Every Perfect Gift (36 page)

Gillie swept past the dining room and paused outside the closed doors leading to the parlor. “You must convince Mother that I’m telling the truth. I’m not asking you to name Caleb. You made a promise to him, and I won’t ask you to break it. But maybe if you tell her there is someone who likes me, she’ll give up this ridiculous plan to marry me off to someone I can’t abide.”

Laughter erupted from inside the parlor. Gillie frowned. “That’s Mother and dear Auntie, conspiring to ruin my life.”

“I don’t want you to marry someone you don’t love, but wouldn’t it be better for Caleb to tell her himself?”

“Of course it would. But I can’t be sure he’ll even come out here today. After I saw Flora this morning, I dropped by the
Gazette
on my way to the livery on the off chance I’d find him delivering supplies or something. The door was open and his hat was lying on the counter. The coffeepot was still warm, but he wasn’t there. I suppose he’d already left to spend the day with his
mother and brothers at the farm. But I left a note inviting him here just in case.”

The parlor doors slid open just then and there stood Mrs. Gilman sparkling like a human Christmas tree in a moss-green gown, a suite of deep ruby jewelry adoring her neck, earlobes, and wrists. “Sabrina, it’s about time you got back here. I was about to send someone to look for you.”

Gillie nudged Sophie forward. “Mother, you remember my friend, Sophie Caldwell.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Gilman nodded a greeting, but her expression was cold as a trout. “Welcome to our home.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Sophie said, although it was Gillie who had invited her.

“I was sorry to hear about the fire at your newspaper office. Such a frightening thing, right there in the middle of town. It must be very difficult for you, losing your business. Though in all candor, I can’t say I approve of the trouble you caused for dear Mr. Blakely, after he’s done so much to move Hickory Ridge forward.”

“No more trouble than he has caused me,” Sophie said. “His forced boycott by my advertising clients nearly put the paper under. Luckily, some of my clients have returned.”

“Don’t tell me you’re reopening.”

“As soon as my new equipment and supplies arrive.” Sophie couldn’t keep a note of triumph from her voice.

“And not a moment too soon either,” Gillie said, clearly enjoying defying her mother. “Everyone is clamoring for the return of the Answer Lady.”

Mrs. Gilman clicked her tongue. “Some may choose to air their petty grievances in the pages of the newspaper. But ladies of quality would never do such a thing, nor would they waste their time reading such drivel.”

“I’m sorry our answer column doesn’t appeal to you, Mrs.
Gilman,” Sophie said, “but I hope you’ll find other things in the paper to enjoy.”

Just then a slight, white-haired woman wearing a severe black bombazine dress appeared in the parlor doorway and frowned at Mrs. Gilman. “Kindly come into the parlor and sit down like civilized people. You know I can’t hear a thing from way out here. Hello, Sabrina. I thought you’d flown the coop.”

Gillie kissed the older woman’s cheek. “Aunt Livinia. The thought had occurred to me.”

“Oh, pish-posh.” The older woman waved one mottled hand and ushered them into the parlor. She lowered herself into a wing-back chair next to the fireplace, drew a lace shawl around her thin shoulders, and peered at Sophie. “Who the devil are you?”

“Oh, sorry,” Gillie said. “Where are my manners? Aunt Livinia, this is Sophie Caldwell, editor and publisher of the
Hickory Ridge Gazette
and my dearest friend in all the world.”

“You’re that newspaper girl?”

“Yes.” Sophie liked the older woman despite her brusque manner. “I can’t afford much of a staff yet. But I enjoy the work.” She peeled off her woolen gloves and tucked them into her reticule.

“Sophie’s the reason I got the infirmary open,” Gillie said. “If she hadn’t convinced the mayor and the council to give me a hearing, it never would have happened.”

Livinia frowned. “I heard the newspaper office burnt plumb to the ground.”

“It wasn’t quite that bad. The roof and one wall were severely damaged, but my printing press was unharmed. I hope to resume publishing again by Christmas.”

Gillie sent her mother a defiant look. “I can’t wait to read the next Answer Lady column. I loved the one about forcing a shy child to sing in church. Sophie advised her mother to wait until the girl feels ready.”

