The Matrimony Plan

by Christine Johnson

  “Go.” Mariah waved her away. “I’m sorry I kept you.”

  “Don’t be.” Felicity smiled at her new friend. “I enjoyed talking.”

  If only she and Gabriel could converse with the same ease.

  Try as he might, Gabriel couldn’t take his eyes off Felicity during dinner. He cooed over Beatrice’s baby before she fell asleep and tried to concentrate on what Blake had to say, but a mere turning of Felicity’s head sent his thoughts spinning. In addition to beauty and grace, Gabriel saw much more of her true nature. She and Mariah chattered away like old friends, and Gabriel soaked in her unguarded enthusiasm.

  Beatrice had been right to suggest the dinner at the parsonage.

  “Weren’t you afraid?” Felicity asked when Mariah related her driving adventures.

  Mariah gave one of her low, throaty laughs. “Only that I’d run out of fuel.”

  “Did you?” Felicity set down her fork, attention riveted on his sister.

  “Only once, and then a very nice gentleman gave me a ride to the nearest filling station.”

  “Aha,” said Beatrice. “A very nice and handsome gentleman?”

  His sister knew a matchmaker when she saw one. “I didn’t notice. I was too busy correcting his poor driving.”

  Gabriel stifled a snicker. Mariah had probably tormented the poor man by criticizing his every move.

  “But…” Felicity said, “weren’t you concerned that he might take advantage?”

  Mariah shrugged. “The Lord is always with me. What have I to fear?”

  Felicity stared, as if that concept was as useless as Confederate money. Gabriel had sensed Felicity’s faith wasn’t as solid as it could be. Maybe under Mariah’s tutelage it would grow.

  After the guests left, he and Mariah cleaned up. She washed the dishes while he dried and put them in the cupboards.

  “She’s a lovely woman, Gabe,” Mariah said, breaking their silent work.

  “I understand Beatrice Kensington is considered the prettiest girl in Pearlman.”

  Mariah clucked her tongue. “I’m not talking about Beatrice, and you know it.”

  Gabriel ducked into a cupboard, pretending to straighten the plates. “It sure does get hot in this room. I wonder why they didn’t build a summer kitchen.”

  “You can’t avoid the subject, Gabriel John, and I can’t see why you’d want to. Felicity Kensington has a natural grace and compassion that makes her quite likable.”

  “Compassion?” Gabriel would never apply that word to Felicity. “I’ve found her a bit proud.”

  Mariah set a soapy kettle on the soaked towel. “Pride is just a defense.”

  “Against what?” Gabriel dunked the kettle in rinse water.

  “Fear, I guess. Fear of being hurt.” Mariah looked off into the black night, hands finally still. “Sometimes a person just feels too much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some rare people are born that way, with exceptionally tender souls. Every little hurt becomes magnified a hundredfold. The pain is so intense that they can’t bear it. To preserve themselves, they hide behind something else, like pride.”

  “And you think Felicity is prideful because she has a tender soul?” Gabriel snorted. “Well, you’re wrong. She’s been pampered and coddled and lets everyone know it. She went to Highbury School for Girls and has been accepted into the National Academy of Design. I don’t see a tender soul there.”

  Mariah’s lips curved into a slight, private smile. “Diamonds are formed from coal.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Rather than answer, she began humming “Nearer My God to Thee.” Sometimes his sister could be exasperating, but he loved her dearly, and soon he joined her in the hymn, singing out the verses, off-key but from the heart.

  “All done,” she said as she lifted the last of the dishes onto the towel. “Whew, that’s a lot. I don’t know how Mom managed six children.”

  “We helped,” Gabriel pointed out. “Remember the rotation? Each day we either set the table, cleared the table, washed the dishes, dried the dishes, took out the garbage, swept the floors or scrubbed the sink and stove.”

  “Ah, yes,” she laughed. “I remember that well. Thankfully with just me at home, there’s a lot less to do, or I’d be up all night.”

  “Speaking of still being at home, have you met anyone special?” Gabriel loved provoking his sister.

