The Matrimony Plan

by Christine Johnson

  “M-Mr. Blevins?” Felicity stammered.

  “Of course, Mr. Blevins. Who did you think I was talking about?”

  Felicity averted her gaze, not wanting her mother to see that she’d been thinking about Gabriel.

  Robert Blevins was coming to dinner. After such a disastrous day, she just might be able to salvage her plan. With any luck, she’d capture his affection before he learned about this afternoon’s fiasco.

  Nothing about this first day had gone the way Gabriel anticipated. He came to Pearlman expecting a country church filled with salt of the earth, hardworking folk who would appreciate a down-to-earth sermon and a pastor who worked alongside them. The inequities and misery of the city wouldn’t exist here—no divide between rich and poor, colored and white, immigrant and citizen, and no stifling poverty or raging crime. The stains of abuse, liquor and hunger wouldn’t exist. In Pearlman, he could lead a church that would reach out to the sick and poor, taking them in and nurturing them into strong God-fearing people. It was the mission of his friend Mr. Isaacs’s Orphaned Children’s Society, and Gabriel planned to make it his own.

  Today that idyllic image went right out the window.

  The ladies at the meeting had pushed daughter after hapless daughter before him, but the only woman who’d touched his heart was proud and rich.

  Then there was the parsonage. Instead of simplicity, he stood in a huge, two-story house large enough for a family of eight. The gleaming cherry Chippendale-style dining set and electric lighting looked to be recent installments, whereas the indoor plumbing had been in place for years judging by the mineral stains on the porcelain. The marble-topped sideboard and brocade-upholstered wingback chairs reeked of money. This was not a parsonage; it was a palace.

  “Had my man put your trunk upstairs,” Branford Kensington said as he opened yet another door. This one led to a handsome library and study. “Encyclopedia, concordance and the Bible in the proper translation.” The man blustered around the room like a bull moose. “Of course there’s room for your books—” he patted the one empty shelf “—though judging by the size of your trunk, you won’t need all this space.” He laughed at his own joke.

  Gabriel swallowed his irritation. “I guess you’re correct there.” He’d only brought the necessities, not wanting to put off any of the congregation with his upper-class background.

  “I’ll give you until six o’clock and then send Smithson down. Come on up to the big house for dinner. Consider it a standing invitation until your housekeeper arrives.”

  “Housekeeper? I don’t—” Gabriel started to correct him, but Kensington had already moved on.

  “Fenced yard was installed some years back for Reverend Johanneson. He had four children and thought it would keep them out of mischief.” He chuckled at the memory. “Land goes clear to the river.”

  Gabriel peered through the crystal-clear kitchen window. “It’s a fine piece of land.”

  “Yes, it is.” Kensington stuck out his hand. “Well son, I’ll leave you to settle in. Smithson’ll be here with the car at six sharp.”

  Gabriel blanched at being driven by a chauffeur. People would talk. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’d rather spend a quiet night.”

  “Nonsense. My wife will have my head if you don’t come.”

  Gabriel hesitated. An evening with Branford and Eugenia Kensington promised to try the patience of a saint. He’d barely made it through the Ladies’ Aid Society meeting.

  “You’ll want to check on Felicity,” Kensington noted with a wink, “to see if she’s recovered.”

  Memories of her flooded back: eyes the color of watercress and an elegance seldom seen in small towns. If Gabriel was honest with himself, he did want to see her. “Six o’clock?”

  “I’ll send the car.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “I prefer to walk. Just give me the address and point the way.”

  “Walk, eh?” Kensington eyed him with what seemed to be new respect. “Physical exertion builds a man’s character. I recall my trek up Kilimanjaro in 1898—”

  “Thank you, sir.” Gabriel was too tired for a lengthy story. “The address?”

  “Oh, ahem.” Kensington cleared his throat. “Naturally you’ll want to freshen up first. It’s the big Federal on top of the hill. Can’t miss it. Twin lions at the head of the drive.” He nodded slightly and took his leave.