“I quite agreed,” Livinia said. “A trauma like that could scar a child for life. If I remember correctly, the child in question was only nine years old. Of course, the column about how to keep a husband from snoring was much more entertaining. I laughed till I cried when I read that one.”

“Livinia Merriweather.” Mrs. Gilman drew herself up and glared at her sister. “You don’t mean to tell me you waste time on that silliness.”

“I’m sure those who write to the Answer Lady take it quite seriously indeed. And I think it’s inexcusably rude of you to denigrate this young woman’s work while she is a guest in your home. Besides, we have a much more serious matter to discuss.” She turned to Gillie. “Now, I know how you feel about that infirmary of yours, but really, Sabrina, a woman of your age ought to be thinking of finding a husband and making a home. Your mother and I only hope it isn’t too late.”

Mrs. Gilman nodded. “You should have married Franklin West when you had the chance.”

“Mother. I was barely seventeen, and still mourning the loss of Jacob Hargrove.”

“So? I was only nineteen when I married your father, and look at what I have now. A fine home, a man to protect me, enough money to live comfortably in my old age. No need to go about sewing up wounds and birthing babies and cleaning up . . . bodily waste.” Mrs. Gilman shuddered. “I can’t imagine it.”

“But I love taking care of people,” Gillie said. “Opening the infirmary was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“And the town is grateful, I am sure. But now it’s time to turn it over to the doctor and take your rightful place in society.”

Gillie sighed and rolled her eyes at Sophie. “The infirmary is my rightful place. I’m sorry if you don’t agree.”

Mrs. Gilman stood and paced the room, her slippers whispering
on the thick wool carpet. “You know who I blame for this? Your father, that’s who. He never should have given in to your request for medical training. But he was so sure that you’d see what a filthy, thankless task it is and come to your senses.” She paused in front of Sophie, her dark eyes blazing. “I don’t want to seem impolite, but this is a private matter. Perhaps you could wait with the other guests in the library?”

Gillie stiffened. “If she goes, I go.”

“But, Sabrina,” Livinia said, “this is a family crisis.”

Gillie folded her arms across her chest. “You and Mother are the only ones who think it’s a crisis.”

Mrs. Gilman waved her hand. “Very well. Here is what has been decided. At dinner this evening, your father and I will announce your engagement to William Fortis of Louisville. He has agreed to marry you providing your father settles a decent dowry on you, which of course he is more than prepared to do.”

Gillie frowned. “In other words, you’re paying him to marry me. How much am I worth, Mother?”

“That’s a vulgar question and doesn’t deserve an answer. Now, next month Livinia and I will accompany you to Nashville to select a wedding gown and a trousseau and whatever else you might require. Mr. Fortis has been a bachelor all his life, so I imagine his house, fine though it is, could use a woman’s touch. The wedding will be held next April. You may choose the date.”

“I may choose?” Gillie broke into mirthless laughter, her pale blue eyes brimming with tears. “The only thing you’re leaving to me is to pick the day I give up the most meaningful thing in my life so that you won’t be the embarrassed mother of a spinster daughter?” She shook her head. “Short of your kidnapping me and tying me to the altar, this wedding will not happen. It will be far more embarrassing for you to explain to a church full of guests why there is no bride.”

The parlor had grown cool. Livinia stood and poked the fire, sending up a shower of sparks.

“Besides,” Gillie said, “I told you I have fallen in love with someone. I have reason to hope that he loves me too, though he has not yet declared himself. So you see, Mother, I don’t need you to purchase a groom for me. Despite my advanced age and unsavory occupation, I am not as undesirable as you think.”

Mrs. Gilman shook her head. “How convenient that you have fallen in love just as I’ve made plans for you. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe—”

Sophie rose, her gloves and reticule tumbling to the carpet. Never had she met such a cold, uncaring woman. Even Rosaleen had shown more feeling. “It’s quite true, Mrs. Gilman. Gil—Sabrina has indeed caught the attention of a fine young man right here in Hickory Ridge. She asked me to come here today to assure you of his regard for her.”

