The Matrimony Plan

by Christine Johnson

  The bell above the door tinkled when he left, replacing his irritation with a warm homey feeling. This was small-town America, the rural ideal he’d envisioned—girls giggled, boys played, clean air, bright storefronts and friendly townspeople—well, at least for the most part.

  He waited at the corner for a motorcar to pass. The Packard approached quickly, and the driver blew the horn to warn everyone to scatter. For a second, the significance didn’t hit Gabriel. Then he remembered. This was Kensington’s car. Gabriel watched it turn into the alley behind the drugstore. What had Mrs. Simmons said? To be certain to use the front door?

  Curious, he hurried down the street and reached the alley just as the motorcar was driving away. The heel of a man’s shoe vanished into the drugstore’s back door—Kensington, no doubt. Gabriel strode down the alley and tried the door. Locked. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t good.

  Evil hides from the light.

  What this town needed was someone to shine a bright light into the dark corners. They needed their eyes opened to the corruption around them. The people of this town needed a leader who would stand up to Kensington, not another puppet giving bland sermons and lukewarm advice. This town needed its spiritual and social fire relit. God had called him, Gabriel Meeks, to Pearlman for a reason. He now knew what that reason was.

  Reinvigorated, Gabriel strode past the church to the park.

  This whole business began in the woods behind the parsonage. Criminals, Coughlin had said. Gabriel now knew what the man meant. Something was going on near that broken-down fence, and he intended to find out what.

  The route to Baker’s Field took Felicity past the park and the parsonage with its hedge of furiously blooming bridal’s veil. If she could get to the barn first, she could ask for Robert’s assistance before Sally and Eloise claimed his time.

  She hurried past the cramped fields of Einer Coughlin, the last farmhouse before Baker’s Field. Though she couldn’t spot Robert in the field, a motorcar was parked near the barn. It looked like Blake’s, meaning Robert had to be there.

  If she cut across Coughlin’s hayfield, she’d save precious minutes, but the man was the meanest farmer in town. Everyone blamed it on his wife’s untimely death and son’s running away, but Felicity sympathized with the wife and son. He’d likely driven them to their rash actions. Shiftless and stingy, Mr. Coughlin grew hay on the richest farmland in the township.

  She hated walking by Coughlin’s land. Sometimes he’d yell at passersby. Occasionally he’d threaten them. She hurried past the ramshackle house surrounded by garbage and broken equipment. It was an eyesore and a disgrace and so close to the parsonage, too. Poor Gabriel.

  Poor Gabriel? What was she thinking? She had set her cap on Robert Blevins, not Gabriel Meeks.

  With a shudder, she scurried by the Coughlin place, head down. Just a few yards more, she thought. Then a pitiful whining made her stop. That came from a dog, and judging by its plaintive cry, it was hurt. Was the animal caught in one of the rusting buggies or plows near the house? If so, Coughlin would shoot it out of spite.

  A horrible yelp set her in motion. She had to save the poor thing before it was too late, but where was it? At first, the cries seemed to come from near the house, but as she went farther into the newly reaped field, she realized the animal was behind the house, toward the river.

  When she rounded the decaying wagon, she saw. Mr. Coughlin, rifle slung over his shoulder, dragging poor Slinky toward the river on a rope.

  “Stop,” she cried, racing toward them.

  The dog struggled against the rope with all his might, but Mr. Coughlin didn’t let go. With a jerk, the knot tightened around Slinky’s neck.

  “Stop. You’ll strangle him.”

  Coughlin kept walking.

  The wet earth sucked the ivory satin pumps off her feet. She yanked the shoes out of the mud and tried again, but two steps later, the shoes came off again. It was no use. She grabbed the shoes and ran in her stocking feet. The hay stubble stabbed her soles, but she had to save Slinky.

  “Stop. Stop.” She waved the shoes, but Coughlin didn’t hear her.

  He steamed onward, slowed only by Slinky’s desperate resistance. The black-and-white dog snapped and nipped at the rope, but Coughlin yanked harder.

