by Mercy Levy
With fondness,
Your friend, Celia McGovern
Emily read the letter from her friend two more times before she could work up the courage to read the second note. New York was as busy and dirty as London has been, with a recklessness born of war time and the mad crush of immigrants hunting for a better future. Through Celia’s letters, Emily had begun to yearn for the stately, slower pace of the South. She regretted that her arrival came after the war between the states had destroyed so much of the beauty her friend had described. She set the first of her two letters aside and gently unfolded the second, noting first that it was written in a masculine scrawl, and second, that it was abominably short and gave her no idea of the man behind it.
Mademoiselle Bouchard,
I write to you at this time concerning your willingness to procure transport and leave the city of New York to come to my aid in Charleston. I am a man of small means and no property at this time. However, if it behooves you to make the journey to the fair South, you will have a home and the necessities of life provided to you. Our mutual acquaintance has given glowing reference to your abilities as a seamstress. As my holdings include a dress-making shop, it would be a good fit, were you interested in gainful occupation, for you to learn and work with me. I am a man of simple needs, and require a woman of similar mind. Please respond if you feel amenable to an understanding.
Respectfully,
Capt. Joshua Prentis, Carolina 12th infantry
Emily turned the letter over, staring at the blank paper as though she could make words appear. She reread the polite, business-like note from Mr. Prentis. The full realization of the arrangement was disheartening. Until now, she had a bright spot of romantic hope sequestered away in her heart. Celia had spoken of The nobility of Capt. Prentis’ character, and his chivalry, Emily had begun to grow fond of the man she read about. She was pained by his recent misfortunes, and when her childhood friend had written that he was injured and alone, Emily had spun daydreams of travelling to the South and becoming his salvation.
She realized that her romantic notions had no place in a world where she married a man she had never met, by prearrangement through letters and references. Still, she would salve her father’s hurt over being a lone daughter, instead of a son. She was free from the constraints of her family’s expectations of old maiden-hood. She would make a name for herself in the grandest city of the South as a seamstress, and when she was finished, Captain Joshua Prentis would be grateful that she had accepted his terms.
Emily ran down to the parlor where her aunt Cora sat quietly embroidering handkerchief she wished to send to her husband. Cora was shocked when Emily told her of the offer of marriage and employment she had received from a man in the Carolinas. Cora and her husband had secured employment for Emily before her arrival, at a textile mill. But, the hours were long and hard, and Cora was certain Emily’s uncle would approve of this arrangement, as long as Emily was safe. A seamstress in a shop was much less backbreaking work, and her aunt was sure Emily was skilled enough to earn the respect her family desired for her.
“I was hopeful that your uncle would return home before you were gone, but I am gladdened that you have secured for yourself a position that will give you a better future.” Cora murmured in her gentle Scotch brogue. “This man is of good regard, yes?” She asked. Her fingers deftly moved her needle and thread through the linen stretched on the wooden hoop.
“Yes, Aunt Cora. I am assured that Captain Prentis is from a good family. They even chose not to own slaves before the war ever started.” Emily felt relieved to know that she wouldn’t have to look at another person and know that she owned them.
“And why is he sending for a bride, instead of picking one from those… southern belles.” Cora queried with thick disdain in her voice.
“He was injured badly in battle. He lost the strength in one leg.” Emily shook her head sadly. “He was betrothed, but while he was fighting, his affianced left him to marry another, richer man.” Cora raised an eyebrow at Emily. “He wishes for a logical partnership, and I am a logical choice, by my age, constitution and skills as a seamstress.” Cora sniffed at her niece.
“What of your faith in love matches? Dinnae tell me you’ve lost that?” Emily blushed. She had read all of Celia’s letters to her. There was no way her aunt hadn’t seen and heard the admiration Emily had for the Captain. Emily placed her hands on her cheeks to cool the heat of embarrassment.
