The Matrimony Plan

by Christine Johnson

  “It’ll be difficult to find a wife,” his mom had said when he announced that he was entering the ministry. “It takes a special woman to bear the burden of a minister’s wife.”

  Felicity Kensington certainly didn’t fit that mold. She’d never be able to summon the sympathy and compassion necessary for the position—or the patience. Chances were she’d end up like her mother. He shuddered and walked past the young couple.

  At the corner, Slinky barked and tugged him toward the alley.

  “What is it, boy?”

  Gabriel gave him the lead. At the head of the dark lane, the dog halted, hair bristling as a deep growl rolled from within. Fear ran its cold finger down Gabriel’s spine.

  He couldn’t see a thing now that dusk had turned to moonless night, but he could tell that something was wrong.

  He let his eyes grow accustomed to the dark. As he dropped to his haunches to pet Slinky, he kept his eyes open and ears alert.

  He heard the noises before he saw anything—a creak, creak, creak of a heavily laden cart or wagon and then a jingle, like glass tipping against glass.

  “Who’s there?” he whispered.

  The sound stopped.

  He stared into the inky black. Was that a cart ahead of him or a pile of garbage? But the creaking didn’t resume, and with no moon, he couldn’t see.

  Then he remembered Kensington’s guns and the trophies hanging from his walls. Gabriel was alone and unarmed. That sound might have been nothing, a delivery cart or a cat rattling the garbage. Or it might have been a man who’d gladly put a bullet through his head, someone like Branford Kensington. Whichever it was, he could do nothing on his own.

  “Come on, Slinky,” Gabriel whispered, urging the dog backward. “It’s nothing,” he said more loudly.

  His legs shook, and his heart raced. He’d get the sheriff to investigate. Even if the thieves or smugglers were gone by the time the law arrived, Gabriel would have served notice. Kensington might convince the Church Council to fire him, but Gabriel would go down swinging.

  He backed out of the alley more certain than ever that he was needed here. God had sent him to Pearlman for a reason. On Sunday morning, his congregation would hear why.

  Chapter Six

  To Felicity’s relief, just three couples attended the Hunters’ dinner, and none were her parents. Daddy would have monopolized conversation, and Mother would have invariably chased away prospective suitors. Tonight, Felicity had Robert all to herself. Still, talk of the airfield dominated conversation during the meal.

  Afterward, everyone gathered for charades in the small living room. Jack and Darcy claimed the ragged loveseat, while Blake and Beatrice took most of the faded sofa. Robert offered Felicity the chair, the newest of all the furnishings, but she perched instead beside Beatrice. That isolated Robert to her left, where no one could steal his attention.

  After Jack Hunter pantomimed an airplane, which his wife guessed in seconds, Blake stymied everyone with Knute Rockne.

  “No one would ever guess that,” Darcy protested.

  “Why not? It’s a person, place or thing. Anyone could see this meant newt.” He pantomimed short legs by extending his hands from his armpits. “Add to that rock plus knee, and you have Knute Rockne. Easy.”

  “For football players,” Felicity challenged. She loved charades, but Blake always came up with the most impossible phrases, usually having to do with football, which he had played in college.

  Her brother pouted.

  “Now that’s a charade anyone could guess,” Felicity jabbed.

  Everyone chuckled, and Blake mockingly bowed.

  Next Robert leaped to his feet. “My turn.” He twirled one end of his mustache as if deep in thought.

  “Dandy,” said Beatrice.

  Darcy laughed.

  Felicity scowled at both of them. Robert might be a bit overdressed but better that than the chronically underdressed Jack Hunter. “He hasn’t begun yet, have you, Robert?”

  “That’s right,” Robert said brightly, unfazed by the barb. “Ready?”

  When everyone nodded, he held up one hand, curved into an arc. Felicity wrinkled her nose, trying to guess what he could mean. No doubt it would be something to do with engineering, considering Jack Hunter had chosen aviation and Blake football.