  “Stop that,” she cried. “You’re hurting him.” She threw a shoe past the man’s head.

  That stopped him. He squinted in her direction while Slinky tried desperately to rub the rope off his neck.

  “Mr. Coughlin,” she panted, “don’t do it.”

  Coughlin raised the rifle. “Yer on my land.”

  “P-please.” She could barely get the word out. He wouldn’t shoot her, would he? “You have no right.”

  “I have every right. This mutt has et his last chicken. Now get off my land.”

  Slinky jumped joyfully against her pale yellow gown, planting muddy paw prints on the delicate chiffon. Coughlin yanked the dog back with a harsh jerk.

  “No,” Felicity cried with frustration. How could she stop Coughlin? How could she prevent this murder? She looked around for help and spotted the broken fence ten feet back. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re standing on parsonage property.”

  His eyes narrowed as he followed her line of sight and then he dragged Slinky back over the fence line. “Now I’m on my land. Git.”

  Not without Slinky. But Coughlin would never let the dog go. He operated on the eye-for-an-eye system. Somehow she had to convince him to turn the dog over to her.

  Heart hammering in her ears, she said, “I can stand here if I want. My father gave this land to the church.”

  “Yer choice.” Coughlin pointed his rifle at Slinky.

  “No,” she cried. “Don’t. I’ll pay you for the chicken.”

  “You got money?”

  “No, but my father does.”

  “And what about the next’un and the next?” He aimed.

  “You can’t kill him,” she cried. “Everyone would hear. There’d be an outcry.”

  “Don’t care what no one thinks.” He cocked the gun.

  Felicity wildly searched for a way to stop him. “Even your son Benjamin?”

  The rifle barrel dipped.

  “I knew Ben,” she said in a hurry, “and he’d never want you to kill an innocent animal.”

  “Ain’t innocent.” His aim steadied. “Besides, what do I care what Ben thinks when he done run oft?”

  Felicity scrambled for a better reason. “What if someone owns the dog? They could insist you pay them for their loss.”

  “This here’s a stray. You know it an’ I know it.”

  “B-but he deserves to live. He only needs to be trained.

  Why, it’s no different than a child. Without proper training, a child goes wild. Slinky can be trained. I know it.”

  Coughlin stared her in the eye. “You planning to take him on?”

  Felicity swallowed. Mother would never allow it. She claimed the smell of them made her sick, and that was one point even Daddy couldn’t fight. No pets. Yet Slinky looked at her with such desperation, the little white eyebrows lifted, one ear cocked and one flopped over. She couldn’t bear to see him get shot.

  “Didn’t think so.” He raised the gun again. Slinky cowered, whining.

  “No! I—I—I’ll take him.”

  “Where? Your daddy don’t keep no pets. He sure ain’t gonna want this chicken-stealing varmint.” Coughlin aimed.

  Felicity squeezed her eyes shut against the tears and gave one last plea. “Any dog can be saved with a little love.”

  “She’s right,” said a calm, clear and very familiar voice.

  Felicity opened her eyes to see Gabriel standing between herself and Coughlin. He was dressed as plainly as yesterday afternoon, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing strong, capable forearms.

  “Gabriel,” she breathed, and then realizing that was disrespectful said, “Pastor.”

  Coughlin waved him away. “Thi
s is none of your business, Rev’rend.”

  But Gabriel didn’t back down. “Ms. Kensington is correct. Love will cure many faults. It might even save a chicken-stealing varmint.”

  Felicity almost laughed at those rough words coming from his educated tongue. Yes, educated. His diction was as fine as any orator. In that moment, she saw him anew. He might dress a little too informally, but he had a generous heart. Even if he wasn’t husband material, he was a good and decent man.

  “You feel that way,” spat Coughlin, “then you take’im.” He put the rope in Gabriel’s hand. “If that dog ever sets foot on my property again, this bullet is goin’ straight through his head, pastor or no pastor.”

  Coughlin returned the way he came, and Gabriel led Slinky onto the parsonage’s side of the fence.

