Читать книгу The Reluctant Bridegroom - Shannon Farrington - Страница 9

Chapter One

Baltimore, Maryland

1865

What is he doing here? He has never visited our home before.

Rebekah Van der Geld watched from her position behind the large oak tree as her father’s chief political rival, State Delegate Harold Nash, stepped from the porch and came down the front walk. The graying widower looked quite pleased with himself, as though he had just secured some grand victory.

Few men ever smiled after leaving her father’s presence, and yet this particular legislator was whistling happily as he stepped through the front gate and headed up the street. He had just passed her next-door neighbor’s home when Fiona, Rebekah’s maid, spied her behind the tree.

“There you are, miss,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you! You must hurry! Your father wants ya!”

Rebekah’s stomach immediately knotted. She brushed her clothing. “Am I presentable?”

Fiona twirled her about. “There’s mud along your back hemline,” she said, “but I daresay you haven’t time to change. Perhaps he won’t notice.”

He will notice, Rebekah thought, and he will be angry. She knew, though, there was nothing she could do to remedy that now. Her father would be even angrier if she didn’t come straightaway.

Resigning herself to the inevitable, Rebekah hurried inside. The door to the study was ajar, but she knocked upon it just the same. She had been told more than once never to step into the room without her father’s permission.

“Enter,” he commanded.

Drawing a quick breath, Rebekah did so. Her father was standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back. Theodore Van der Geld was not a particularly large man, but his stern voice and iron hand were enough to intimidate most everyone with whom he came in contact, especially his daughter.

Rebekah positioned herself near his desk just so, hoping he would not noticed her soiled dress. “You wished to see me, sir?”

“Indeed,” he said without turning around. “The time has come for you to wed.”

Wed? The air rushed from Rebekah’s lungs. Had she heard him correctly? If she had, then just whom was she supposed to marry? She had no suitors, at least none of whom she was aware. No young man had dared come calling for fear of facing her father.

And yet as shocking as this announcement was, deep down she had always known her father would orchestrate her marriage. He had arranged everything else in her life, and every decision he made was filtered through the lens of his own political benefit. Having become a successful state legislator, he now wanted to be governor.

Apparently he is going to hand me over to some well-connected gentleman in order to support his campaign. But whom?

Then she remembered Harold Nash’s unprecedented visit, and the smile on his face as he walked away. A sickening feeling swept over her. Oh no! Surely not!

The man was more than twice her age, and up until today, her father had despised him. Harold Nash had voted against President Lincoln, had vehemently defended slave owners’ rights all throughout last year’s constitutional convention and had worked to delay outlawing the detestable practice of slavery for months.

And to be given to such a man! Rebekah feared her knees were going to buckle.

“You will marry Henry Nash,” her father announced, turning to judge her reaction.

Henry Nash? Rebekah struggled to process this news. So I am to be handed over to the delegate’s son? While the man was closer to her age, she felt little relief at the prospect. To marry him was to become not only a wife but immediately a mother, as well. The man had recently taken charge of his two orphaned nieces. Word was their father had fallen in battle while serving the rebel army, and their mother had died in childbirth.

None of this makes any sense! Rebekah thought. Why was her father so insistent on this match? Henry Nash had strong ties to the Confederacy, and her father had once called him a self-serving coward because he had not held office in the United States Army.

“Father, I don’t understand...”

She should have known better than to question him, for the moment she did, Theodore Van der Geld stormed out from behind his desk. His eyes were wide. The veins in his neck were bulging.

“I do not expect you to understand,” he shouted. “I expect you to obey! I expect you to do your duty!”

Rebekah immediately lowered her chin, stared at the floor. She dared not raise her eyes. She knew what would happen if she did.

When he spoke again, his voice had softened slightly. It was the same tone he used when addressing a crowd of potential voters. “Your marriage to Henry Nash will take place within the next few weeks,” he said. “The ceremony will coincide quite nicely with our nation’s victory celebrations.”