  “Oh, oh,” she called out before anyone else. “What’s that instrument called that draws circles?”

  “A pencil?” said Blake.

  Everyone laughed, but Robert shook his head and indicated he’d start over. He then laid his head on his folded hands and closed his eyes.

  “Sleep,” said Beatrice.

  “Slumber,” Felicity guessed.

  Robert shook his head and held up two fingers for the second word and proceeded to mimic a shoeshine. Within moments, the group had narrowed it to shine.

  “Something shine,” said Beatrice.

  Dozens of guesses followed, but in the end no one could fathom what phrase Robert was acting out.

  “It’s moonshine,” he finally said in exasperation. “My hand was supposed to be the moon. When you didn’t understand that, I tried to indicate it was at night. See? Moon plus shine.”

  “You said two words,” Darcy cried out. “Moonshine is only one.”

  Beatrice had turned rose pink. “I’m not sure it’s proper.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Robert said. “It’s a thing. No one put any restrictions on which words we could use.”

  He looked around the room for support, but Blake couldn’t go against his wife, Darcy supported her best friend and Jack Hunter had to agree with his wife. That left Felicity.

  “Robert’s right,” she said quickly. “No one said we had to use certain words.”

  But the convivial atmosphere had been destroyed. Beatrice examined her skirt. Darcy whispered something to her husband, and Blake looked oddly lost.

  Robert, however, didn’t seem to notice their discomfort. “Guess one of you ladies is next.”

  “I—I’m not feeling too well,” Beatrice said, touching her slightly swollen belly.

  Darcy hopped up. “You’re not sick, are you? Jack, I told you roast beef was too heavy.”

  “No, no.” Beatrice shook her head. “It’s the baby.”

  Darcy gasped. “Are you having pains?”

  “Oh, no. It’s just normal queasy stomach.”

  “That’s my cue.” Blake rose and helped Beattie to her feet. “I think we’ll call it a night.”

  Jack Hunter stretched. “Just as well. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Felicity watched with growing alarm. She still needed to ask Robert for help with the stained glass window. “Already? It’s not even dark yet.”

  “I can come back for you, sis,” Blake offered as Beatrice gathered her bag and took her leave. “It’ll give you a few more minutes.” He grinned and winked.

  She scowled at him. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself, Blake,” said Robert as he helped Felicity from the sofa. “It’s a lovely evening. I’ll escort your sister home.”

  Felicity smiled in triumph. A long walk offered ample opportunity to gain both Robert’s assistance and his interest.

  The goodbyes took so long that by the time they reached the street, the sun had dipped below the trees and dusk spread its filtered light over the town. Crickets and frogs hummed their night chorus, and cool calm settled in, a perfect night for romance.

  Robert extended an arm. “Shall we?”

  She should have felt a thrill, but his somewhat nasal tenor grated on her ears. Gabriel’s warm baritone was much more pleasant. Robert reeked of perfumed hair treatment whereas Gabriel smelled of soap and fresh air. Gabriel was always proper and polite, whereas Robert…

  Stop this. She wanted to marry Robert, not Gabriel.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” he said, patting her gloved hand.

  “Nothing important.” She smiled up at him. Up. Of cour
se. Robert was taller than Gabriel, a decided virtue. “Were you born in New York?”

  “Philadelphia.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “But I thought your family was from New York City.”

  “True, true, but technically speaking, I was born in Philadelphia. My mother was visiting family at the time.”

  “Ah.”

  After that, conversation lagged. Felicity couldn’t figure out how to transition to her question, and Robert peered down every side street and alley. When he stopped to survey the lane beside the cinema, she had to ask what he was doing.

  “Just getting the lay of the land.” Again he patted her hand. “I’m sorry. I should have been paying more attention to you.”

  “That’s quite all right.” She smiled, but again conversation languished.

  They ambled down Oak Street, together yet miles apart. Dusk quickly darkened into night, and the first stars appeared, bright pinpoints in the velvet sky.

  “Lovely night, isn’t it?” she mused.

