Elizabeth's Hope (A More Perfect Union Series Book 0.5)

by Betty Bolte

  She snapped her fingers as more female merchants came to mind. “Mrs. Johnson sells candles and scented sachets over on Broad,” Emily said. “Surely I can open a shop and sell decorated hats and gloves. My embroidery and weaving skills are both respected in town, so I shall make clothes and embellish handkerchiefs, satin shoes, even wedding dresses. I don’t believe there is anything wrong with having a shop, after all. Women should have as much right as men to earn a living.”

  “I don’t entirely disagree with you, Emily. However, while women can help in the shops, only widows can inherit the shop from their husbands, not maidens. We cannot even own property until we’re widows.” Samantha laid a hand on Emily’s rigid arm. “Relax, my dear. We’re not criticizing.”

  “No? It feels that way.” Withdrawing from Samantha’s touch, she strode to the fireplace. Thoughts cascaded through her mind, tumbling freely with rampant emotions into an intricate knot that settled in the pit of her stomach. Amy and Samantha wanted the best for her and spoke the truth about the difficult path ahead. The challenges and sacrifices she faced made her more determined to succeed.

  Amy crossed the room and sank gracefully onto the settee facing the fireplace. She arranged her skirts around her. The thump of Amy’s hand on the needlepoint cushion invited Emily to join her. “Em, please, come sit and let us discuss this rationally.”

  Emily did not move. A pop and hiss from the fire echoed through the silence. She could not move. She needed them to understand, not oppose her choice. If they couldn’t accept and support her decision, she despaired of ever convincing the ladies sewing circle and even less her father. Her heart beat in her ears as she took two slow breaths.

  Amy patted the brocade cushion once more. “Em, please. Sit here with me.”

  Something rigid in her spine relented. With a sigh, Emily went to sit beside her. She settled her skirts, though never as beautifully and effortlessly as Amy, who long ago perfected the art of entertaining and welcoming others no matter where she went. Emily could not hope to achieve the ease with which Amy spent her life. Being sociable came naturally to Amy. She attracted suitors as easily as a net collected fish, and Emily worried her cousin’s particular style of fishing would simply lead to more troubles.

  “Talk to me.” Amy laid a hand on top of Emily’s clenched ones. “What is truly happening?”

  Emily stared into the fire for a moment before addressing Amy’s question. Her hands trembled in her lap, and she pressed them together. “If I marry, I will be expected to have children, lots of them, no less, to support our young country. I understand what’s expected but I would jeopardize my very life. It’s not what I wish for my future.”

  “And?” Amy asked gently. “There’s more to this story, I believe.”

  Her heart sank. Emily regretted confiding in her cousin her feelings for and initial intensely physical reaction to Frank. His touch on her fingers, coupled with the light kiss on the back of one lucky hand, had created a sizzling sensation throughout her body, leaving her hungry and longing when he’d stepped away. Then the ensuing devastation when he proposed marriage to Elizabeth. Recovering from the fracture in her heart proved a long, painful process, but she had managed. That episode would stay in the past, where it belonged. She squared her shoulders and searched Amy’s eyes silently, trying to convey her feelings without having to put voice to them. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Amy’s hand tightened on hers, and her lips curved slightly. Emily closed her eyes and sighed, a tear crawling down her cheek. She brushed it away.

  No tears. No more.

  “I understand,” Amy said slowly. “I, too, do not wish to marry. I’m not afraid of having children, mind. But to give up what I want to do to be subservient to a man who has all the rights and privileges of this new country while I sit by and have nothing to my name?” Winding the long auburn curl hanging beside her jaw around her index finger, Amy stared thoughtfully into the fire. “I see your point, Cousin. Perhaps it is best to be a spinster by choice and suffer the townspeople’s insults than to be forced to remain at home, subject to the vagaries of men.”

  “What did you say?” Emily peered at Amy. Her cousin, who loved to flirt and dance, would willingly be a spinster? “Does this have anything to do with Benjamin Hanson’s sudden disappearance a few years ago?”

  Amy shook her head, but her action lacked conviction to Emily’s mind. Amy had sulked for months after the man’s departure to serve in the Continental Army. Emily suspected Amy’s heart underwent the same splitting in two her own had endured over Frank, yet she refused to admit such even to herself.

  “What will Cousin Evelyn say?” Emily redirected the conversation away from the touchy subject.

  “I believe my sister will understand and perhaps even applaud my choice. Her own marriage has not been, shall we say, what she expected.” Amy cast a sideways glance at Emily. “Indeed, the abuse she suffers informs my desire as much as… Gramercy, it makes no difference now. I shall join you in your vow.”

  “Amy, my dear, surely you jest,” Samantha said. “You’ll break the heart of every bachelor in town.”

  “That is none of my affair, Samantha,” Amy said, then chuckled. “After all, flirtation and marriage are very different activities.”

  Emily hugged her, the inner coil of tension relaxing as she grasped the fact she may not have to walk this path alone. “We need a nicer way to refer to ourselves than spinster, though, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely. But what?” Amy asked.

  Emily tapped a finger against her chin, letting several possibilities run through her mind and discarding them as quickly. “A single man is called a bachelor, which is considered honorable.” She wanted a positive word to refer to herself but could not think of any terms equivalent to spinster that didn’t also carry a negative connotation. “William Shakespeare was known for creating new words; why not follow his lead?”