  As usual, she didn’t bite. “If you mean men, no, I haven’t met the right one yet, but I know that if God has someone in mind for me, He will bring him around at the right time. Just like He’ll bring the right woman for you.”

  Gabriel wasn’t so sure. He was attracted to someone, but she wasn’t the right woman for a minister. Besides, she liked the pompous Robert Blevins.

  “I do have something important to discuss with you,” Mariah said. “Shall we take our tea to the parlor?”

  After they were settled in the comfortable wingback chairs, Mariah ran a fingertip around the rim of her teacup. “Your friend Mr. Isaacs stopped by the house before I left.”

  “Why would he do that when he knew I was here?”

  She set her teacup on the cherry end table. “He had a proposal and wanted me to bring it to you. It’s important work, Gabriel, a mission dear to your heart.”

  Gabriel felt his throat squeeze shut. Isaacs wanted him to work at the orphanage. “I’ve just begun here.”

  Mariah studied him. “Even so, you’ve gained enough contacts to form an appropriate board. Why, just your guests tonight would make a fine selection committee.”

  “Board? Committee? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about orphans, Gabriel. Mr. Isaacs said they need to place five children in foster homes. They’re older and difficult to place. Everyone wants toddlers now. He asked me to look over Pearlman to see if it would be an appropriate, God-fearing community. If it was, then I was to ask you to assemble a committee of three or four and contact him for guidance. They’d send an advance agent and arrange everything. You know the procedure.”

  He did, but Pearlman? Illegal liquor flowed into its homes and businesses.

  “I’m not sure it’s the best place. Isn’t there any town closer to New York City?”

  “Actually, the orphans are at the Detroit mission. That’s why he’s looking for a Michigan community. Pearlman would be perfect. The people are good and caring. The town blossoms with generosity. Tell me about the congregation, Gabe. Do they love the Lord?”

  He wasn’t sure. Some surely did, but others? Eugenia Kensington promoted her ill-conceived idea to use Ladies’ Aid Society funds for self-aggrandizement. On the other hand, Mrs. Shea and Mrs. Grattan staunchly fought with him to abandon the window project in favor of giving to the poor. Perhaps if they brought in the orphans, he could convince the Ladies’ Aid Society to divert the funds to the children’s care. Just seeing the orphans usually struck a chord deep in people’s hearts. Yes, this might be just the thing to turn Pearlman around.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Mariah smiled softly. “I suggest you put Felicity Kensington on the selection committee. You can ask her at Saturday’s picnic.”

  His momentary certainty crumbled. He couldn’t work side by side with Felicity. “I’m not sure she’s the best choice.”

  “Of course, she is.” Mariah exuded confidence. “She’s precisely the person who needs to be on that committee.

  God has brought this opportunity to Pearlman for a reason, and Felicity could very well be that reason.”

  Gabriel rubbed his head, which was beginning to ache. “The committee is supposed to be composed of town leaders and people with experience, not young women without children.”

  Mariah leveled her calm gaze at him. “Mr. Isaacs will respect your selections. Make one of them Felicity.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t.” On this point, he would stand firm. No matter what his sister thought, Felicity Kensington lacked the compas
sion for the selection committee. He rose to go to bed. “And that’s my final decision.”

  Chapter Nine

  Founder’s Day dawned a bit crisp for late June but with no sign of rain. Felicity stood alone at the kitchen worktable putting the finishing touches on her picnic basket.

  The cook had prepared the food yesterday. Felicity added the creative accents. The table overflowed with ribbons and paper and flowers fresh from the garden. She rolled the silverware in white linen napkins and tied them with green ribbon. A sprig of fresh-cut pinks completed each set. She wrapped the cold fried chicken in butcher paper and then prettied it with green checked gingham. Ribbons encircled the jars of pickled asparagus and lemonade. Crystal, linen and silver were included as well—nothing but the best. Strawberry tarts, still in their tins, crowned the feast.

  Any man would enjoy such a lunch. She hoped that man would be Gabriel. If Mariah kept her end of the bargain, it would. Felicity couldn’t bear an entire day with Robert, and he’d already claimed supper and the dance. The afternoon had to belong to Gabriel.

