Fate's Intervention (2 page)

“
I
’
d laugh, but I didn
’
t find that humorous. You know, not all men want twenty children. I may just find a man who wants only one, so seventeen or eighteen shouldn
’
t present a problem. Besides,
Father
, I
’
ve told you repeatedly that the man I marry could build us a one-room shack. It wouldn
’
t matter to me, if he loves me and is willing to work to provide a living for us.
”

“
That
’
s
easy to say when you
’
ve never had to want for anything. Try living without money for a week and you
’
ll change that tune quickly enough.
”

“
So
unds like you have.
”

“
Indeed
,
and
I
’
m not a woman.
”

“
A
woman? What does gender have to do with anything?
”

“
Oh, dearest,
”
her
father
sighed
,
“
a
woman requires much more in the way of support.
A
man could wear the same clothes every day, never b
athe
, eat whatever he found in the wild, and sleep under the stars
–
without a care. Can you see a woman doing that? Really?
”

“
Point conceded. Still,
Father
, do I truly require that much in the way of upkeep that you must marry me to a wealthy man without regard to my feelings for him? Why can
’
t you find a young, good
looking man of modest means?
”

“
I
’
ve tried, and none are interested in an old crone. Just kidding, dear.
A
dmittedly
, you aren
’
t
very
difficult to care for. I just want to ensure that you never want for anything, and m
e
n of modest means, no matter
the
age, couldn
’
t possibly do that for you. Can you blame a
father
for wanting the best for his child?
”

“
No, I can
’
t. I just want you to see my side of it as well. Perhaps I
’
m willing to suffer a bit of discomfort in order to wed for love.
”

Peter sighed
yet again. He was pleased that their constant battles had taken a turn, but only hoped the shift would prove beneficial
.
“
I
’
ll see what I can do in that regard. I could possibly even provide the discomfort part without the courtships, if you don
’
t stop giving me grief. Now, all this conversation hasn
’
t changed the fact that a suitor
is in
the parlor
, and
has been waiting for you for,
”
he paused, glancing at his pocket watch,
“
forty-five minutes, I do believe.
”

“
Must I,
Father
?
”

“
Leaving him there would hardly be polite, and since I didn
’
t raise you without manners, will you do your old man a favor and at least attempt civility with this caller? I have no more room on my head for more gray hair.
”

“
A
ll right,
Father
,
”
she conceded reluctantly, never truly happy when they fought.
“
I
’
ll go and meet the suitor, and I promise to try
to
behave myself.
”
She twisted her lips to display her best brainless, dim-witted smile.

“
How
’
s this?
”
She asked mischievously through gritted teeth. Her ploy worked and her
father
laughed.

“
Don
’
t overdo it
dear;
just do try
to
be pleasant.
”

Marcelle stood to leave, but stopped and turned back to face her
father
when she reached the door.
“
You said for me to go and meet the
young
man in the parlor. Exactly what
’
s your idea of young?
”

“
Not in his grave yet,
”
her
father
answered with a straight face that left Marcelle wondering
whether
he was joking.

Marcelle rolled her eyes
childishly
when she entered the parlor, and her
faux
smile faded
. H
er
father
hadn
’
t lied when he categorized this suitor as
young
. By her estimat
ion
, he was
on the low end of fifty. A man younger than her father, to be sure, but hardly one she would classify as young
. While not as gray
haired and wrinkled
,
physically, he
made the
skeletal forms of previous suitors seem far more
appealing.
Normally, large and tall men
–
as described this suitor to some extent
–
held more attraction to her, because she was far from petite at 5
’
8
”
. Her displeasure over his physique had nothing do with size, rather his lack of shape.

He was s
tanding by the French doors, staring off at the horizon,
and
deep in thought.
Her being temporarily unnoticed gave her ample
time
to size up his ample frame more closely. Perhaps there was more to the man than revealed by his size. The longer she inspected him however, the more doubtful she became.