  The house quieted after Kensington left. Gabriel drank in the solitude, spending time in prayer while he unpacked. As he half filled two of the bureau’s four large drawers, he wondered if he had made a mistake coming to Pearlman. Mr. Isaacs had asked Gabriel to join him at the Orphaned Children’s Society back in New York City.

  “We could use a man like you,” Isaacs had said. “You’ve volunteered here for years, and your seminary experience would be a plus. There are other places besides the ministry where you can do God’s work. You’d be a splendid agent for the children.”

  As much as the offer tempted Gabriel, he had to decline. “I need to go to Pearlman. God has called me to pastor there. I don’t know why, just that I must go.”

  Isaacs had understood, as always. “Go then, with my blessing, but if you ever feel your task there is complete, the offer stands.”

  After today, Gabriel wondered if he misunderstood God’s call and should have accepted Mr. Isaacs’s offer.

  “Why did you bring me here, Lord?” Gabriel asked as he shut the drawer. Today had given him no clue, and the silence of the huge house didn’t either. He thought Pearlman might bring him the good, honest wife he’d longed to meet, but instead he’d found Felicity Kensington. For all her beauty, she would never make a good minister’s wife. She was too concerned about appearances.

  He sighed and walked to the parlor. From the front windows, he could see Main Street and the church’s steeple above the rooftops. To the right sat a pretty little park, wooded along its edges and studded with lilac bushes and iris in bloom. He envisioned picnics and revivals, music, laughter and children playing.

  Strange to place the parsonage so far from the church. It must be a good two blocks away. From what he’d seen, the parsonage was one of the last homes before farmland. And the property stretched back into the trees. What had Kensington said about a river?

  For as long as he could remember, his parents had taken the family to the Catskills in the summer. The cabin emptied onto a lake filled with trout and bass. Gabriel had spent long hours swimming and fishing in that lake. Maybe this river had good fishing. He’d take a look.

  The kitchen door opened easily, but the screen door stuck and squeaked. He’d mention it to the church trustees. Two concrete steps led down to the fenced yard. He stretched his back and surveyed the grounds. Other than an overgrown lilac and four-strand clothesline, the yard was bare. The whitewashed picket fence looked solid enough, probably recently painted. Gates pierced both sides and the end.

  Beyond the far gate stood the forest, sparse at first but thickening to dense woods. He headed that way, passed through the gate and stepped into the wildness beyond. He clambered over fallen logs and crashed through the undergrowth. When he reached the edge of the river, he dropped to a lichen-covered log to watch the water flow past. He didn’t see any fish, but they’d be there in the deep pools.

  The river ran dark green over a stony bottom. In the shallows, the color turned to brown, though in a few places it glistened light green over a patch of sand. The same green as Felicity Kensington’s eyes.

  The thought sent an unwelcome ripple of pleasure through him. He tried to shake some sense into his head. Felicity was precisely the wrong type of woman: rich, controlling parents; a highly cultivated sense of superiority; a society girl. No matter how lovely, Felicity Kensington was one temptation he should avoid. If only he hadn’t agreed to dine at the Kensingtons’ house tonight.

  Lord, lead me not into temptation. But how?

  He watched the rustling treetops. They gave no answer. Neither could he hear God’
s still, small voice. With a sigh, he roused himself. He’d accepted and must attend. Until then, he could take solace in the river. He followed the riverbank away from the park, occasionally peering into the depths to look for fish.

  Within minutes, he reached the edge of the wood and the end of the path. A half-fallen barbed-wire fence blocked the way. Since the post had rotted away and the path clearly continued on the other side, Gabriel figured the owner must not have gotten around to removing it.

  Two steps into the field, he heard a gun being loaded. Every hair rose on back of his neck.

  “Hello?” He slowly lifted his palms to show he was unarmed and looked for the source of the threat. “I’m Reverend Meeks, the new pastor.” Never had he been so glad to use the title.

  “I dun’t care who y’are. This here land’s private. Coughlin land, and dun’t ye forget it.” A narrow-eyed, dungaree-clad man climbed up from the riverbank, shotgun pointed directly at Gabriel.

  “Sorry. It looked like the path continued.”

  “You city folk don’t know what a fence is?” He waved Gabriel back with the tip of his gun.

