Special Delivery Baby

by Sherri Shackelford

  Yet I am to be given to a man who scarcely knows me. One who most likely is more interested in an alliance with my father than with me. He seeks to further his own political career, and I will be expected to further his legacy. I do not love him, yet I will be expected to raise his sister’s children and bear him more.

  She paced the floor. There must be some way out of this...somehow...

  The clock ticked on, yet Rebekah found no solution. Hopelessness pressing upon her, she sank to her bed. She was still there when her mother came to see her later that afternoon. Susan Van der Geld floated into the room in a cloud of gray silk and claimed the chair across from Rebekah.

  “I understand that Councilman Nash came by the house today,” her mother said.

  Rebekah pulled herself into a proper sitting position, smoothed out her skirt and wiped her eyes. “He did.”

  “And you did not see him?”

  “He did not ask to see me.”

  “Of course not,” her mother said. “A proper gentleman would seek to speak only with your father, but you should have been gracious enough to greet him. Your father is very disappointed that you did not.”

  Disappointed. How often Rebekah heard that word? He was always disappointed with her in some way, and he always let it be known. What punishment would she receive this time?

  “I am sorry, Mother. Truly I am. I am just so—” Dare she say it? What good would it do to admit she was afraid?

  Her mother gave her a knowing look. “You do not wish to marry him, do you?”

  Hope sparked inside Rebekah. She understands! Perhaps there is a way out of this after all! Perhaps she will speak up on my behalf! “No,” Rebekah said. “I don’t. I don’t love him!”

  “Of course you don’t,” her mother said expressionlessly. “You must learn to do so.”

  The spark died. I must learn? “Mother, how can I—”

  Susan stopped her with an upturned hand. “This is the way it is done, Rebekah. This is the way it was for me, for your grandmother and for her mother before her.”

  And you are miserable, Rebekah desperately wanted to say. Just once, won’t you intervene?

  Her mother stood and brushed imaginary dust from her skirt. “Things will go much easier if you simply accept this,” she said. “Your father has firmly decided the matter. He will not change his mind. Now wash your face and come downstairs. You know how he dislikes tears.”

  Yes, I know. They only make him angrier. Resignation washed over Rebekah in suffocating waves. So this is to be my lot in life: a politician’s wife. I must mind my tongue, create an appropriate home and play the gracious hostess at all gatherings, just like you. And as for the children, his nieces and however many more may come in the future... I must manage them accordingly, for the voters will be watching.

  Anger roiled inside her, and so did hurt—two emotions she realized she must master. Rebekah had seen what those same feelings had done to her mother. For twenty-four years, Susan Van der Geld had pined for the affection of a hard-hearted man. Continual disappointment had withered her, and as a result, she’d grown cold and aloof to her own children.

  Rebekah steeled her resolve. I will not do so. I will not let him change me. I may be forced to give Henry Nash my life and my youth, but I will never give him my heart.

  * * *

  Henry did his best to forget all about Rebekah Van der Geld as he rolled toward the Baltimore Harbor. Long before her father and his had stirred up such trouble, Henry had intended to spend the day visiting his constituents.

  He hoped sticking to his original plan would take his mind off the unfinished business with the Van der Gelds. He made his rounds along the wharf. Then, upon reaching Eutaw Street, he stopped at the Branson Boarding House. Two Federal soldiers stood idly by the front steps. Henry acknowledged them, then knocked on the door. The proprietor’s daughter, Maggie, a young woman of about twenty or so, answered. Henry had spoken with her once before.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Maggie. Is your father home?”

  “I’m afraid he is not,” she said, “but may I help you?”

  Henry explained why he had come. When Miss Branson learned he was willing to listen to her complaints, she invited him inside. A boarder had taken up residence in the formal parlor, so she offered Henry the dining room. Once they were seated, she wasted no time.

  “Can you do anything about those soldiers?” she asked.

  “Which soldiers, miss?”

  “The ones outside. There are always two or three roaming about. Martial law hasn’t been good for business, you know.”

  Miss Branson’s family, as well as many others, had been forced to contend with the presence of scrutinizing Federal troops since the beginning of the war. Most of the soldiers Henry had encountered were honorable peacekeepers. There were always a few bad apples in every barrel, though, and knowing that, he was concerned for Miss Branson.

  “Have the soldiers been harassing you?” he asked.

  “Indeed so!”