He had at least two
visible
chins, and a third
she could tell
that he snugly encased within his
overly tight
cravat.
That third chin wanted to break free of its confines, she noticed, and only hoped it would wait until after he departed. The sight of it oozing free would likely send her to
her bed with a case of the fits. Her gaze slid downward and she shuddered.

H
e
’
d
constricted
his
colossal
paunch
inside of his waistcoat
. So
tight fitting
, the navy material puckered in protest, and the silver buttons appeared ready to pop. Warning bells went off in her mind, when her gaze returned to his visage.
His bulbous nose bespoke of too many nights spent imbibing alcoholic beverages, as did his overly rosy complexion. She wondered if he were inebriated just now.
His rigid stance meant nothing, as he probably needed to maintain that stance in order to keep his clothes in place.

Inebriated or sober, it mattered not to her, for he was without a doubt the most horrific-looking specimen she
’
d ever laid eyes on.
Perhaps she should give a previous suitor serious thought, before her father gave
this
man serious consideration. This
particular man
–
who clearly cared little for his health and well-being
–
left her feeling physically ill. The others merely made her want to laugh, and not
due to
their amusing repartee.

When he shifted slightly, recognition dawned
,
and her shiver of repulsion intensified.

What in heaven
of all that is holy is
he
doing here
,
sh
e wondered.
Surely,
her
father
wasn
’
t really considering this match.

Clifford Stanharbor was the owner of a very profitable horse ranch in the neighboring town. She
’
d encountered him occasionally when she accompanied her
father
to the local horse auction that ranchers held semiannually down in Lander.

Her
father
purchased their personal mounts from him before deciding to go into the horse business himself. The fact that one horse he
’
d purchased died only a month after Stanharbor delivered it to the house, spurred his decision. The second proved too skittish to train or ride. That
horse finally ran away.
Stanharbor refused to refund the purchase price of either mount.

His obvious lack of
horse sense
m
ade her wonder
more than once
how he stayed in business year after year
. More disconcerting than his lack of horse sagacity however was his lack of marriage
logic
.
She refused to be a gossipmonger, but wasn
’
t above listening to them, and
the rumor
mill never ceased when it came to
Clifford Stanharbor
and his
prefer
ences.
Generally, those rumors were back by a modicum of fact, as each of his
wives had been
extremely young and exaggeratedly fragile.

Apparently, the fragile part wasn
’
t a rumor as e
ach of his wives had
b
een so weak that
death claimed each one soon after marrying Stanharbor. Those who survived long enough to bear him children suspiciously met their demise prior to their eighteenth year. During Stanharbor
’
s marriageable years, he
’
d wed nine times and procreated an equal number of times. Without a doubt, the rumors surrounding Stanharbor
’
s wives and the nature of their deaths made for many an entertaining evening for the women in twelve surrounding counties.

To add fuel to the rumor fire, no one saw any of the young women again once the
y signed the marriage certificate
, and no
one knew of their deaths
until
Stanharbor
went on the
prowl
for a new
wife
. Since Stanharbor gave each a private burial immediately without benefit of an autopsy, no one knew the cause of death either. Wealth and power obviously had its
benefits
.

She wondered, eyeing him critically, if he got rid of his wives simply because he considered them too old and haggard after a certain age.
This did peak her
curiosity however. What did Stanharbor want with her? She was far from petite
,
fragile and, by most men
’
s standards,
very old
; and d
efinitely past marriageable age, if she was to believe her father.

Had
Stanharbor
finally exhausted the local supply of fragile petites, forcing him to look in her direction?
Had her father finally resorted to
consorting with the
competition
in order to see her wed?

Well, as for the local supply of petites, s
he knew of at least
one
petite girl that
she could aim Stanharbor
’
s attention toward
–
her neighbor, Carol
Ann
Blackwarth. She
’
d moved in only a few months before, but Marcelle heard that she was close to marriageable age. Either way,
p
romises
to her
father
or no, she wasn
’
t about to give this porcine joke of a man any encouragement beyond what it would take to get him out the front door. The last thing she wanted was to end impregnated and then buried in a mass grave before her
eighteenth
birthday.