Fate's Intervention

TEXT COPYRIGHT ©2012 Barbara
Woster

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

For my family, without whose love and support

this
book would never have been written.

18
82

“
I will not have you chasing away every eligible suitor that comes to call!
”
Peter
Weatherman
’
s
voice was getting raw from yelling at his daughter
. She sat
across
from his massive
mahogany desk
,
arms crossed
defiantly
beneath her
breasts
, eyes narrowed in
insolence
, and lip
s
pursed in anger
. He sighed. His
yelling was accomplishing
nothing
–
except
to give him a
sore throat
, but despite her stubbornness and irritation,
he had to try
to
get through to her. Had he known how difficult a female became when they hit the age of majority, he would have forbidden his wife from dying
–
God rest her soul
.
Right now, h
e needed God to provide him
a little rest for his
soul also
.

When her father grew silent, glaring at her with his icy emerald eyes,
Marcelle straightened her posture
further
. She refused to allow him to sway her
–
now or ever. She
unclenched her stiffening fists, flexing repeatedly
, and felt the blood
return
to its normal circulation, as she wished her life would. Things were fine before she turned fourteen. Now, at seventeen, she was tired
–
tired of the same embittered argument with her father
, which occurred
like clockwork
.
She
glanced over
her
father
’
s
face
, red from the exertion of her dressing down, but
she
would not allow the threat of a potential heart attack to sway her from her stance. Not this time. Never again.

She loved her
father
dearly, but she needed to
continue to stand firm or he would run roughshod over her life, and she couldn
’
t allow him to continue trying
. She was tired beyond all comprehensible thought of
him treating her
like a horse at an auction, brought out of her barn when he had yet another buffoon ready to inspect her wares. Each suitor genuinely surprised her when he didn
’
t open her mouth to inspect her teeth
–
at least
none had
yet
. Still, while her teeth had thus far been safe from inspection, they often inspected the rest of her openly and shamelessly for longer than she cared.
Of course, every
time she protested the behavior of chosen suitors, her
father
would remind her that she needed a man that would provide her a financially stable future.

Well, she didn
’
t happen to want financial stability
, n
ot at the price her
father
demanded. If her
father
wanted her to have financial stability, she preferred that it came as love wrapped in a package that time had not yet covered with graying hair and wrinkles.

She was also growing weary of these constant battles.
A
fter years of trying to find a suitable mate, and arguing with her
father
about the unsuitability of every one, she felt certain that he would know that her tastes didn
’
t run
anywhere
near the old, infirmed, portly, or stuffy men he insisted on promenading before her.

She took a deep breath to control her breathing and relax her taut nerves.

“
The
men you have chosen,
Father
,
as you are aware,”
she replied tightly,
“
a
re older than
you are
, and not exactly what I
’
d consider suitable marriageable material.
”
She repeated this exact
statement
monthly
since age
fourteen
when her
father
started parading corpses before her and she realized he seriously expected her choose from one of them. She knew what his response would be, because their entire conversation never veered from
its current
content.

“
Who said anything about suitable? I said
eligible,
”
her
father
shot back.

“
S
emantics,
Father
. If the gentlemen weren
’
t suitable, at least in your opinion, they wouldn
’
t even make it in the front door.
A
re
n
’
t you even interested in the least whether I
’
ll be happy with any of the men you
’
ve chosen, or are property and a big bank roll all you can see?
”

“
You have a tongue like a whip, girl.
”

“
A
nd
you have a mind that can only register dollar signs,
”
Marcelle fired back.
“
Is that all you
’
re interested in? Is that all that
’
s important to you?
”

“
Property and a big bank roll, my darling daughter, are all that matter
,
and
if I didn
’
t care about your
well-being
, then I
’
d simply marry you to the first
cowpoke
that wanted to bed you and be done with it. Now, stop causing me grief
,
go into that sitting
room,
and entertain the young man that
’
s come to call or so help me . . .
,
”
Peter stopped speaking suddenly and rubbed a hand wearily across his face and through his quickly graying hair. A sigh escaped and Marcelle relaxes her rigid posture. She eyed her father warily.

“
Or so help you what,
Father
?
”

In all the years that they
’
d had this discussion, h
e had never taken to
threatening
her, but now she wondered, possibly a little too late,
whether
she
’
d pushed him too far. Had her antics and arguments
over the past years caused as much strain on his patience as hers?
Perhaps he was tired of waiting for her to choose a husband. Perhaps he would now marry her off to the next man who
walked through their front door.
Perhaps t
he
suitor that waited for her in the parlor
.
She shuddered at the thought.
His next words, whispered in such a defeated tone created more worry in her than any threat he could ever issue
, but his words were reassuring nonetheless
.

“
Nothing, dearest. Just the ravings of a tired, old man.
Still
, you know, dear, you are getting on in years, and soon even the old geezers that I
’
ve selected for you aren
’
t going to be
interested.
”

“
I
’
d hardly call seventeen aged,
Father
.
”

“
No, I don
’
t guess you would,
but you know as well as I do that men consider it ancient.
”
H
e sighed loudly.
“
If only your mother were here, God rest her soul
, s
he
’
d know what to do about your belligerent attitude. If you were a boy,
I
’
d
know what to do about your belligerent attitude.
”
With another sigh, her father tried a more tactful approach.
“
Will you at least humor me, my girl?
You
’
ve already kept the poor man
in the parlor
waiting on you for the past half hour
. Pe
rhaps you won
’
t have to run him off. Maybe he
’
ll take a dislike to your tardy manners and decide you aren
’
t worth his valuable time.
”

“
How much did you pay this one to show up today?
”
Marcelle quipped.

“
Far more than your old hide is worth,
”
her
father
retorted.

Marcelle laughed shortly,
“
I
’
m not the only one with a whip-like tongue.
”

“
Yes, well, you do get it from somewhere. Your mother was a sight bit more docile than either
you or I
, so I know it wasn
’
t from her that you get that somewhat annoying trait. I only wished you hadn
’
t inherited it from me, either. It
’
s just unfortunate that you didn
’
t inherit my care for money, or you
’
d see the wisdom of marrying someone financially sound
; a
nd
no, I haven
’
t
started paying people to court you, so you can shake that silly notion free from its lodgings and discard it. Put it in the pile with all the other silly notions you
’
ve had in your life, which probably have created a sizable
mound
by now. However, I was serious about your age, child. Seventeen may not be aged to you, but to a man wanting children, you may as well be as old as the men that have come courting you.
”