  He listened as she recounted a host of irritants, none of which, however, crossed the bounds of illegality or impropriety. Thankfully, it seemed the men were simply an unwanted nuisance, a sentiment shared by many in the city.

  “Their presence drives away potential boarders,” she said. “They make it appear as though something treasonous is going on in this house. The war is over. They should move on now.”

  “I should think a great many changes will be occurring in the future,” Henry said, “although I wouldn’t expect the troops to vacate anytime soon. I will speak to my fellow council members about your concerns, however.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I would appreciate that. I will let my father know you called.”

  “Please do, and tell him that if he has any other concerns, he should contact me.” He handed her his card.

  Miss Branson smiled. “Thank you, Councilman Nash. My father will be pleased to know you stopped by. He voted for you for city council. He hopes you will run for state legislature.”

  Henry appreciated the compliment. Wishing Miss Branson a good day, he stepped outside. The soldiers she had complained about were nowhere to be found. Satisfied, Henry continued on.

  He visited several other citizens that day. Some were cheering General Grant’s victory. Others were anxiously awaiting the return of sons who had joined the Confederate army and were currently being held as prisoners of war. All, however, seemed eager to put the war behind them.

  As he returned to his carriage, he caught sight of a familiar face. Henry was fond of the theater, and one of his favorite actors, John Wilkes Booth, was just about to cross his path. He’d had the privilege of meeting the man early on in the war at a social gathering.

  “Mr. Booth,” Henry called out, “How good to see you again.”

  It took the actor a second, but when he recognized Henry, he smiled. “And you, sir. Are you managing to keep the local leadership in line?”

  Henry only laughed. “Are you in Baltimore for a performance?” He wasn’t aware of any such productions, but perhaps as busy as he’d been with his nieces, he had simply failed to notice the advertisements.

  “No,” Booth said. “I only came for a visit.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Henry said, remembering. “You are from Maryland, aren’t you? Harford County, is it?”

  Booth nodded as if pleased he knew such a detail. He reached up and shook Henry’s hand. Two women made eyes at the debonair, mustached man as they passed. Booth noticed them, smiled somewhat flirtatiously, then returned his attention to Henry. “As of now, I am on my way back to Washington.”

  “Oh? Then may I offer you a ride to the train station?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  He climbed inside the carriage, and Henry urged his horse forward. T
hey chatted about the theater. Booth had taken time off due to illness but was planning to return to the spotlight very soon.

  “I am very pleased to hear that,” Henry said. “I have enjoyed your performances, especially Julius Caesar.”

  “Ah, yes,” Booth laughed theatrically. “Beware the Ides...”

  The traffic grew heavier as they neared the Camden Street station. Family members waiting for loved ones clogged the road, and those who would soon be passengers were hurrying for the ticket windows. Henry pulled up as close as he could to the station so Booth could disembark.

  The actor smiled. “Thank you, Councilman Nash.”

  “It was my pleasure, sir.” As Booth started for the train, he couldn’t resist calling after him. “Your next performance, sir...what role will you play?”

  Booth looked back and offered a proud smile. “You’ll soon find out,” he said. “Rest assured, my name will make all the papers.”

  Henry couldn’t help but laugh at the man’s answer. He would look forward to reading the reviews.

  But for now, I have more pressing matters...

  He needed to get home. Hannah would have supper on the table soon, and he didn’t want Kathleen eating alone. Henry hoped his niece would sleep well tonight, for his sake and hers. More than once since her arrival, she’d woken crying for her mother.

  As he made the turn on to Charles Street, he thought again of Rebekah Van der Geld. Tomorrow was Good Friday. Henry planned to approach her father following the church service and request a private meeting with him. He did not wish to prolong this matter.

  He wanted to observe a quiet Easter Sunday with his nieces—prayer and perhaps an egg hunt with little Kathleen. A restful, peaceful day with no unfinished business hanging over his head—that was exactly what he needed.

  * * *

  On Friday morning, silent and somber, Rebekah filed into the church pew just as she had done every other time the sanctuary doors were open. Immediately following her were her younger brothers, Joseph, Austin, Gilbert and Teddy. Their mother then claimed her place. Last, Rebekah’s father took up residence beside the aisle. As usual, they had arrived a good fifteen minutes before the service was scheduled to begin.

  As a child, Rebekah used to think they did so simply because her father was eager to attend worship. When she grew older, however, she realized the truth. He came early because he wanted to be seen by his fellow parishioners as they arrived. He wanted the voters to take notice.