  Now that the danger had passed, Felicity began to shake. Coughlin had aimed his gun at her. What if he’d shot? She hugged her arms and wished she were home in her room. Instead, she stood awkwardly with Gabriel, who stared at Slinky.

  Finally, he raised his eyes and held out the rope. “It looks like you’ve got yourself a dog, Ms. Kensington.”

  “What do you mean?” She backed away and rubbed the muddy grains off her hands. “My parents won’t let me have a pet. And I’ll be leaving by September.”

  “Well, I can’t have a dog. You did say you’d take him. I believe those were your exact words.”

  “I didn’t want Mr. Coughlin to kill Slinky, so I promised.”

  “Do you generally promise what you don’t intend to fulfill?” His eyes glittered with gold flecks in the sunlight.

  “I, uh.” No one had ever questioned her before. She was Felicity Kensington. She squared her shoulders. “No innocent creature deserves to die, no matter what he’s done. Slinky can be rehabilitated by the right owner, someone who understands dogs, someone who knows how to call them, for instance.” She gazed right into those deep brown eyes and knew he understood. “I don’t suppose…?” She left the sentence hanging.

  “No.”

  “Just for a while,” she implored. “Until Mr. Coughlin simmers down. Please?”

  “What happens then? You’ll turn him loose again?”

  “No,” she said hastily. Slinky could never run loose again, or Coughlin would kill him. “I’ll find him a home.”

  He hesitated. “The Church Council might not want a dog in the parsonage.”

  “The Johannesons had a cat.”

  Gabriel rubbed his forehead as Slinky cocked his head and looked at him with big, hopeful eyes. Good boy, Slinky. She felt Gabriel’s resistance break.

  “Two months,” he said. “You need to find him a new home within two months.”

  “All right.” Perhaps she could convince Robert to bring Slinky with them or find a farmer willing to take him on.

  “And you will help train him,” he added.

  She swallowed hard. That meant hours working with Gabriel, hours by his side. “Me?”

  “You. That point is not negotiable.” He put the rope in her hand. “You can start by bringing him to the parsonage.”

  “Now?” Her legs turned to jelly.

  “Of course now.”

  He took off, leaving her no choice but to follow.

  Chapter Five

  Gabriel guided her through the woods. “We’ll begin with a bath.”

  “A bath?” For one humiliating moment, Felicity thought he meant her.

  “I’m not letting that dog into the parsonage without a bath.”

  Of course he was talking about Slinky, who, come to mention it, did stink. Gabriel led the way, and the dog trotted along beside her, eager to go wherever they led.

  “But I have things to do.” She couldn’t exactly tell Gabriel that she had to see Robert before Sally and Eloise got to him.

  “Duty first.” Gabriel opened the gate to the parsonage’s backyard and held it for her. He sounded just like a parent, though he couldn’t be more than her twenty-one years.

  “I shouldn’t be here alone,” she pointed out.

  “You’re not alone.” He motioned for her to enter the yard.

  Felicity tentatively stepped through the gate. Though she’d been to the parsonage numerous times, she had never set foot in the expansive backyard, partially shaded by a huge oak nestled just outside the whitewashed picket fence.

  A solitary lilac and a clothesline broke the expanse of mowed grass.

  After closing the gate behind her, Gabriel strode quickly across the yard, a man at ease with his surroundings. At the stoop, he turned to check her progress.

  “I thought you were in a hurry,” he called out as she inched closer.

  “How long is this going to take?” She had to get to the barn before Robert left.

  Gabriel’s mouth curved into a soft smile. “We’ll find out, won’t we?” He turned the screen door’s handle.

  “You don’t expect me to go inside, do you?” She glanced to her left and right. There was no one there now, but anyone could walk through the park or down Elm Street.

  “Of course not.” But still he grinned at her in the most alarming manner. “I’ll fetch the water. You hang on to the dog.”

  “Slinky. His name is Slinky.”

  Gabriel’s eyebrow lifted. “We’re going to have to do something about that name. Somehow Slinky doesn’t seem quite right for a minister’s dog.”