  “Uh, I guess not.”

  “Well, lemme learn you up. This here fence marks my property, Mister Reverend. You stay on your side, and I stay on mine. Understand?”

  Gabriel stepped back over the fallen fence, but he didn’t dare bring his hands down yet. “I thought the fence was abandoned.”

  The man’s bulbous nose shone red in the sun. “It’s them criminals. As soon as I put it up, they take it right back down.”

  “Criminals? Here?” Though Gabriel had only been in town a few hours, he had a hard time believing it supported a large criminal population.

  “City folk.” The man spat and aimed his shotgun at Gabriel’s head.

  “Don’t shoot!” Gabriel jumped back, nearly tripping on an exposed root.

  The man lifted the gun higher and fired. With a derisive cackle, he said, “I was jess going for a squirrel.”

  Gabriel’s heart pounded so hard that he could barely speak. “Did you get it?” The question barely fit through his constricted throat.

  “Naw. Too devilish fast for this old gun.” He shook the discharged shotgun. “R’member. You stay on your side, and I stay on mine.” With that declaration, he headed across the field to the distant ramshackle farmhouse.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Coughlin,” Gabriel called out.

  The man either didn’t hear or didn’t want to. Peculiar man. Peculiar town.

  Chapter Three

  “You did what?” Mother’s screech carried all the way upstairs.

  Felicity checked the clock. It was not yet five forty-five. Mother’s conniption fit couldn’t be about her. She eased the emerald-colored taffeta jacket over her shoulders. Conservative would no longer do. She had to dazzle Robert Blevins tonight, before he heard any malicious gossip connecting her to Gabriel Meeks.

  She pulled a matching ribbon from her vanity drawer and wove it into her hair. A diamond-headed hairpin secured it and added the necessary bit of sparkle. Robert had to fall for her. He just had to.

  “How could you?” Mother wailed downstairs.

  Felicity inched noiselessly to the stairway landing and from that perch saw that Mother had pinned Daddy and Blake at the front door. Blake’s wife, Beatrice, a pretty blonde, hovered near the parlor entrance, anxiously waiting for Mother to vent the rest of her anger.

  “That makes an odd number of guests,” Mother cried.

  “What’s one more?” Daddy waved off her concern. “The more the merrier, eh, Blake?” He gave a little laugh, meant to calm her.

  Felicity’s brother shrugged. “Fine with me. We’ll have plenty to discuss.”

  Apparently Daddy had invited someone else, probably Jack Hunter, since the airfield project most directly involved him. Ever since Jack and Darcy Hunter had attempted the transatlantic crossing last year, Blake and Daddy wanted to bring aviation to Pearlman. Blake had come up with the idea of the airfield and flight school, and Daddy had supplied the funds. Jack Hunter would do the training. Most importantly, Daddy had hired Mr. Robert Blevins to engineer the project, and now Felicity would engineer a marriage.

  Mother threw up her hands. “But an odd number means one person won’t be paired.”

  That was strange. If Jack Hunter were coming, wouldn’t he bring his wife? Perhaps Daddy hadn’t invited Mr. Hunter. A horrible thought raced through Felicity’s mind. What if Daddy had invited a lady? And what if that lady was unmarried? Felicity did not need more competition for Mr. Blevins’s attention.

  Mother pouted. “Fine. Don’t consider me. Don’t ever consider me. How am I supposed to arrange the table? One gentleman will inevitably be left out.”

  Thank goodness…another man. It must be Jack Hunter after all. With a smile of satisfaction, Felicity glided down the staircase. “Has our guest arrived?”

  “Branford,” Mother scolded, “what will people say when they hear we invited an extra guest?”

  “They’ll think we’re generous.” Daddy downed his lemonade in one swallow and patted Mother’s arm. “It’ll be fine, Eugenia.” He slipped into the parlor to refill his glass.

  Mother’s lips had set into a grim line that only grew thinner the moment she saw Felicity. “That jacket doesn’t match your gown.”

  Beatrice shot Felicity a sympathetic look. Everyone in the family knew how unbearable Mother could be when she was nervous.