The long, desperate war between the states was finally drawing to a close. The nation had been preserved, but all Rebekah could think of now was her own impending union. Terror overwhelmed her. Yes, she wished to marry someday. She also wished for children, but most important, she wished for love. How was she to love a man she barely knew?

Please don’t make me do this! I don’t want to do this! But she knew her father would not listen to her pleas, let alone grant them. He waved her away like a simple servant. “Go to your room.”

Rebekah went obediently, knowing that in his mind, the marriage had been firmly decided, and she was powerless to alter his decision. Her only hope was that Henry Nash would somehow change his mind.

* * *

“You agreed to what?” Henry’s jaw literally dropped when he heard the news. “You told Theodore Van der Geld I would marry his daughter? Why on earth would you do such a thing? Why on earth would he even suggest it?”

Harold Nash, a shrewd man at best and conniving at worst, simply smiled. “The man wants to be the next governor, and he knows he can’t win the office without our help.”

“Our help?”

“Yes, by gaining the confidence of those who supported me in the past and those who will support you in the future.”

Henry groaned. Now he saw the truth of the matter. His father wasn’t running for reelection, but that didn’t mean he was finished with his political scheming. Ever since Henry had expressed a possible interest in campaigning for his father’s seat in the state legislature, Harold Nash had taken it upon himself to become his political advisor. “So you orchestrated all of this?”

The veteran politician laughed. “Of course not. Van der Geld did, but I am smart enough to recognize an opportunity for your advancement when it is presented.”

“By mortgaging my future?”

“You want to have a say in what goes on in this state, don’t you?”

Of course Henry did, but this was not at all how he wanted to go about it. Deal making and deal breaking, flattery and false alliances had led to war. After four years of killing, peace was finally within reach. Richmond had fallen. Lee and his army had surrendered. The nation, however, had to be reconstructed carefully, and so did his own state.

Although Maryland had not declared secession, there were many in the state who had chosen to fight for the Confederacy. As a Baltimore city councilman, Henry had dealt with his share of people, both prounion and sympathetic to the South, who were hot for revenge. Loved ones had been lost, property damaged, dreams destroyed.

There is still a lot of healing to be done.

Henry had worked hard to ensure that his reputation as a councilman was that he was fair and trustworthy. He held his office honestly and kept it that way by maintaining an open, forthright dialogue with the mayor, his fellow council members and the people of his city. His yes was always a yes and his no a no. He was determined to go about matters the same way should he win the bid for state delegate.

If I decide to run for higher office, I don’t need to form an alliance to do so, especially not with my father’s chief political rival. Henry told his father so.

Harold shook his head. “You are too young to realize what is at stake here,” he said. “Too young to comprehend fully the advantages of securing such power. Theodore Van der Geld is an Unconditional and you could have considerable influence over him.”

The Unconditionals were the members of the National Union Party, and they had been a thorn in his father’s flesh since ever since they managed to gain control of the statehouse. While Henry’s father had been in favor of preserving the Union, he had not thought Washington should use any means necessary to do so.

Like his father, Henry had opposed many of the tactics employed to keep Maryland in line the past four years. He had been against the closing of newspaper presses critical of Washington, against voters being denied the right to vote simply because they were suspected of having Southern sympathy.

Henry wished to correct such wrongs, but marrying Rebekah Van der Geld and trying to use my position as his son-in-law to sweet-talk her father toward my side of the aisle is not the way to go about it. “I want no part of this,” Henry said adamantly. “I earned my seat on the city council by honesty and hard work. If I decide to run for the state legislature, I will get to Annapolis the same way.”

And it was a big if. He wasn’t so certain he even wanted to run for the state legislature, at least not now. Henry had much more pressing matters on his mind. His sister Marianne’s death had hit him hard, and now he had the task of caring for her children. Henry knew almost nothing of being a father, and that which he had witnessed from his own, he did not wish to repeat.

The older man’s face lined with disappointment. “You won’t get to the state capital by shaking hands and talking about your war record. You can’t tell all those grieving fathers that while their sons were bleeding on the battlefield, you were floating well above it.”

