Family Stories. Tessa McDermid

      “Nonsense, ” Reverend Cooper interrupted with a wave of his hand. “We’ve been remiss in our duty to you, young man. Only the other day, Mrs. Cooper asked how you were getting on. Come to dinner and set her mind at rest.”

      “If you insist…”

      He didn’t look at Marian during the short walk to the house. Once inside the parlor, he sat across from Reverend Cooper and answered his questions about work. “This is a fine town, ” he assured the older man. “I feel as if I’m already part of the community.”

      Reverend Cooper beamed. “Wonderful place, Winston. When I left the seminary, I realized immediately that this was where I wanted to raise my family.” He reached over and touched Marian’s hands. “My family is second only to God, Frank. I hope you feel the same way.”

      Startled, Frank wondered if the reverend referred to his feelings for Marian. After a moment’s reflection, he decided the older man was questioning Frank’s relationship with his own family.

      “I’ve written my mother about my situation here, ” he mumbled, glad that in this, at least, he could tell the plain truth.

      “Good, good.” Reverend Cooper released Marian’s hand as Mrs. Cooper announced the meal.

      When dinner was over, Frank excused himself, ignoring the frustrated look Marian sent his way. He couldn’t sit in the parlor again, not with her father watching him. Even though he was sure the earlier comments were just ordinary conversation, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that a warning had been implied.

      The next Friday, Adam invited him home for dinner. The entire family greeted him, and he recognized several friends of the Bates children already sitting at the table. After a filling meal, he joined the large brood around the piano, letting his tenor mingle with the bright voices of the Bates family. They sang round after round of song. When they broke into “Button Up Your Overcoat, ” the group roared as Mrs. Bates tugged at his top button before kissing his cheek and sending him home for the night.

      Whistling, he pushed open the gate at Widow Bartlett’s house. She was gone for the weekend, which meant he had the entire house at his disposal. No new tenants had arrived to rent the other spare rooms and he relished the thought of several hours to himself.

      Loosening his tie as he entered his room, he frowned at the sight of a letter on his bed. He tossed his tie over a chair and picked up the envelope. Seeing his mother’s firm handwriting, he slit it open, then pulled out the single sheet.

      She wanted him to come home. The people he mentioned sounded like good company, she wrote, but wouldn’t he rather be with his family?

      “We miss you, all of us. Even your father wants you home.”

      He dropped the letter on the bed and stretched out, his legs crossed at the ankles. Was that true? He couldn’t remember anything but arguments with his dad in the years before he left. Everything he’d done had upset his father—his friends, the job he’d pursued, his grades. His mother and older sister had often stepped in to stop the two of them from fighting. He couldn’t remember a single relaxing evening such as the one he’d just spent with the Bates family.

      Something struck his window and he sat up, frowning. He heard the faint rattle again and crawled off the bed, yanking the curtain aside and peering into the deepening gloom.

      “Frank?” A throaty whisper spilled into the open window.

      “Marian?” He leaned on the ledge, unable to distinguish her shape from the shadows in the yard.

      “Please, Frank, come outside.”

      She met him at the bottom of the steps and flung her arms around him. “Oh, Frank!”

      He disentangled himself from her hold, then led her into the protection of the large oak trees surrounding Mrs. Bartlett’s property. Even though his landlady was away, anyone walking by the house would be able to see them. “What are you doing here?”

      “It’s Father. Oh, Frank!” She flung herself back into his arms. “He says it’s time for me to get married and he’s already picked out my husband!”

      “Get married? Isn’t this rather sudden?”

      She hiccupped and he could feel her nod. “I turned eighteen on Tuesday and he decided I’m old enough.”

      Frank leaned back until he could see the outline of her face. He traced her cheek with his thumbs, wiping away the tears. “And who has he selected?” he asked quietly.

      “Martin Applethwaite.”

      Frank frowned, trying to place the name. Was it one of the men who’d come into the feed store? After a moment, he shook his head. “I don’t know him.”

      “You wouldn’t.” She sniffled and he took out his handkerchief, waiting while she blew her nose. “Father met him when they both attended a special session at the seminary last year, and they’ve been writing to each other ever since. Mr. Applethwaite wrote that he’s coming to visit next month. He’s a widower and I don’t know if they hatched this plan together or not, but Father’s determined that I’ll be his next wife.”

      Her voice rose in a loud wail, and Frank gathered her close to muffle her words. “Marian, surely you can talk to your father. Who knows? Besides, maybe you’ll like this Appleton guy.”

      “Applethwaite, ” she corrected with another hiccup. “And I don’t like him. He’s old, Frank, almost forty, and he smells, and he never stops talking. Anyway, I don’t want to marry him. I want to marry you.”

      Frank’s heart pounded. Marian lifted her head. “What’s the matter, Frank? Don’t you want to marry me? Isn’t that why you’ve stayed in town, so we could get to know each other better?”

      “Well, it is. But marriage…Marian, I can’t offer a wife very much.”

      She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “That’s all right, Frank, I don’t need very much. But I refuse to marry someone my father chooses for me.”

      “He wants you to be happy.”

      “Why are you agreeing with Father?” Marian stared at him, her eyes almost black in the fading light. “Do you want me to marry another man? I thought you loved me.”

      Her declaration echoed in his ears. Did he love her? He’d never said the words. But why was he staying in the area?

      She struggled to get out of his arms and his hold tightened. “Marian…”

      “No, let me go! I thought you’d help me because you cared about me. But I guess I was wrong.” She pulled free of his grasp and stepped away, her chest heaving with each angry breath. “I should’ve realized what was happening when you never came over to the house.”

      “But, Marian, how could I? What would I say to your father?”

      “You could ask permission to court his daughter.”

      One corner of Frank’s mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. “And of course your father would’ve accepted me with open arms. I’m just the man the reverend Cooper would want for his only child—a salesman who appeared on his doorstep one day.”

      She stamped her foot. “You’re the man I love, Frank Robertson. Isn’t that enough?”

      Oh, Marian, darling, he wanted to say, you’re such a sweet child, with your dreams of romance, flowers, candlelight. At least your father understands marriage requires more than that.

      His lips tightened. Would this widower give her the romance she needed? Or was he just looking for a drudge to care for his house?

      “Marian, does Applethwaite have any children?”

      She nodded against his shirtfront. “Two boys. Father says they’re absolute angels.”

      Frank grimaced. Usually when two boys were described