  “Take it off.” Mother waved Felicity upstairs and then glanced at the clock. “Stop. There’s not enough time. We’ll have to make do. But take that ridiculous ribbon out of your hair. You look like a floozy.”

  “I think it’s lovely,” Beatrice said softly, but of course Mother ignored her opinion. She ignored everything about Beatrice except the children.

  Before Felicity could remove the offensive ribbon, Daddy returned with his drink and whistled. “Don’t you look pretty, little one.”

  Felicity could always count on him to lift her spirits. “It’s just an old gown.”

  “It looks beautiful to me.” He pecked her cheek and escorted her into the parlor with the pomp of a princess to a ball.

  “It might be acceptable for a masquerade,” Mother sniffed on their heels. “This is merely dinner.”

  Felicity tried to let the slight bounce off her, but Mother’s comments had a way of sticking to her like a burr. No matter how quickly she pulled them away, some of the barbs stuck tight.

  “I think I’m past the morning sickness,” Beatrice said in an obvious attempt to change the topic. She was expecting her second baby in December.

  “I was never sick,” said Mother. “Not a single day.”

  Felicity felt sorry for her sister-in-law, who bravely bore Mother’s snubs. Beatrice didn’t come from a good enough family to suit Mother. The Foxes ran a dress shop—respectable but not the upper-class connections Mother wanted for her only son.

  “How is little Tillie?” Felicity asked. Beatrice had named her first child Matilda after her grandmother, again irritating Mother.

  Beatrice brightened. “She’s such a dear, cooing away in her own special language. My mother loves watching her, but I do miss her, even for a few hours.”

  Blake laughed. “I don’t think we’ll ever untie Tillie from her mother’s apron strings. It was hard enough getting Beattie to turn her over to Grandma so we could come to dinner tonight.”

  Beatrice blushed. “She’s just a baby, dearest.”

  “Speaking of dinner,” Mother said, cutting off the line of conversation, “apparently my wishes are to be ignored. Felicity, set another place at the table.”

  Despite having a cook, housekeeper, gardener and butler on staff, Mother always expected Felicity to take care of any last-minute changes. Felicity chafed at the directive, but getting upset would not change Mother or charm Robert. She stifled her resentment and obeyed.

  Once in the dining room, she discovered the housekeeper had heard Moth
er’s fit and already added a place setting between Felicity and Robert. All Felicity had to do was rearrange the sterling place card holders to put Robert on her right.

  Within two minutes, she returned to the foyer to find that Mr. Robert Blevins had arrived. Tall with strawberry blond hair, Mr. Blevins lacked the ideal figure extolled in the ladies’ magazines. He was a bit too broad across the midsection and narrow in the shoulders. A little too much brilliantine for her taste, but elegantly coiffed, his wavy hair was parted down the center. He sported a mustache with the tips curled and waxed. The red-and-white-striped silk waistcoat and white linen suit weren’t quite appropriate for dinner, which Mother thankfully did not point out.

  He tapped his gold-knobbed cane on the slate floor, and with a flick of the wrist, he caught it midlength before depositing it into the umbrella stand.

  Mother batted her eyelashes like a debutante. “Call me Eugenia. Everyone does.”

  He gave her his full attention. “Very well, Eugenia. And if I may say so, your gown would disgrace every lady at Carnegie Hall.”

  Mother fairly warbled. “And you are quite handsomely dressed yourself. Blevins, you said? Any relation to the Blevinses of Newport?”

  Felicity blushed at her mother’s lack of tact, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “The very ones,” he beamed, chest thrust out.

  “You don’t say. Felicity!” The screech was a call to battle. “You must meet my daughter.”

  Felicity glided near. “You called, Mother?”

  “Ah, Felicity, there you are. I’d like you to meet the engineer for the airfield project, Mr. Robert Blevins. Do you go by Robert or Bob?”

  “Whatever suits you, ma’am.” He bent elegantly over Felicity’s hand, kissing it lightly. His mustache scratched like Daddy’s, and she resisted the urge to giggle. “Or you, Ms. Felicity.”

  “Ah, such manners,” Eugenia crowed. “Few young people today have good manners.”