from Alfred was starting to ignite a spark in her, something it had not done when she originally met him. Maybe love could actually happen for her after all.
*
Strolling along the sidewalk, many thoughts ran through Amelia's mind. The excitement of opening the finishing school was mounting. She only had a few days left, and there were several students already ready to enroll. Of course there would be many onlookers there simply looking for social stimulation.
Amelia had gotten used to being the talk of the town. She was one of many who ventured west to start life over again, so her story was not unfamiliar. But people were simply enamored of the fact that she was a woman living there alone who was trying to make her own way. She was not a widow. She was not a woman with an estranged husband whose money funded her lifestyle. She was a former socialite who was orphaned, and was a bit more wayward and free-spirited than some thought a woman should be, even those out west.
Her biggest fear was that no one would take her seriously. This was her dream, and all she wanted was for it to come true and to be successful. Alfred seemed to be supportive, but he never wanted to discuss much more than the financial outlook. Alfred Sharp was born and raised in Kansas. His father was a farmer with dreams of making it big out west. His mother was the daughter of a shop owner who provided a comfortable existence for his family. That left her always wanting more and bigger and better.
It was the kind of yearning that left her husband destitute and drained before his death, and left her son feeling that he had some type of goal or dream that he could never measure up to.
Amelia and Alfred met one day down at the pier. Amelia had been there watching the ships come and go when Alfred approached her. She did not immediately notice him strolling around the pier. He was the kind of man who was not strikingly attractive. A long thin but sloping nose, dark mousy hair, and steel blue eyes, but Alfred Sharp made up for what he lacked in the looks and appearance department with intelligence.
He’d recently graduated from college, and worked as a junior accountant for a local chain of grocery stores. It was a job that was just as unassuming as he was. A job that allowed him to stay safely in the background. Amelia was never quite sure if he wanted more out of life, or if he was content to work for the store chain. He never mentioned wanting to travel and never really mentioned any other goals.
It was a fact that Amelia left alone. When she did mention it, Alfred would get a look across his face that told her it was a topic he preferred not to discuss.
The day they met was beautiful. The weather was perfect, and it was a gorgeous day for a stroll. Amelia sat watching the ships go by, throwing crumbs to the seagulls. It reminded her of being at home in Boston. She had not missed Boston prior to that point. All of a sudden, the feeling of homesickness washed over her. It had been relatively easy to forget about the place she previously called home, but today, sitting there with the sounds of the ocean, she felt close to the place where she had grown up.
"I see that you love the ships."
She had not heard him at first. So when he walked up near where she was seated, his presence startled her.
"I'm sorry. Did you say something?"
When she looked up, there was a man with a slightly muscular build standing there before her. His smile was inviting.
"Yes. I was remarking on the ships. I love coming down to the pier to watch the ships come in. How about you?"
Amelia regarded him for a moment. What made him feel comfortable enough to simply walk up to her and strike up a conversation? She had been sitting there, daydreaming about her childhood in Boston. Her thoughts switched between childhood memories with her parents and the life she needed to build for herself here in San Francisco.
"I have had a fascination with the shipyards since I was a child. Being here just makes me feel free."
"Me as well."
Amelia remembered the moment that Alfred took a seat beside her. She had not been expecting to sit with him for hours and talk about nothing in particular. The conversation flowed freely, and nothing about the interaction felt forced.
It was in that moment that Amelia decided that Alfred would have to do for marriage. He seemed harmless enough and when they met, she only had a few months to spare to make her father's wishes come true. If she was going to choose someone, she decided that Alfred would have to do.
Her plan was not one that she spoke openly with Alfred about. She just made herself available enough that he would choose on his own to ask for her hand in marriage. He did so within the first thirty days of courting. It seemed that her life would work out the way that her father, the illustrious William Smith, intended it to after all.
The only problem was that after dating a few months and getting to know Alfred and her shrewd mother in law to be, Amelia was not exactly sure that the plan would go off without a hitch.
Chapter 3
This was the fourth day in a row that Jonathan heard his mother crying. He could not take it any longer. She had done her best to hide it from him, but at this point, Jonathan was ready to explode. His mother was a relatively strong
woman and he had never seen her at her breaking point. But no man could resist a woman's tears.
"Mother. Please tell me why you are crying?"
Jonathan never set foot in his mother's bedroom before. But this was a desperate situation. She beckoned him over to where she sat on her parlor chair. She was holding an envelope in her lap.
Jonathan did not ask permission to take hold of the paper. He simply slid it from his mother's fingers. Flipping the folded paper open, he read the script.
The words stung as they imprinted in his mind.
"What is this?" His question was more of a demand than anything.
Her reply was simply a sniffle.
"Mother, what is this?" He clutched the paper in his hands so tightly that he could have pummeled it and turned it the dust.
"Your father has passed away."
The words took the wind out of Jonathan's chest. "My father?"
The words he spoke were twofold. He knew that his mother was about to tell him something that was going to change his life.
"Your father has passed away." This time when she spoke, her tone was low and she looked him directly in the eye.
Jonathan waited as patiently as he could for his mother to reveal the information she was withholding. She placed her hand on top of his. Looking at her with her soft green eyes, Jonathan could not help but calm down a bit.
"I'm listening, Mother."
There was a dull pain in his temples from his clenched jaw.
"I have not been completely truthful with you about the identity of your father."
She paused, closing her eyes, as a tear slowly rolled down her cheek. Jonathan felt her squeeze his hand.
"I was so young then. So very young. I had no clue what I was doing. Running around with this man. Our love was a secret. I was just a shopkeeper's daughter. There was no way that society would approve. We were just too different for society to allow us to be together. So I agreed to keep everything a secret. Every meeting. Every dinner. Every walk we took holding hands. I thought that it was for the best. I did not want to disturb his life and I certainly did not want to make anything difficult for myself.