  He nodded. “I’ll be able to get a good day’s work in tomorrow if it doesn’t rain.”

  Just like a man to think of work instead of romance. A rebuke rose to her lips, but criticism would not win his heart. She held her tongue as they approached Elm Street and the parsonage. The parsonage. She couldn’t walk past Gabriel’s house with Robert. She slowed her steps, and he stopped, dropping her hand to withdraw a cigarette case from his jacket pocket.

  “Do you mind?”

  Though she shook her head, she minded very much. The body was a temple that shouldn’t be defiled by vices like drinking and smoking. If he truly cared for her, he’d see her displeasure and put it away.

  He lit the cigarette.

  She looked away to hide her disappointment. The rooftops faded in the waning light, and the church steeple was barely visible.

  Do it now.

  “I was wondering,” she began as he blew out a cloud of smoke, “if you might help me with a project.”

  “What sort of project?” He peered into the gloom.

  She shook off a chill. “I’m heading the committee to replace a plate glass window in the church with stained glass, and it occurred to me that I should get your advice.”

  “I’m no artist.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I have an engineering question.” At least she thought it was an engineering question.

  “Ask away.”

  She took a deep breath. “Do I need to worry about the size of the window?”

  He flicked an ash to the ground. “Do you mean because of the added weight? Well, I’d need to see the structure. Stained glass is considerably heavier. It’s thicker, you see, and then there’s the lead. I’d need to take some measurements and run the calculations.”

  “You could come to worship this Sunday.”

  He ground out the butt with his heel, leaving the ugly remnants in the street. “That’ll work.”

  Relief flooded through her. He was a Christian. “The service begins at ten o’clock.”

  “Ten o’clock.” His gaze drifted back to her, and the tips of his mustache twitched in the faint light.

  “Ten o’clock,” she breathed.

  Darkness improved his appearance. The years melted away, and the painfully bright clothing was muted. She could learn to love him in such light.

  He held out his arm again. “Mind if we walk on the far side of Elm?”

  That would take them past the parsonage and the park. She swallowed. Gabriel might be home. He might see her with Robert.

  “I—I,” she stammered, but she didn’t have a good excuse. “All right.”

  “Wonderful.” He led her across the street. “The park is so lovely.”

  The park? Her heart pounded a little harder. Lovers met in the park. If he suggested the park, he must already love her. She glanced at the parsonage, which thankfully was dark. Gabriel must be out for the evening. Nothing could stop her plan.

  She squeezed Robert’s arm, and he inclined his head toward her.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She smiled up at him. “There’s a pavilion a little farther into the park.” She could just make out its shape.

  “Sounds perfect.” He led her into the darkness.

  The pudgy young deputy refused to budge from the chair behind his spotless desk. “I’m sorry, Reverend. Sheriff Ilsley isn’t here.” He took a form from a file. “You can make a report.”

  Gabriel was losing patience with the procedurally minded deputy. “Don’t you understand? The crime is in progress now. If we wait until the sheriff returns, it’ll be too late.”

  “Your name?” The deputy poised his pen over the form.

  “Gabriel Meeks, but there’s no time to waste. There are bootleggers bringing liquor into this town.”

  “What makes you think that?” the deputy said lazily. “Do you have evidence?”

  Gabriel swallowed his exasperation. Precious minutes were ticking away. “Only what I heard. The sound of bottles being unloaded in the alley behind the drugstore.”

  The deputy looked disgusted. “Most drugs come in bottles. Maybe that’s what you heard.”

  After five minutes of such nonsense, Gabriel realized he was getting nowhere. Either the deputy had no intention of getting up from his desk, or he was colluding with the bootleggers.

  “Never mind. I’ll speak with Sheriff Ilsley tomorrow.”

  The deputy looked up in surprise. “Then you don’t want to file a report?”

  “It can wait.”

  Gabriel let the door slam shut behind him but felt little satisfaction in the noise. Slinky got up and cocked his head expectantly. Sighing, Gabriel untied his rope leash and headed back to the parsonage.