  She tucked the red satchel from the mercantile between the jars. It would be perfect for Gabriel’s books. He could take them to the river, and she would join him there, whiling away lazy summer days. They’d talk and share a jar of lemonade. Perhaps their fingertips would brush.

  Just thinking of it made her skin tingle. His kiss wouldn’t be rough like Robert’s. He would never take what she hadn’t offered to give.

  “Are you ready yet?” Mother’s question yanked her from the dream. “Stop fussing over that silly basket. I don’t know why you bother with the auction. Considering how much your father contributes to the event, there’s no reason for you to raise money. After all, Mr. Blevins is the only respectable bidder.” She repositioned the bow on the basket handle.

  Felicity lifted her basket off the table before Mother ruined it. “Someone else might outbid him.”

  “Who? Your father has been given strict instructions not to bid.”

  Felicity walked to the hall with Mother on her heels. “I didn’t mean Daddy.”

  “Another man? Don’t worry, dearest, I’ve ensured Robert will make the highest bid.”

  “You have? How?”

  “Don’t fret. It’ll ruin your complexion. Just be thankful that someone is looking out for your best interests.” Mother snared her gloves from the hall table and thrust the front door open. “Hurry now. Your father is waiting.”

  Felicity clutched the basket handle tightly. Mother had struck again.

  She could not escape this town fast enough.

  “Are you going to bid on Felicity’s basket?” Mariah stretched out on the heavy wool blanket as the flies danced and buzzed in the warming noon air.

  “No.” Though the little park bustled with joyous Founder’s Day festivities, Gabriel fought a tumult of negative emotions. Just seeing Felicity agitated him, seeing her with Blevins made him angry. The man didn’t deserve her.

  “Why not?” His sister plucked a fresh strawberry from their lunch basket, a rather plain affair compared to the large decorated ones that lined the long table before the pavilion. Though the display was meant to attract men, only the women hovered near, eagerly waiting to see who displayed interest in which basket.

  He watched Hendrick Simmons approach the table. The ladies whispered to each other, watching to see which basket he’d examine, but the man shied away. Gabriel didn’t blame him. The scene reminded him of those awkward dances where the girls congregated on one side and the boys on the other, each too afraid to approach the other.

  “I don’t need to bid on a basket,” he said, “when we already have lunch.”

  “What makes you think I’m going to share it with you? Maybe I’ve invited someone else to join me.”

  “Who?” His sister had only been in town a few days. Granted she met people easily, but to have a beau already? Impossible. She must mean a female friend.

  Mariah laughed. “None of your business, nosy brother.” She straightened her skirts, an odd gesture for Mariah, who didn’t care a bit about appearances. Gabriel glanced around but saw only the usual crowd.

  “If I’m going to lose my housekeeper, it is my business.”

  “You’d just have to get another. I believe Ms. Kensington is available. She likes you, you know.”

  “No, she doesn’t.” He’d watched Felicity walk beside Blevins since she arrived. “She likes Robert Blevins.”

  “Hmm. Maybe that’s because he’s the only man to approach her.” Mariah tipped her hat a bit forward, putting her hazel eyes in shadow. “If you outbid him, you’ll be able to eat lunch with her.”

  “I know how the auction works,” he snapped, feeling heat shinny up his neck.

  Mariah leaned closer. “I happen to know which basket is hers.”

  So did he. She’d told Blevins to look for the green satin ribbon. Only one basket matched that description.

  “The one on the far right,” Mariah said, pointing, “with the green bow.”

  “I’m not interested.” He waved at Jack and Darcy Hunter as they passed. “I’m not going to make a spectacle of myself in front of the community.”

  Mariah burst into laughter. “Foolish pride.”

  “It is not pride. I’m a minister and need to uphold a high standard. People expect proper behavior from clergy. Besides,” he fished for a reasonable excuse, “she clearly likes Robert Blevins. I overheard her tell him which basket to bid on.”

  “Snooping again, little brother?”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” He picked at a bit of straw stuck in the wool blanket. “I just don’t think I should interfere.”

  “It’s not interference to let her know you’re interested.”