“I do not know if love is in my future, Aunt.” Emily said, stoically. “However, it is an opportunity to bring respect to my family, and perhaps even earn enough money to bring Mum and Da here.” Emily sighed. She missed her parents, and England. But it seemed to her that this new land was full of promise and wonder. Anything could happen, and in her bones, she felt that great things would.
4. Celia has Made a Match
In Charleston, Joshua busied himself with rebuilding his textile contracts and avoiding Celia and Maddox. Since he’d given Celia his letter she had been intolerable. A week passed, then two. He stated finding reasons to be away from the shop as he realized Celia could receive a reply to her request at any time. He was pleasantly surprised at his next trip into town when Celia was markedly absent from the shop floor.
Joshua maneuvered his way deftly through the dressing rooms to the office, carefully picking his steps and leaning heavily on his carved wooden cane. He set the cane, a gift from Maddox, to the side of his desk and quickly scanned the bills of lading for the most recent shipment of dyed cotton. He grunted in surprise when a thin cream envelope exuding a faint, feminine scent was slipped under his nose.
“Good morning, Joshua,” Celia greeted him, “I hope this letter from Mme. Bouchard finds you well.” Joshua sighed heavily and set the letter to one side.
“I will see to it when I have time. Thank you, Celia.” He leaned forward in concentration and continued organizing the accounting paperwork. Celia stayed still, watching him, until he was too uncomfortable to continue to ignore her. “Madam.” Joshua looked up at her and frowned. “Surely, you have some pressing matter to attend to? That is what I pay you for, correct?” Celia sniffed at him and spun on her heel. Joshua managed a half smile at her retreating back. He glanced over at the innocent square of folded paper on the edge of his desk. Sighing, he picked it up and began to read.
Most Esteemed Captain Prentis,
I am most gratified by the generous offer made by yourself in previous correspondence. I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience that a missive takes from the day of a busy man. I am well, and hope that this letter finds you the same. As you appear to know, I am a seamstress by occupation and have had the honor of apprenticing with Lady Heathcliff, a well-respected dress-maker in London. You may not, however, know that I am also skilled with bookkeeping, as I spent a great deal of time in the office of my father, who is a solicitor by trade. I fear I am uncertain of your wishes for my presence in Charleston, and am desirous that I receive a greater understanding of my purpose so that I might ease the concerns of my aunt and uncle, who are responsible for my care at this time.
Most Respectfully,
Mme. Emily Bouchard.
Joshua’s shoulders sagged. Though her tone was polite, it was clear that he’d made himself unseemly to her with his brusque note. He thought to the absolute quiet of the nights in his house, at first welcome after the din of battle, but now lonely and bleak. No Charleston woman caught his eye. To him, they were all Rachel, beautiful, but devoid of moral fortitude. No, Joshua had no use for a southern belle. This young English woman would fit in well as a seamstress. Celia spoke highly of her from her days in London as a dressmaker’s apprentice. He did not need beauty or social graces. He no longer felt the need to move in those circles. People who had counted among his friends had all but disappeared since Livingston had stolen his land. No one had defended him while he fought for their way of life, and now he was just another poor shop keeper to them.
He pulled a
clean sheet of paper from his desk and penned a simple, one-page letter. He folded it and sealed it in an envelope, and limped his way to the front of the shop, where two middle-aged socialites examined his finest silk and browbeat his seamstresses. Avoiding them, he ducked behind the sales counter and handed Celia the envelope.
“Please see that this is in the mail today.” He requested. She nodded her acknowledgement and slipped the letter into the hidden pocket of her skirt. As soon as Joshua disappeared into the office at the back of the store, Celia called Millie over to assist customers and slipped out the door, putting on her hat as she traipsed down the walk to the telegraph office.
“Mr. Draper!” Celia greeted the telegraph operator with a smile. “Can you please send a brief message for me? It’s quite urgent.” Celia jotted a note for the operator and made her way to the post office to mail Joshua’s letter.