Henry resented the inference. He was no coward. He had done his duty with his military service. He had served as honorably as any other veteran. While it was true he’d never made a valiant charge, his service as an aeronaut in the balloon corps, scouting the positions of the rebel army, was just as valuable—and within artillery range, just like any other man.

“You didn’t want me serving in the first place,” Henry said, “and now you think I wasn’t brave enough?”

“It isn’t a matter of what I think. It’s what the voters will think.”

Henry was just about to respond to the mocking comment when footsteps in the hall caught his attention. The door to the study suddenly burst open. In flew his four-year-old niece, Kathleen. Her face was red and tear streaked. Henry was fairly certain of the cause of her distress. Since coming into his home, she had cried repeatedly for her departed mother.

Kathleen froze upon sight of her grandfather, instantly sensing she was unwelcome. Henry went to her immediately. True, his life had been turned upside down with the arrival of her and her sister, but the last thing he wanted was for his niece to feel unwanted. “What’s wrong, pretty girl?” he asked as he bent to her level.

Kathleen’s chin quivered. “I want Mama.”

Henry’s heart broke for her. “I know you do.” He pulled her close, gently patted her back. As he did so, he could feel his father’s disapproving gaze.

Henry wasn’t certain if it was because the man thought such displays of affection were improper or if, deep down, he resented the fact that Marianne had chosen Henry to be her children’s guardian and not her own father.

Hannah—his cook, and now temporary governess—came into the room. In her arms was a tiny blanketed bundle, Kathleen’s little sister, eight-week-old baby Grace.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Henry,” Hannah said. “She got away from me while I was feeding the baby.”

“It’s all right, Hannah. Tell me, have you any spice cake left?”

“I do.”

“Then I believe this young lady would benefit from a slice.” His niece looked up at him, eyes still cloudy with tears. “Go with Hannah, pretty girl. I’ll be by directly to see that you are settled.”

Kathleen slowly took Hannah’s hand and turned from the room. Henry watched them go. He was thankful the ploy of sweets had worked. He wasn’t certain what he would have done if it hadn’t. But such measures will work for only so long.

“And there’s another reason,” his father said when the little girl had left the room.

“Another reason for what?”

“To wed Van der Geld’s daughter.”

Henry sighed. “Father, if I want help with my nieces, I’ll hire a suitable governess.”

“A governess isn’t going to get you to the statehouse.”

Henry shook his head, his patience wearing thin. “I’m not going to discuss this any further. I will speak to Van der Geld myself, tell him I want nothing to do with this.”

This time his father grinned, but Henry knew full well it was not an expression of joy. “You go right ahead, son,” the man said. “Do it your way. I’ll be here when you change your mind.”

Henry wanted to give a snappish reply, but he held his tongue. He is my father. He deserves my respect if for no other reason than that.

Leaving the study, Henry went to the kitchen. Kathleen was pale, but at least the tears had dried. Hannah had her at the table, a slice of spice cake in front of her. His cook kneaded bread dough for the evening meal.

How the woman managed, Henry was not certain. Surely she must be exhausted. He was, after all. It had taken him only forty-eight hours trying to manage glass feeding bottles and complicated rubber tubes before becoming so. To make matters worse, Grace cried incessantly and refused to take milk from the contraption.

Wise in the ways of motherhood, Hannah had abandoned the tube and metal mouthpiece for a soft rag. Grace sucked milk out of the bottle from that. It was messy and still somewhat cumbersome, but at least it worked. The goat’s milk temporarily soothed the baby’s stomach, but her heart was another matter. Hannah’s fifteen-year-old daughter, Sadie, sat at the table beside Kathleen. She was steadily rocking Grace, trying to quiet her tears.

Henry sighed. Hannah must have heard him. “Don’t you fret, Mr. Henry,” she said with an expression akin to pity. “It won’t always be this way.”

How I hope she is right. For all our sakes. “We’ll think of something,” he promised her. “I’ll find us help.”

“The good Lord will see to all our needs,” Hannah said. “We just gotta trust Him.” She punched down her dough. “You goin’ out on business today?”

“I’m afraid I must. There is a matter to attend.”

