The Matrimony Plan (3 page)

“Fenced yard was installed some years back for Reverend Johanneson. He had four children and thought it would keep them out of mischief.” He chuckled at the memory. “Land goes clear to the river.”

Gabriel peered through the crystal-clear kitchen window. “It’s a fine piece of land.”

“Yes, it is.” Kensington stuck out his hand. “Well son, I’ll leave you to settle in. Smithson’ll be here with the car at six sharp.”

Gabriel blanched at being driven by a chauffeur. People
would
talk. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’d rather spend a quiet night.”

“Nonsense. My wife will have my head if you don’t come.”

Gabriel hesitated. An evening with Branford and Eugenia
Kensington promised to try the patience of a saint. He’d barely made it through the Ladies’ Aid Society meeting.

“You’ll want to check on Felicity,” Kensington noted with a wink, “to see if she’s recovered.”

Memories of her flooded back: eyes the color of watercress and an elegance seldom seen in small towns. If Gabriel was honest with himself, he did want to see her. “Six o’clock?”

“I’ll send the car.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I prefer to walk. Just give me the address and point the way.”

“Walk, eh?” Kensington eyed him with what seemed to be new respect. “Physical exertion builds a man’s character. I recall my trek up Kilimanjaro in 1898—”

“Thank you, sir.” Gabriel was too tired for a lengthy story. “The address?”

“Oh, ahem.” Kensington cleared his throat. “Naturally you’ll want to freshen up first. It’s the big Federal on top of the hill. Can’t miss it. Twin lions at the head of the drive.” He nodded slightly and took his leave.

The house quieted after Kensington left. Gabriel drank in the solitude, spending time in prayer while he unpacked. As he half filled two of the bureau’s four large drawers, he wondered if he had made a mistake coming to Pearlman. Mr. Isaacs had asked Gabriel to join him at the Orphaned Children’s Society back in New York City.

“We could use a man like you,” Isaacs had said. “You’ve volunteered here for years, and your seminary experience would be a plus. There are other places besides the ministry where you can do God’s work. You’d be a splendid agent for the children.”

As much as the offer tempted Gabriel, he had to decline. “I need to go to Pearlman. God has called me to pastor there. I don’t know why, just that I must go.”

Isaacs had understood, as always. “Go then, with my blessing, but if you ever feel your task there is complete, the offer stands.”

After today, Gabriel wondered if he misunderstood God’s call and should have accepted Mr. Isaacs’s offer.

“Why did you bring me here, Lord?” Gabriel asked as he shut the drawer. Today had given him no clue, and the silence of the huge house didn’t either. He thought Pearlman might bring him the good, honest wife he’d longed to meet, but instead he’d found Felicity Kensington. For all her beauty, she would never make a good minister’s wife. She was too concerned about appearances.

He sighed and walked to the parlor. From the front windows, he could see Main Street and the church’s steeple above the rooftops. To the right sat a pretty little park, wooded along its edges and studded with lilac bushes and iris in bloom. He envisioned picnics and revivals, music, laughter and children playing.

Strange to place the parsonage so far from the church. It must be a good two blocks away. From what he’d seen, the parsonage was one of the last homes before farmland. And the property stretched back into the trees. What had Kensington said about a river?

For as long as he could remember, his parents had taken the family to the Catskills in the summer. The cabin emptied onto a lake filled with trout and bass. Gabriel had spent long hours swimming and fishing in that lake. Maybe this river had good fishing. He’d take a look.

The kitchen door opened easily, but the screen door stuck and squeaked. He’d mention it to the church trustees. Two concrete steps led down to the fenced yard. He stretched his back and surveyed the grounds. Other than an overgrown lilac and four-strand clothesline, the yard was bare. The
whitewashed picket fence looked solid enough, probably recently painted. Gates pierced both sides and the end.

Beyond the far gate stood the forest, sparse at first but thickening to dense woods. He headed that way, passed through the gate and stepped into the wildness beyond. He clambered over fallen logs and crashed through the undergrowth. When he reached the edge of the river, he dropped to a lichen-covered log to watch the water flow past. He didn’t see any fish, but they’d be there in the deep pools.