  What would convince the law to act? The sheriff might be more willing than his deputy, but then again he could be pressed from the same mold. To ensure action, Gabriel needed evidence. To get evidence, he needed to find the bootleggers’ route into town. He had a good idea where that might be.

  Gabriel cut through the parsonage backyard. He’d make his way to the river, then downriver to the fence at Coughlin’s land. The man said out-of-town criminals broke it down. That’s where the bootleggers were bringing in the whiskey. They took it downriver by boat and then supplied the back alley speakeasy, which locals called a blind pig, at night. If he was fast enough, he might catch them.

  After closing the far gate, he and Slinky made their way through the woods. The dog happily tugged at the rope while Gabriel tried his best to hold him back. The moonless night made navigation hazardous, and more than once on his way to the river he stumbled over a root or rock.

  This whole thing sickened him. Prohibition was supposed to put an end to the scourge of drink. Instead, it lived on under cover of darkness. He expected it in big cities, but not here. Why didn’t God-fearing citizens rise against it? Why did they let it happen under their noses? Well, they wouldn’t anymore, not after he unveiled the crime and its instigators.

  He picked his way to the river path, Slinky pulling steadily on the rope. Thank goodness the mutt kept quiet. Barking might alert the rumrunners and send them scampering. On the other hand, a good bark or two could interrupt the operation and keep liquor out of the hands of people like Robert Blevins.

  Gabriel recalled the smell of whiskey on the man’s breath. His gut twisted at the thought of that pompous engineer holding Felicity close—maybe even kissing her.

  He shook away the image. She deserved better. She deserved someone who would treat her with respect, someone who would honor her the way God intended a man to honor a woman.

  Suddenly Slinky froze, bristling, and a low growl came from deep inside, just like it had at the alley. Gabriel halted, the hair on his arms and neck standing on end.

  A light breeze rustled the leaves around him. The river chattered below, not twenty feet away. An owl hooted. And then, quieter than even those sounds, Gabriel heard the clink of glass or metal, the grunt of men and a murmur of l
ow voices.

  He’d caught them. It must be exactly like he thought. The liquor came down the river by boat, was unloaded on Coughlin’s land and then shipped to the blind pig under cover of darkness.

  He crawled forward to get a better view, taking care not to snap any twigs. The woods were even darker than the park, where light from town allowed a man to see the dim outlines of trees and the pavilion. Here, he saw nothing.

  Realizing any further progress was bound to alert the bootleggers to his presence, he halted and tried to calm his hammering pulse. Lord, help me expose the truth.

  He waited but saw and heard nothing for a long time. His eyes gradually began to pick out dim shapes, and his ears heard yet more rustling.

  Then a man’s voice said, “Last of’em.”

  That came from the river, if he was any judge of direction.

  A grunted reply told him two or more men were there. Then he heard steps coming toward him.

  He backed up, and a twig snapped.

  Slinky barked.

  The voices stopped, and a gun cocked. Footsteps shuffled closer and then ran.

  Slinky trembled at his feet, the low growl beginning again. Don’t bark. Gabriel reached to stroke Slinky’s head, but then he realized that was just the thing he needed to distract the bootleggers. He let go of Slinky’s rope and prayed God would protect them both.

  The dog ran upriver along the path, barking. Gabriel heard the men crash after him and followed. With any luck, Slinky would flush the bootleggers out into the open of the park or even to Main Street, where they could be stopped and held until their boat was found. The sheriff couldn’t dismiss evidence like that. Gabriel would put a stop to this bootlegging business tonight.

  He plunged through the woods, heedless of noise. They were getting close to the park. Soon he’d have his quarry. Then his foot hit something solid and he tripped, falling right into a patch of bushes.

  Raspberry bushes.

  Felicity grew more excited with every step. Soon Robert would kiss her. Soon he’d be hers.

  The grass was soft underfoot, already damp with dew. He began to whistle last year’s popular song, “I’ll Say She Does.”