“You gonna visit folks, too?”

She meant his constituents. From time to time he called on returning veterans, local merchants and others to see how they were faring. Most citizens welcomed him, and even those who were wary of public servants usually warmed once he heard their complaints.

“Yes, but I won’t be gone long.” He cast another glance at Kathleen. She was poking her cake with her fork.

“Like I said,” Hannah replied, “don’t you fret. We’re gonna be just fine. You go on and do what you planned.”

Henry drew in a breath. How appreciative he was of the woman, of her assistance and understanding. “Thank you, Hannah.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Henry.”

Leaving the house, Henry headed off to put the matter with Theodore Van der Geld and his daughter to rest. While traveling to the stately home, he went over in his mind what he would say. Henry didn’t know whether or not Miss Van der Geld had been told of the arrangement. He certainly hoped she hadn’t.

If she had, he seriously doubted she would be heartbroken by the change of plans. Still, Henry wanted to be gentle. She may not like the idea of a union with a virtual stranger any more than I, but I am still refusing her, and no one likes to feel unwanted...

Henry knew firsthand the misery such feelings could bring. While his mother, Eleanor, had married his father for love, believing he felt the same, it soon became apparent that Harold Nash had been interested only in her social standing and family fortune. When Henry’s mother realized this, the life drained out of her. She had died on Henry’s fifteenth birthday. Marianne had been twelve.

Were it not for his interest in public service, Henry doubted he’d have much of a relationship with his father, if any. He did his best to honor the man as Scripture commanded, but he refused to be like him, especially when it came to selecting a wife.

Henry believed in love. For him, marriage was a lifelong commitment of mutual respect and affection, not an opportunity to advance one’s political career. He wasn’t going to court a woman until he was certain he was prepared to give her his heart.

Arriving at the Van der Geld house, he knocked upon the front door. An Irish maidservant answered, only to inform him that the state delegate was not home.

For a moment, Henry was tempted to ask for the daughter but decided that would be unwise. If she did know of the marriage proposal, requesting to speak with her without her father’s presence would paint him as a much too eager suitor.

And if she does not yet know, there is no reason to trouble her.

He handed the maid his calling card. Henry didn’t like leaving matters like this. Miss Van der Geld was liable to get hurt.

But there is nothing I can do for the moment.

So he left the house, determined to return at a more opportune time.

* * *

Rebekah had heard the man’s voice coming from the foyer. Terrified by the thought that Henry Nash had actually come to pay a call on her, she crept to her room and closed the door behind her.

If I stay hidden, she told herself, I won’t have to face him.

From her sanctuary, she could no longer hear the conversation on the floor below, but she could make out the sound of Fiona shutting the door. Knowing Councilman Nash had gone, Rebekah moved to the window and watched him walk toward the street.

At least he has the decency not to insist upon seeing me while Father is out, she thought.

She tried to take comfort in that fact, but his sense of social propriety did little to quell her anxious spirit. She might not have had to face him today, but the moment was surely going to come.

Reason told her that things could be much worse. At least Councilman Nash was a churchgoing man. In fact, they attended the same church, and from what she’d observed of him there, he appeared to have a pleasant disposition.

But then so does Father when he is in public. In private it is an altogether different matter.

Her stomach began to roll. Her breath quickened. I can’t do this! I won’t do this!

It wasn’t as though she was against marriage itself. Three of Rebekah’s closest friends had been recently married. Julia Stanton, the daughter of a prominent local physician, had married her beloved Samuel Ward, a history teacher who was somewhat below her station.

Emily Davis had been raised as a supporter of states’ rights, and yet her parents had offered no arguments when she’d married Dr. Evan Mackay, the Union army surgeon she had once despised.

Elizabeth Martin had gone to work as a newspaper sketch artist after the death of her fiancé, Jeremiah Wainwright, then fell in love with his brother, David.

Rebekah’s father claimed that all three were foolish matches and her friends would soon regret their decisions. Yet she knew how happy they each were. She could see it on their faces. They basked in the glow of men who truly loved and respected them. Rebekah longed for the same.

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. They 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.