  Inwardly she sighed. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been on display. I’ve been told what to wear, where to stand, what to think and what to say. Once again, here she sat, polished, pristine, every bit the exemplary charge of a would-be governor. Inside she cried out for freedom.

  What would happen if I suddenly caused a scene? What if I had the audacity to bolt to my feet and declare to my father that I most definitely will not marry Henry Nash or anyone else he thinks will be of advantage to him? What if I then run for the door and keep running until I leave the city long behind?

  Rebekah again sighed, knowing full well that no matter how much she wanted to flee, she would not do so. She would not dare disrespect her father. She knew the consequences such behavior would bring.

  Her mother’s words echoed in her ears. “This is the way it is done, Rebekah... Things will go much easier if you simply accept this.”

  Behind her, the congregants were arriving. Rebekah wondered if Councilman Nash was one of them. She did not turn to see. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was eager for his attention.

  Her father had not spoken to her about the impending marriage since he had first called her into his study, although she knew he was well aware that Councilman Nash had tried to speak with him. Her mother’s disclosure that Rebekah had disappointed him by not greeting Mr. Nash was evidence of that. Rebekah wondered if her father would speak with the man after the service today. Would he require her to speak to him, as well? Her stomach knotted at the thought. It was troubling enough to deal with such matters in private, but here, in front of everyone?

  At precisely noon, Reverend Perry, her minister since infancy, stepped to the pulpit and began the service. Rebekah wished to focus her attention on the hymns and prayers, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate. Even the agonizing details of Christ’s trial and crucifixion failed to pierce her thoughts. Her mind was just too full.

  Just as she feared, the moment the service dismissed, Councilman Nash came to her father. Rebekah dared not look in their direction, but she strained to hear their conversation. She knew they were discussing her. Even at the far end of the pew, she could catch words in snatches.

  “Out on business...my apologies...time to discuss... Saturday morning...”

  Beside her, six-year-old Joseph, fidgety as always, had taken to tapping his fingers on the pew railing in front of him. Rebekah stilled his hands at once, hoping both to save him from a stern parental rebuke and to hear what else she could.

  It was to no avail. Her father had concluded the conversation. Councilman Nash stepped back, allowing her father to lead his family from their pew. Heart pounding, Rebekah chanced a glance in the man’s direction as she moved into the aisle. He nodded to her. The expression on his face was hardly cold or disapproving, but the look was still a far cry from loving.

  Rebekah did her best to maintain her composure, although inside her emotions were swirling. She could tell herself that she’d protect her heart from hurt, that she’d accept her lot, but the pain of imagining a loveless union still stung.

  She followed her family to the foyer, down the steps and then outside. While Teddy and Gilbert mounted their horses, Rebekah climbed into the barouche alongside Austin and Joseph. Her mother and father claimed the seat facing opposite them. The open-air carriage offered a good view of their surroundings. It also allowed them to be seen.

  At her father’s command, their coachman, Brooks, urged the horses forward. The carriage began to roll. The family traveled the length of two blocks in silence. Then her father spoke.

  “Councilman Nash plans to pay a call tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock,” he said, leveling his stern gaze on Rebekah. “I expect you to conduct yourself accordingly.”

  You mean you expect me to accept his formal proposal, she thought, and do so eagerly.

  Her eyes drifted to her mother, silently appealing once more for her intervention. Susan simply looked aside.

  “Is that clear?” her father asked.

  “Y-yes, sir,” she said, giving him the answer he expected. “I will do so.”

  He nodded curtly to her, then commenced smiling and waving at the potential voters passing by on the street.

  Rebekah swallowed back her tears. I must face facts. There is no changing the circumstances. Tomorrow I will become engaged to a man I do not love. I will go from one prison to another, and I must bear it with endurance, strength and fortitude.

  Much to her surprise, however, the encounter with Mr. Nash was delayed, but in a way she never would have imagined. When Rebekah woke the following morning, she learned the man himself had postponed the meeting due to urgent official business with the city council. The nation was in mourning and accordingly, Rebekah’s father immediately ordered his entire household to put on black.

  President Abraham Lincoln was dead.

  Copyright © 2016 by Shannon Farrington

  ISBN-13: 9781488007859

  Special Delivery Baby

  Copyright © 2016 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  Special thanks and acknowledgment to Sherri Shackelford for her contribution to the Cowboy Creek miniseries.

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