The river ran dark green over a stony bottom. In the shallows, the color turned to brown, though in a few places it glistened light green over a patch of sand. The same green as Felicity Kensington’s eyes.

The thought sent an unwelcome ripple of pleasure through him. He tried to shake some sense into his head. Felicity was precisely the wrong type of woman: rich, controlling parents; a highly cultivated sense of superiority; a society girl. No matter how lovely, Felicity Kensington was one temptation he should avoid. If only he hadn’t agreed to dine at the Kensingtons’ house tonight.

Lord, lead me not into temptation.
But how?

He watched the rustling treetops. They gave no answer. Neither could he hear God’s still, small voice. With a sigh, he roused himself. He’d accepted and must attend. Until then, he could take solace in the river. He followed the riverbank away from the park, occasionally peering into the depths to look for fish.

Within minutes, he reached the edge of the wood and the end of the path. A half-fallen barbed-wire fence blocked the way. Since the post had rotted away and the path clearly continued on the other side, Gabriel figured the owner must not have gotten around to removing it.

Two steps into the field, he heard a gun being loaded. Every hair rose on back of his neck.

“Hello?” He slowly lifted his palms to show he was unarmed and looked for the source of the threat. “I’m Reverend Meeks, the new pastor.” Never had he been so glad to use the title.

“I dun’t care who y’are. This here land’s private. Coughlin land, and dun’t ye forget it.” A narrow-eyed, dungaree-clad man climbed up from the riverbank, shotgun pointed directly at Gabriel.

“Sorry. It looked like the path continued.”

“You city folk don’t know what a fence is?” He waved Gabriel back with the tip of his gun.

“Uh, I guess not.”

“Well, lemme learn you up. This here fence marks my property, Mister Reverend. You stay on your side, and I stay on mine. Understand?”

Gabriel stepped back over the fallen fence, but he didn’t dare bring his hands down yet. “I thought the fence was abandoned.”

The man’s bulbous nose shone red in the sun. “It’s them criminals. As soon as I put it up, they take it right back down.”

“Criminals? Here?” Though Gabriel had only been in town a few hours, he had a hard time believing it supported a large criminal population.

“City folk.” The man spat and aimed his shotgun at Gabriel’s head.

“Don’t shoot!” Gabriel jumped back, nearly tripping on an exposed root.

The man lifted the gun higher and fired. With a derisive cackle, he said, “I was jess going for a squirrel.”

Gabriel’s heart pounded so hard that he could barely speak. “Did you get it?” The question barely fit through his constricted throat.

“Naw. Too devilish fast for this old gun.” He shook the
discharged shotgun. “R’member. You stay on your side, and I stay on mine.” With that declaration, he headed across the field to the distant ramshackle farmhouse.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Coughlin,” Gabriel called out.

The man either didn’t hear or didn’t want to. Peculiar man. Peculiar town.

“Y
ou did what?” Mother’s screech carried all the way upstairs.

Felicity checked the clock. It was not yet five forty-five. Mother’s conniption fit couldn’t be about her. She eased the emerald-colored taffeta jacket over her shoulders. Conservative would no longer do. She had to dazzle Robert Blevins tonight, before he heard any malicious gossip connecting her to Gabriel Meeks.

She pulled a matching ribbon from her vanity drawer and wove it into her hair. A diamond-headed hairpin secured it and added the necessary bit of sparkle. Robert had to fall for her. He just had to.

“How could you?” Mother wailed downstairs.

Felicity inched noiselessly to the stairway landing and from that perch saw that Mother had pinned Daddy and Blake at the front door. Blake’s wife, Beatrice, a pretty blonde, hovered near the parlor entrance, anxiously waiting for Mother to vent the rest of her anger.

“That makes an odd number of guests,” Mother cried.

“What’s one more?” Daddy waved off her concern. “The more the merrier, eh, Blake?” He gave a little laugh, meant to calm her.

Felicity’s brother shrugged. “Fine with me. We’ll have plenty to discuss.”