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it. Gabriel had made a joke on himself, something she didn’t expect. Ministers were somber and judging, not funny and warmhearted like Gabriel.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, opening the screen door. “You just keep hold of Slinky.”

  He vanished inside, and she once again felt vulnerable. Even here, close to the house, she was exposed, but if she stood behind the lilac, no one would see her.

  “Follow me.” She patted Slinky’s head and headed toward the bush.

  He didn’t budge.

  She tugged gently on the rope. “Come, Slinky.”

  He tilted his head in bemusement.

  She held out her hand the way Gabriel had at the train depot, and at last the dog bounded toward her. By backing up and repeating the process, she led him bit by bit to the lilac.

  Then she waited…and waited. The noon hour must have come and gone. Sally and Eloise would be at the barn by now. What could be taking so long? She fumed and crossed her arms. If not for Slinky, she’d leave.

  At last, Gabriel pushed open the door with his shoulder. He carried a bright tin washtub brimming with water. Towels hung over his shoulder—the new towels.

  “You can’t use those,” she cried. “My mother had them monogrammed in New York City.”

  Gabriel searched left and right until he spotted her. “What are you doing way over there?”

  “It’s shady here.”

  “We don’t want to be in the shade.” He set the tub down in the middle of the yard and stretched his back. “Phew, that’s heavy.”

  “The towels,” she said at the exact moment he tossed them on the ground. Too late. They were ruined now.

  She edged closer to the tub. Only the less fortunate used a tin tub to bathe anymore. Felicity had never set foot in one herself, though the mercantile still sold them to local farmers and tradesmen. Slinky sniffed the water and began slurping it up.

  Felicity tried to pull him back. “Stop it. Don’t drink that.”

  “Why not? He’s probably thirsty, and it’s not soapy yet.” Gabriel produced a cake of castile soap from his pocket. “Shall we?”

  Felicity had no idea what to do next, but she hardly wanted to admit it. He’d laughed at her inability to get the letter from Slinky yesterday. How much harder he’d laugh if he knew she had no idea how to wash a dog. If she’d been allowed to have a pet, she would have known what to do, but Mother insisted animals did not belong in the house, and Daddy only brought them inside after they’d been stuffed.

  She held out the rope, indicating Gabriel should take the lead.


  He didn’t make a move. “He’s your dog.”

  But she didn’t know how to bathe a dog.

  Gabriel held out the soap.

  She folded her arms. “It’s your soap.”

  “You don’t know how, do you?”

  Felicity jutted out her jaw. “Our home is too nice for pets.”

  “Too nice?”

  He was flustering her. “Mother doesn’t want the furniture ruined.”

  Instead of criticizing her upbringing, his expression softened. “Do you mean you never had a pet?”

  Felicity bit back a wave of emotion and shook her head. Ms. Priss didn’t count since she belonged to the neighbors. “Blake had a hunting dog once, a long time ago, but he let Blackie in the house one day, and Mother found out. Daddy took poor Blackie away, and we never saw him again.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He looked at her so kindly that her throat tightened. “It doesn’t matter. Proper young ladies don’t get attached to smelly old dogs.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  Mother did. Animals belonged on farms, not in nice houses. To her they were objects, like a vase or a doorstop, not creatures with souls, but Felicity had worried and prayed for that dog for weeks. Mother had told her to grow up and stop fussing.

  “It was a long time ago,” she said with a shrug, hoping he didn’t notice how painful the memory was.

  “I always had a lot of dogs and cats.” He smiled softly. “Too many, Dad would say, but Mom put up with it.”

  Felicity wondered what it would be like to have parents who accepted their children’s interests. “My mother would never allow them. You must understand. You’ve met her.”

  “Yes, I have.” He laughed, easing her discomfort. “Do you have a big family?”

  “Just Blake. He’s four years older than me.”

  “That means we’re both the babies of our families. I have four older brothers and one older sister, Mariah.”

  “Six? There are six of you in all? How did you all find a place to sleep?” She’d heard many of the poor had large families, but six children? How had they all fit into a tiny tenement apartment? And with dogs and cats, too?

  “We took shifts,” he said solemnly.