In her small apartment in the Upper West Side, New York, Emily was surprised by an unexpected knock at her door. She opened it cautiously. No woman with men at war looked forward to strangers who may have terrible news of their family members. Standing on her doorstep was a telegraph courier. Her surprise swiftly became curiosity as the courier verified her name and handed her the telegram.
“Aunt Cora,” called Emily, “I have a telegram. I’m nervous to open it. Will you, please?” Cora chuckled and took the paper from Emily.
“It’s from Celia.” Cora said. “It reads, ‘Letter forthcoming. Pack with care. Leave as soon as it arrives.” Emily looked at Cora, ashen-faced.
“But, Aunt Cora, I don’t know if I can.” Emily agonized. “It’s clear from Celia’s urgency that the Captain has immediate need of me, but what if I cannot live in a loveless marriage?” Cora petted her distraught niece’s arm. “What if I arrive and my face is too unappealing? What if he chooses not to marry me at all?” Cora laughed and pulled Emily into a warm embrace.
“If he won’t love you, you refuse to marry him, do you understand?” Cora ordered. “You are not beholden to him just because he sent for you. You make your own choices, and make him earn your hand.” Emily inhaled slowly and nodded.
“I must finish the dress I’m working on. It will be good for travelling in.” Emily thought out loud. Her aunt nodded in agreement and handed her a square of pure white linen with an embroidered edge.
“I thought you might be needing this.” She patted Emily’s hand. “You will thrive wherever you are planted, sweet girl. Never forget who you are, or what you are worth. No fifty southern belles could hold a candle to your grace and integrity.” Emily blushed.
“Thank you, Aunt.” She murmured. “I suppose that I am only so unsure because I know what I am about to do, but do not have as many friendly faces on the other side of it as I had in coming here.” She hugged her aunt again. “I am grateful for my time here, and I will make good use of what little is left.” There was not room for all the things she had acquired, so she began to separate those trinkets she’d picked up into those she would take, and those she would gift to her friends and family here. She felt rushed to be prepared after weeks of waiting for any news at all. A new chapter would begin, and when the page turned, she would be ready for it.
Celia and Maddox quietly planned a dinner party for Emily and Joshua to become acquainted. Celia and Emily had decided it was best if Emily stayed with the McGovern family when she first arrived, and as of the last letter, Emily would be in Charleston in two more days.
Celia and Joshua had silently called a truce, and the dress shop was busier than ever. Celia had even suggested buying the space next door and hiring a journeyman tailor to assist on the floor. Joshua continued to avoid expanding his business. It was not good to over extend himself while he was still locked in a battle with Gregory Livingston for the land deed to his plantation. Even so, he recognized the value in her idea, and promised her that he would give it serious thought at a better time. The dry goods merchant next door, Mr. Darby, was climbing in years, and Joshua made it a point to visit him briefly and purchase from him daily.
This day, he limped in as usual and waited for the store clerk to call his employer to the front to chat. Instead, he saw the young clerk completely engrossed in a well-dressed woman as she pointed out some sweets to purchase. Joshua had only taken a few steps toward them when a familiar fragrance drifted into his nostrils. He was staggered by the memories of that perfume. The woman turned at his exclamation and her mouth made a small “O” of surprise.
“Joshua, how good to see you off those dreadful crutches.” Rachel, his once wife-to-be, murmured as she posed against the counter. The young clerk reached out with the small paper sack of sweets and Rachel took it with a small, polite smile. “Walk me to my carriage.” She directed Joshua. Though he wanted nothing more than to turn on his heel and storm away from her, Joshua found himself walking with the beautiful redhead, her hand on the crook of his right arm, balancing with his cane on the left.
“What do you want, Rachel?” He asked, carefully watching the ground as he walked.