Apparently Daddy had invited someone else, probably Jack Hunter, since the airfield project most directly involved him. Ever since Jack and Darcy Hunter had attempted the transatlantic crossing last year, Blake and Daddy wanted to bring aviation to Pearlman. Blake had come up with the idea of the airfield and flight school, and Daddy had supplied the funds. Jack Hunter would do the training. Most importantly, Daddy had hired Mr. Robert Blevins to engineer the project, and now Felicity would engineer a marriage.

Mother threw up her hands. “But an odd number means one person won’t be paired.”

That was strange. If Jack Hunter were coming, wouldn’t he bring his wife? Perhaps Daddy hadn’t invited Mr. Hunter. A horrible thought raced through Felicity’s mind. What if Daddy had invited a lady? And what if that lady was unmarried? Felicity did not need more competition for Mr. Blevins’s attention.

Mother pouted. “Fine. Don’t consider me. Don’t ever consider me. How am I supposed to arrange the table? One gentleman will inevitably be left out.”

Thank goodness…another man. It must be Jack Hunter after all. With a smile of satisfaction, Felicity glided down the staircase. “Has our guest arrived?”

“Branford,” Mother scolded, “what will people say when they hear we invited an extra guest?”

“They’ll think we’re generous.” Daddy downed his lemonade in one swallow and patted Mother’s arm. “It’ll be fine, Eugenia.” He slipped into the parlor to refill his glass.

Mother’s lips had set into a grim line that only grew thinner the moment she saw Felicity. “That jacket doesn’t match your gown.”

Beatrice shot Felicity a sympathetic look. Everyone in the
family knew how unbearable Mother could be when she was nervous.

“Take it off.” Mother waved Felicity upstairs and then glanced at the clock. “Stop. There’s not enough time. We’ll have to make do. But take that ridiculous ribbon out of your hair. You look like a floozy.”

“I think it’s lovely,” Beatrice said softly, but of course Mother ignored her opinion. She ignored everything about Beatrice except the children.

Before Felicity could remove the offensive ribbon, Daddy returned with his drink and whistled. “Don’t you look pretty, little one.”

Felicity could always count on him to lift her spirits. “It’s just an old gown.”

“It looks beautiful to me.” He pecked her cheek and escorted her into the parlor with the pomp of a princess to a ball.

“It might be acceptable for a masquerade,” Mother sniffed on their heels. “This is merely dinner.”

Felicity tried to let the slight bounce off her, but Mother’s comments had a way of sticking to her like a burr. No matter how quickly she pulled them away, some of the barbs stuck tight.

“I think I’m past the morning sickness,” Beatrice said in an obvious attempt to change the topic. She was expecting her second baby in December.

“I was never sick,” said Mother. “Not a single day.”

Felicity felt sorry for her sister-in-law, who bravely bore Mother’s snubs. Beatrice didn’t come from a good enough family to suit Mother. The Foxes ran a dress shop—respectable but not the upper-class connections Mother wanted for her only son.

“How is little Tillie?” Felicity asked. Beatrice had named
her first child Matilda after her grandmother, again irritating Mother.

Beatrice brightened. “She’s such a dear, cooing away in her own special language. My mother loves watching her, but I do miss her, even for a few hours.”

Blake laughed. “I don’t think we’ll ever untie Tillie from her mother’s apron strings. It was hard enough getting Beattie to turn her over to Grandma so we could come to dinner tonight.”

Beatrice blushed. “She’s just a baby, dearest.”

“Speaking of dinner,” Mother said, cutting off the line of conversation, “apparently my wishes are to be ignored. Felicity, set another place at the table.”

Despite having a cook, housekeeper, gardener and butler on staff, Mother always expected Felicity to take care of any last-minute changes. Felicity chafed at the directive, but getting upset would not change Mother or charm Robert. She stifled her resentment and obeyed.

Once in the dining room, she discovered the housekeeper had heard Mother’s fit and already added a place setting between Felicity and Robert. All Felicity had to do was rearrange the sterling place card holders to put Robert on her right.