  “He made up words?” Samantha set her tea down. “I was not aware.”

  “I’m amazed, my friend, that we found something you didn’t know.” Amy laughed. “Emily would. She’s read everything he ever wrote.”

  “Bachelor girl?” Emily asked.

  “That’s a possibility,” Amy said slowly. “Though I’m not sure about the girl part. We’re a bit beyond girlhood, after all.”

  “True. How about bachelor-ette then?” Emily suggested. “The ‘-ette’ addition makes it feminine.”

  Amy shook her head. “No, it sounds too funny. Perhaps we should avoid mentioning our desire to remain unwed and then we avoid the worry altogether.”

  Samantha glided to sit on a side chair, her shimmery green dress pooled around her, reflecting the flicker of flames in the fireplace. She leaned back in the chair, her right hand resting on her leg. “Am I correct in that you both wish to remain unwed? To forgo the pleasures of having a husband?”

  Samantha’s reference to the physical relations between husbands and wives in this setting surprised Emily for several reasons. She had not known her friend possessed such intimate knowledge of sexual relations. Indeed, having only become friends with Samantha the year before, surely there was much to discover about her past. Emily found herself practically holding her breath, waiting to hear what Amy prepared to say.

  “Pleasures?” Amy leaned forward, one eyebrow lifted in question. “I cannot think of any pleasures associated with being married. From what little I’ve heard, the event is short and no fun. At least not for the woman.”

  “It’s not always weighted in the man’s favor,” Samantha said simply. “But are you both sure of this vow of remaining unmarried?”

  “Without any doubt.” Emily considered her friend for a long moment, realizing Samantha had adroitly changed the subject. Sadness shaded her friend’s eyes, dimming their sparkle like clouds on a starry night.

  “Yes, we shall be true unto ourselves,” Amy added with a theatrical flourish of her hand, “and follow our heart’s desires, rath
er than submit to the whimsical will of a man. Are you with us?”

  Samantha contemplated the fire, dancing with red, orange, and blue licks of flame. Lost in thought, she lightly massaged the outside of her thigh. Shouts of laughter came through the window. A dog barked in response. Still, Samantha methodically caressed her leg with her fingers. Emily made a mental note to ask Samantha what had happened while she was visiting her grandmother in Savannah to cause the apparent ache in the limb. But that conversation could wait for another day. This was a momentous occasion in her life, and she wanted to savor it.

  Samantha blinked and then regarded them. “I honestly never considered not marrying. The idea has its benefits, however.”

  Agitation mingled with hope forced Emily to her feet. She paced the room. When her father desired something, he didn’t back down. He’d never give up until he had coerced her into the one act she longed to avoid. That was the problem. He wanted her to marry, and soon, for her protection, he said. She wouldn’t put it past him to find her a husband despite her wishes. His demand coupled with her sister’s recent death solidified the idea percolating in the back of her mind. The vacant shop wouldn’t be vacant for long, no matter the obstacles placed in her way.

  “So you are with us, Samantha?” Amy asked.

  “Yes, but we must keep it between us, to avoid open scorn whenever possible.” Samantha grinned. “After all, we’ve reached the upper end of marriageable age. We may as well.”

  Emily crossed to the center of the room, her hands outstretched. The first steps of a journey often proved the hardest. “Come, then, let us take a vow together to keep this choice our secret.”

  Amy and Samantha rose and clasped hands with Emily, forming a triangle of friendship.

  “How binding is this vow?” Samantha asked. At the startled response from Amy and Emily, she added, “I mean, should one or the other of us change our minds, is that allowed as well?”

  The image of Frank’s blond good looks and gray eyes floated before Emily. No matter how handsome and fine Frank or any man might be, the vow must, for her own peace of mind, be made. An inner voice cried out in anguish when she pushed the handsome face aside, locking it away in her heart. However, she did not want to force the restriction, or the pain, on anyone else. With a deep breath, Emily said, “As long as it is not coerced upon us, but is of our own choosing, I see no need for this to be forever binding.”

  “Then so be it,” Samantha said. “I choose to remain unwed.”

  Amy cocked her head and smiled at Samantha. Squeezing her hand, she said, “But you have not stated your reason. What prompts you to this decision?”

  A dour smile flickered across Samantha’s lips. “Let us say, I have loved and lost and will not endure such pain again.”

  “Indeed?” Amy quirked an eyebrow at Samantha, then glanced at Emily.

  Samantha bobbed her head once as a tiny smile formed on her lips. The woman contained many secrets, secrets Emily hoped to one day learn more about so she better understood her friend. For now, Emily’s relief that her confidantes stood with her swept aside her earlier uncertainty.

  Emily broke away from the triangle and poured three glasses of sweet sherry. “Then we shall celebrate our agreement with a toast.” Handing the glasses around, she raised hers.

  “What shall we toast to?” Samantha asked.

  “To life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for all in America.” Emily flashed a smile at her comrades.

  “And a more perfect union for women,” Amy added, her eyes sober.

  Emily tapped her glass against the others, happy yet fearing the consequences of their vow as the ring of crystal quivered into silence.