  “Did I say I was interested?” Gabriel squirmed under her relentless pressure. “Even if I was, which I’m not, she’s a member of my congregation.”

  “So?”

  “So, having a romantic relationship with someone under my pastoral care is ethically wrong.”

  She laughed. “It happens all the time. Where do you think Reverend Mills found his wife?”

  Gabriel felt his face heat up. “This is hardly appropriate conversation.” He turned away. “Besides, Reverend Mills handled the courtship quite properly and discreetly.”

  “Ah, so that’s it. Well, if discretion is what’s worrying you, I have the perfect solution. Ask her to be on the Selection Committee.”

  He groaned. Not that again. “I told you I don’t want Felicity on the Selection Committee.”

  She clucked her tongue. “Maybe she needs to be.”

  He scowled. “You must be ready to marry, sis, because you nag like a wife.”

  Mariah laughed, deep and hearty. “That’s what sisters are for. After a few weeks living with me, a wife will be easy.”

  Gabriel doubted that. Other than Mariah’s constant matchmaking attempts, she went very easy on him. Sure, she insisted he put his dirty clothes in a hamper and wash dishes on occasion, but all in all they got along famously.

  “The advance agent will be here in two days,” Mariah said. “Have you asked anyone yet?”

  “I’m considering Dermott Shea, the bank manager. He’s an upstanding member of the community. I’ll ask him tomorrow after the service.”

  “So why not ask Felicity today? The basket auction provides the perfect opportunity.”

  Gabriel rolled his eyes. Why couldn’t she let this go? “Even if I did want Felicity on the committee, I don’t need to buy her picnic basket to ask her. I can just call on her.”

  “Then why haven’t you done so?”

  “Because she’s not the best candidate.” Aside from her pretentiousness, he didn’t want any Kensington near the committee. Her mother would turn the event to her own agenda, and her father had his fingers in bootlegging. The rack of guns, Kensington’s visit to the blind pig, and his nearness to the delivery added up.

  Mariah shook her head in disgust. “I think you
’re wrong.”

  Gabriel did not want to argue the point and was glad when Dermott Shea mounted the pavilion steps and raised his hands to quiet the chatter.

  “Gather around, men, for the picnic basket auction,” Shea called out. “All proceeds go toward the community improvement fund, so be generous. This year, we hope to build a new roof for the pavilion.”

  The first basket was held up, a frilly blue-checked gingham. Only one man bid on it, but the amount was high, and the pleased girl popped up to present it to the winning bidder. Judging by their shy smiles, she’d told him which basket was hers, just like Felicity had told Blevins. The next two baskets offered little competition, though each ended up less costly than the gingham one.

  Next came Felicity’s green-ribboned basket. Judging by the whispers, a great deal of anticipation coursed through the crowd. Blevins opened the bidding at once, though his two-dollar bid was low.

  “Do I hear two-fifty?” said Mr. Shea, glancing at Kensington. The man remained mute. “Two-fifty anyone?”

  It was a pitifully small amount.

  Mariah jabbed an elbow into Gabriel’s side. “Bid.”

  Gabriel raised his hand, and Shea looked relieved.

  “Two-fifty from the minister.”

  Felicity’s head whipped around, and their eyes met. Gabriel felt the spark, but whether she was delighted or angry, he couldn’t tell.

  Mr. Shea continued the bidding. “Do I hear three dollars?”

  Blevins nodded and lifted his hand.

  “Five dollars,” Gabriel called out.

  The crowd murmured, glancing from Felicity and Robert to Gabriel.

  “Five-fifty,” countered Robert.

  “Seven dollars.” Gabriel rose to his feet. He couldn’t let Blevins get the basket. He couldn’t let that pompous fool get Felicity.

  “Seven-fifty.” Blevins glared, his ridiculous mustache quivering.

  Gabriel edged closer to the baskets, reeled in by the hopeful expression on Felicity’s face. She wanted him to outbid Blevins. She wanted him to claim the basket. Gabriel fingered the ten-dollar bill in his pocket. “Eight dollars.”

  Blevins’s face turned firecracker-red. “Fifteen.”