Within two minutes, she returned to the foyer to find that Mr. Robert Blevins had arrived. Tall with strawberry blond hair, Mr. Blevins lacked the ideal figure extolled in the ladies’ magazines. He was a bit too broad across the midsection and narrow in the shoulders. A little too much brilliantine for her taste, but elegantly coiffed, his wavy hair was parted down the center. He sported a mustache with the tips curled and waxed. The red-and-white-striped silk waistcoat and white linen suit weren’t quite appropriate for dinner, which Mother thankfully did not point out.

He tapped his gold-knobbed cane on the slate floor, and
with a flick of the wrist, he caught it midlength before depositing it into the umbrella stand.

Mother batted her eyelashes like a debutante. “Call me Eugenia. Everyone does.”

He gave her his full attention. “Very well, Eugenia. And if I may say so, your gown would disgrace every lady at Carnegie Hall.”

Mother fairly warbled. “And you are quite handsomely dressed yourself. Blevins, you said? Any relation to the Blevinses of Newport?”

Felicity blushed at her mother’s lack of tact, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“The very ones,” he beamed, chest thrust out.

“You don’t say. Felicity!” The screech was a call to battle. “You must meet my daughter.”

Felicity glided near. “You called, Mother?”

“Ah, Felicity, there you are. I’d like you to meet the engineer for the airfield project, Mr. Robert Blevins. Do you go by Robert or Bob?”

“Whatever suits you, ma’am.” He bent elegantly over Felicity’s hand, kissing it lightly. His mustache scratched like Daddy’s, and she resisted the urge to giggle. “Or you, Ms. Felicity.”

“Ah, such manners,” Eugenia crowed. “Few young people today have good manners.”

“I can see your daughter does.” He gave Felicity a wide smile. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Felicity returned his pleasantries, eager to remove Mother from the conversation. “You’ll be here long?”

“Some months, I imagine.”

Perfect.
“Then we’ll have a lot of time to get better acquainted.”

“Come, Blevins, we’re all in the parlor,” said Daddy, clapping
the man on the back. “You’ve had a look around the site, I hear. Can the project be done?”

“Of course.”

Blake added, “We’ll have the airfield completed by August.”

“Under budget?” Daddy asked.

Robert nodded. “If Mr. Hunter agrees to the smaller hangar and your figures on the cement are correct, it can be done for two thousand less than projected.”

“Two thousand, eh?” In the blink of an eye, Daddy had ripped the man from Felicity’s grasp. The three men huddled like schoolboys on a ball diamond plotting the next pitch. How on earth was she to get Robert interested in her with Daddy and Blake monopolizing his attention?

Another knock on the door meant the unwelcome guest had arrived. Felicity edged toward the parlor, looking for a means to recapture Robert’s attention. Let Mother greet Jack Hunter. The man was married and of no interest whatsoever.

Smithson opened the front door, and Mother greeted the guest with decided coolness.

“Good evening, Mrs. Kensington. Ms. Kensington.” The warm, familiar voice flowed over her like honey. That voice.
His.
Her heart fluttered in a most unwelcome way. It couldn’t be. “I’m glad you’ve recovered.”

“Recovered from what?” asked Mother.

Felicity tried without success to fan away the heat that rushed into her cheeks. Everyone was staring at her, expecting an answer, but what could she say? How could she explain away his comment? The only solution was to give a vague answer. She forced a slight smile, the kind used by the elite girls at Highbury. “Yes, I have. Thank you for asking.”

He smiled back with such evident pleasure that Felicity half regretted treating him so coldly. He couldn’t help his birth. In fact, he’d done well to overcome it. Why tonight
Gabriel looked nothing like he had earlier in the day. His hair had been combed into submission, and he wore a perfectly cut dark gray suit. By all appearances, it had been crafted by an exceptional tailor.

“I’m so glad.” His rich baritone embraced her a little too much.

That horrible warm and tingly feeling returned with tidal force. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Mother stared at her. Who had invited him, and why had he accepted? Surely he’d known how awkward this would be. Thoughts shot through her head quicker than swallows into a barn.