“Now, is that any way to talk to someone you care about?” Rachel squeezed his arm flirtatiously. “You know I care about how you’re doing.” Rachel chuckled. “You know; you’re giving Gregory quite a run for his money. He just can’t seem to wrap his head around how a teeny tiny excuse for a plantation like yours was ever so profitable, and why he can’t just get rid of you completely.” She stopped walking and Joshua turned to look down into her face. “I told him he never should have let you back into that house. He was too nice, and now you’re all dug in and ready for war.” She touched his face gently. “The war is over, Joshua, you don’t have to keep fighting.” Joshua extracted himself from her hold and backed away.
“Did he think sending you would make a difference? Or did you think you had some sort of hold over me?” Joshua shook his head and exhaled sharply. “Don’t bother me again, Rachel. I fight whatever battles I see fit. You don’t want to be on the wrong side when I do.” He switched his cane back to his right hand and limped up the boardwalk to the dress shop. He never turned back, but she watched him the whole way, just in case.
Meeting with Rachel left a bad taste in Joshua’s mouth and put him a foul mood for the rest of the day. The seamstresses avoided him, Millie, the apprentice, cried when he barked at her, and even Celia gave him a wide berth. By evening, Joshua was grateful to be alone in the big house and nursed a brandy in the library, lost in thought.
More than ever, he was certain that Emily was a good fit for the shop, and he was glad she’d have company in Celia. However, he was more assured than ever that love was out of the question. But, he had second thoughts about marrying at all. Once a woman was a part of your life, they had the ability to cause damage. Joshua had taken enough damage for two lifetimes. He had no desire for a woman to create more. He took a long sip from the tumbler.
Emily was on her way. The train would arrive in less than a day. He regretted the letter he’d written, but would stand by it. He would not harm her. He would take care of her physical needs. The money he had sent in the letter was more than enough to pay her travel expenses. He would never love her. He wouldn’t let another woman make a fool of him.
As Joshua sat alone in his study getting drunk, Celia discussed the menu for dinner the next evening with her husband. Maddox was just happy that Celia would have a friend with her. He knew it had been difficult for her to make her way here. People looked down their noses at a bride like her. Until they saw her handiwork. There was no one better with fine needle work. She was happy at the dress shop, and one day, Maddox could see his wife set up in a shop of her own, creating fashionable accessories for the socialites of Charleston. Not a mail-order-bride, but a master seamstress, respected in her own right. Celia caught her husband watching her.
“What is it, Love?” She asked, sitting on his knee. “You look so thoughtful. Is everything all right with you?” She bit her lip. She had gone a bit overboard with planning this dinner, but she w
anted so badly for Emily and Joshua to put their best selves forward at their first meeting.
“I was thinking of my wife, and how terribly clever she is.” Maddox answered, gently placing his hand on her back. He relished these moments when they were entirely alone, and social propriety did not need to be followed. Her back was warm under the fabric of her dress, and he could feel the strength in her even as she sat and watched the fire.
“She is not so clever that she can match-make without worrying.” Celia replied. She worried that Joshua was too broken for anyone, especially her tender-hearted friend. She had seen the rage and pain rise off him like steam when Rachel had touched him, and he was still boiling over when Celia had parted from him hours later.
“Trust Joshua.” Maddox suggested. “He is a wounded man. Let him make his decisions, and Emily make hers.” He chuckled and bounced her on his knee until she hopped off and shushed him. “Woman, you want everyone to be happy. Do not worry on this thing. Dinner will be perfect and the two will still have to work out their futures without your help.” Celia smiled and shook her head. If it were up to her, she would have them married and blissful by the end of tomorrow. If Joshua’s head didn’t get in the way of his heart.
5. Emily Arrives
Emily worried her handkerchief between her fingers until it was nothing but a crumpled mess of linen. She tried to close her eyes and rest, but as the she neared Charleston, her chest began to feel tight, and her palms grew sweaty in her gloves. The elderly lady seated next to her for most of the journey had gotten off at the last stop, so now she sat with her unread book in her lap, mangled handkerchief between her fingers, and no one to distract her.