“Is that so? Then where is he? Why can’t he speak for himself?”

“William Fortis is not here to speak for himself either,” Gillie said.

“William was delayed in his travels. He’ll be arriving this evening.” Mrs. Gilman turned to Sophie. “What does this suitor do for a living?”

“I can’t tell you that without giving away his identity.”

“Of course you can’t, because he is simply an invention you and my daughter cooked up to postpone the inevitable.”

“He’s quite real, I assure you. But I promised to let him speak for himself when the time is right.”

In the hallway a dinner bell chimed and someone knocked at the parlor door. “Ma’am? Dinner’s ready.”

Mrs. Gilman placed an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “Believe me, Sabrina, I want only the best for you. After you’re married, William will open up to you, I’m sure of it. A year from
now, perhaps a child will be on the way. And you’ll see I was right to make this decision for you.”

“Come along, girls,” Livinia said. “Let’s put all this aside and join our guests. It’s Thanksgiving, after all. And I am purely famished!”

THIRTY-ONE

I now set my hand to the end of my story. My only daughter, Anna, rests in a churchyard in New Orleans. She was but eight and twenty and the mother of a babe when called to eternal rest. It seemed unjust to me, but what shall I say? There is an all wise Being who orders events, who knows what is best for us and determines accordingly, and we must patiently, if not cheerfully, submit to his will. As to the final resting places of those who went before us, I know naught. I pray they received God’s mercy and passed from this earth into his loving care. Here ends my story. Elena Worthington in the year of our Lord, 1820.

Sophie closed the journal. Unless she saw Rosaleen again someday, here was all she would ever know of her heritage. But Ethan loved her no matter what, and his devotion had at last filled the empty places inside her heart.

In the weeks since his proposal, they had spent time together nearly every day. With the residents of the Verandah who worked for Blue Smoke away until next spring, Lucy had hired Ethan to replace a rickety stairway banister and repair zigzagged cracks in the plaster ceiling of the dining room.

In the evenings when his work was done and she was home from the
Gazette
, she ate with Ethan, sharing a tray before the fire in Lucy’s cheerful parlor. She loved watching his hands move as he described his vision for a new house on his family’s land near Savannah, the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of Palladian windows, fanlight doors, lintels, corbels, and spiraling staircases.

He hadn’t pressed her for an answer to his proposal, but the look of expectation in his eyes when they said good night said plenty about his hopes for their future. But as much as she loved him, she still couldn’t bring herself to say yes or no, to break this sweet bubble of possibility they were living in, to face her fears.

So she kept putting it off. And so far he had been patient.

Occasionally, they bundled themselves against the cold and walked to Miss Hattie’s for dinner and then to the Hickory Ridge Inn to visit Julian. Just last Sunday Dr. Spencer had pronounced his patient well enough to travel. Though Julian spoke of going home to Philadelphia in time for the holiday, she hoped he’d stay. Julian would have many more Christmases to spend in Philadelphia. But Julian was all the family Ethan had left. Surely Mrs. Worth would understand. Or perhaps she and her son could come to Hickory Ridge for the holiday.

She tried not to think too much about Christmas in Texas. Every year Ada decorated the ranch house with fresh garlands and dozens of white candles. Silver bowls of clove-studded oranges filled tables in the dining room and parlor. She would miss all of it this year—the smells of citrus and cedar, the sound of Wyatt’s booming laugh, Wade’s mischief, and Lilly’s excited chatter—the sounds and sights and smells that meant home to her.

She put away her great-grandmother’s journal, parted the curtain, and looked onto the bustling street. Horses, rigs, and freight wagons lined the street near Mr. Pruitt’s mercantile. Clusters of farm wives hurried in and out of shops while knots of noisy
children paraded along the wooden boardwalk. The doors to Mrs. Pruitt’s dress shop and Mariah Whiting’s bookshop were dressed in fresh cedar garlands.

She released a long sigh. Despite her loneliness, her troubles and doubts, this year had been a season of gifts. Ethan Heyward loved her. She’d met her mother at last. And her dream of owning a newspaper had come true despite Mr. Blakely and the fire.