She must look like a fool, but she couldn’t get past the difference in Gabriel. He didn’t look like a laborer, a poor man or even a minister.

He looked like a suitor.

Gabriel had never seen such beauty in the parlors and theaters of New York, and he’d been to plenty. Though his parents followed solid Christian values and didn’t flaunt their hard-earned income, others of their acquaintance didn’t feel the same way. He’d seen more than his share of exquisite gowns and lavish jewels, all of which, his parents pointed out, did nothing to save a person’s soul. But on Felicity, the deep green taffeta shone. Her eyes sparkled brighter than the finest jewels. Her hair, drawn exquisitely to the side, gleamed like polished ebony.

He wanted to kiss her hand, a gesture he ordinarily found absurdly elitist, not to mention outdated. Yet such perfection demanded the highest manners. He bowed slightly and held out his hand, expecting to receive her finely tapered fingers.

She didn’t move.

He smiled, trying to warm away her fears.

Her mother practically glared at him. “Felicity, have you already met Reverend Meeks?”

Felicity stood as unmoving as a porcelain doll.

“Reverend Meeks?” A foppish redheaded man extended his hand.

Gabriel had seen him on the train. Though they’d shared the last leg of the journey, each man had kept to himself. Gabriel worked on his sermon while this man jotted in a little notebook like those used by reporters. Gabriel had been surprised when he got off the train in Pearlman. Why would a city newsman travel from Detroit to an ordinary small town? Gabriel certainly didn’t expect to see him here tonight.

He shook the man’s hand. “Pleased to meet you Mr….”

“Blevins. Robert Blevins.” The man’s idiotic grin betrayed him as a fool, more concerned with appearance than substance.

“He’s one of the
Newport
Blevinses,” said Mrs. Kensington.

“He’s an engineer here to design my new airfield and flight school,” Mr. Kensington explained.

An engineer? Gabriel looked again. In his experience, professionals dressed modestly, but perhaps that was only in his circles. It would explain the notepad. He must have been making notes on the project.

Kensington then quickly introduced his son, Blake, and daughter-in-law, Beatrice, a blue-eyed blonde that most men would find attractive but who paled beside Felicity. Both greeted him warmly, and he hoped they could become friends.

Mrs. Kensington maintained an artificially bright smile throughout the introductions but did not echo the warmth of Beatrice’s greeting. “We will be a bit crowded at the table tonight,” she sniffed, darting a glance at him, as if he was somehow the cause.

Kensington laughed, a deep guttural chortle meant to put everyone at ease while simultaneously exerting control. “The better to get to know each other, eh? I told Eugenia that you’re an easygoing fellow, Pastor, and won’t mind sharing a full table.”

That wasn’t all Gabriel had to share, judging by the glances Felicity cast at Blevins. The engineer rewarded her with an extended arm. “May I escort you to the parlor, Ms. Kensington?”

She eagerly accepted, and Blevins cast a look of triumph at Gabriel. “After you, Reverend.”

“No, no.” Mrs. Kensington brought the procession to a halt. “Dinner is ready.” She took her husband’s arm and headed in the opposite direction, drawing her daughter and Blevins with her. “Mr. Blevins, you will sit in the place of honor.”

The change in direction put all the couples in front of Gabriel. Eugenia and Branford Kensington led the way, followed by Felicity and Blevins and then Blake and Beatrice. Gabriel trailed behind, the only one without a partner.

At the entrance to the dining salon, ostentatiously outfitted with Irish linen, gold table service and English porcelain warmed by gold chargers, Eugenia Kensington turned to Gabriel, almost as an afterthought. “You may say grace, Reverend.”

At that moment, Gabriel saw the future stretching before him in one long, straight road through a barren desert. Gone were the camaraderie and familiar joking he’d enjoyed at dinners in the past. Gone were friendships and openness. Now he was Reverend Meeks, the pitiable wallflower, never truly welcome except in crisis. These people didn’t want a leader. They wanted to put him in a cupboard and take him out for Sunday worship and weddings, none of which would
be his. Mrs. Kensington’s excessive attention to Blevins made it perfectly clear that Felicity was off-limits.