Ten

The sling Merrie wore rubbed the back of her neck. She rolled her shoulders, trying to shift the weight of her right arm to a more comfortable position. After a moment, she gave up. She had more important things to do this morning. Aunt Isabella and Mrs. Wagner had hovered over her all day Sunday, but today her aunt left to make calls and the housekeeper was busy with laundry.

Eyeing the paper and ink she’d smuggled into the music room, she decided to start on her “Foundation for a Godly Marriage” article before Colin arrived. By jotting down a few thoughts now, she’d be better able to guide him through the piece. She leaned over the table and closed her fingers around the pen. The motion shot pain through her hand and up her bruised arm. Merrie gritted her teeth, then dipped the nib in the inkwell. The doctor said she should rest her hand, but using a pen shouldn’t hurt anything. After all, writing wasn’t as taxing as arranging her hair or buttoning her dress—she’d allowed Mrs. Wagner to help her with those necessities.

She centered the paper with her left hand and wrote, “Foun—” before gasping and dropping the pen.

Colin would be here any moment. She’d wait.

Blowing out a frustrated sigh, Merrie left the room and stepped onto the covered porch in anticipation of his arrival. The morning air hung heavy with humidity. Blue jays squabbled among the branches of a hackberry tree, sounding as cross as she felt.

Within a few minutes, Colin rode into view. Instead of passing down the drive toward the stable, he tied his horse to a hitching post beside the front walk and dismounted. How odd. Normally he let Mr. Peters care for his horse.

Her heart did a little hop at the sight of him. He looked especially handsome in his black coat and gray trousers. When he approached the porch, she smiled and hurried forward.

Before she could utter a word, his gaze landed on her sling, then met her eyes. “You’re hurt. What happened?” He reached for her as if to grasp her shoulder, then let his hand drop.

She looked down at the purple and red bruise that enveloped part of her hand and forearm. “I sprained my wrist Saturday evening.”

“At the ball?” His voice rose to a higher pitch. “How could that be?”

“I slipped as we were leaving. Thankfully, no one noticed save my aunt and our coachman.” She held out her left hand. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been waiting to apologize for the way Elliott Bunting spoke to you on Saturday evening.”

“You’re not responsible for Mr. Bunting’s manners.”

“True, but—”

“Saturday evening made me see the differences between us, Merrie.”

“There’s not as much difference as you might think. Please, let’s not stand here on the porch. We can talk in the music room.”

He shook his head. “No, thank you. I think it’s best if I don’t come here again. Rather than send a message, I rode over this morning to tell you face-to-face.” Stepping to one side, he asked, “Is your aunt at home? I have a letter of resignation for her.”

“No. She went to a meeting.” Tears burned her eyelids and threatened to overflow. She dashed them away with her forefinger. How could she have been so mistaken about his feelings? Drawing a shuddering breath, she raised her right arm so he could get a closer look at her wrist.

“I need your help, Colin. I can’t write with this hand. Please, if I tell you what to say, will you write for me? As soon as I’m better, you’re free to leave for good.” She’d never begged for anything in her life, but she was begging now.

An agonized expression crossed his face. Turning away, he glanced at his horse, as if trying to decide whether to stay or flee. When he looked at her again, she thought she saw caring reflected in his eyes before his features tightened. He took several steps toward the driveway, then stopped and faced her.

“I’ll stay on for a couple of weeks, no longer. You should be able to use your hand by then.”

She felt she might collapse with relief. Matching his impersonal tone, she said, “I appreciate your willingness. Please come inside and we’ll begin.”

Colin sat opposite Merrie at the table in the music room. Heaven help him, he couldn’t resist the tears he’d seen swimming in her blue eyes. Two more weeks. He hoped he’d be able to hold to his resolve to leave when the time was up. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to be close to her without revealing his feelings.

She pushed the inkwell toward him, along with a fresh sheet of paper, then rested her injured wrist in her lap. “I think it would be best if you’d print. That way the differences in our handwriting won’t be apparent. The title will be ‘Foundation for a Godly Marriage.’”

He printed the heading in the center of the page. In spite of himself, he felt intrigued by her choice of subject. The society girls to whom he’d given piano lessons were interested only in finding wealthy husbands. Godly choices didn’t seem to enter into their thinking.

She rubbed the side of her head with her left hand. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” More than ready. He was curious.

“A godly home cannot exist without the Lord’s blessing on the union of marriage. Scripture is silent on whom one should marry, but—”

“Slow down, please.” He wrote until he caught up with her words, then nodded at her.

She continued, “—but the Second Epistle to the Corinthians warns both men and women not to be unequally yoked with unbelievers. Beyond that, one is free to make one’s own choices.” She leveled her gaze on him when she paused.

As he scribbled her words on the page, a glimmer of what she was implying flashed through his mind. Choice outweighed convention. He wished he knew whom she’d chosen, himself or Mr. Bunting.

He wrote at her dictation until the case clock in the hallway struck eleven. When he replaced the pen in its holder, Merrie lifted the pages and read over what he’d written. A little smile flitted over her lips at certain portions of the manuscript.

“Thank you. When you’re here on Thursday, we’ll finish this and send it to Mr. Kipler.”

Her formal tone shook him, then he remembered he’d only promised to help for two weeks. She had no way of knowing his heart.

He stopped on his way to the door. “I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“How do your writing pursuits fit into your view of a godly wife?”

Closing her eyes, she bowed her head for a moment. Then she gazed up at him through her lashes. “A godly wife is subject to her husband in all things. I believe she would look with care before she marries to be sure she found someone worthy of her trust.”

Her words remained in his thoughts as he rode away. From the way he’d seen Mr. Bunting treat her, the man wasn’t worthy of her trust. He’d likely force his will upon whoever crossed his path.

Colin drew a breath. Perhaps he’d been hasty in giving notice.

Too late now. His letter rested on Mrs. Daintree’s desk.

Merrie sat at the desk in her room, jaw clenched as she formed each letter of the heading for a new article. She penned “Shared Gifts in a Godly Marriage,” then stopped to wait for the pain in her wrist to subside. She leaned back in her chair, feeling perspiration break out across her forehead. Colin’s two weeks would be up in a couple of days. She had to be able to write unaided.

Sorrow that had nothing to do with composing her articles swept over her. At some point during their time together, her feelings toward him had changed from friendship to love. There must be a way to let him know how much she cared before it was too late. An idea tumbled into her head. Perhaps if she began this article with an example of a piano teacher married to a writer . . .

She dipped the pen in the inkwell and wrote a sentence before resting her wrist. At this rate, it would take her all day to compose a page. So be it. She wrote a second sentence.

“Miss Merrie, Peters brought a letter for you.” Mrs. Wagner entered the room and placed an envelope next to the inkwell.

A message from Mr. Kipler. Now she’d learn what his readers thought of her articles. She bit her lower lip, afraid of what she’d read when she opened the letter.

“Thank you. Did my aunt see this?”

“No. I tucked it in my pocket before I gave her the mail.” She cleared her throat. “It’s not my place to say, but I’m thinking you should tell her what you’re doing. I doubt she’ll be upset.”

“She wants me to make a good match. My sitting here writing isn’t what she had in mind.”

Mrs. Wagner patted Merrie’s shoulder. “Maybe. Maybe not.” She bustled out of the room, her footsteps receding down the hall.

Merrie stared at the letter for several moments before summoning the courage to open the envelope. Her heart lifted when she saw a bank draft enclosed with the message from the editor, thankful that the past articles had been good enough to warrant compensation.

She unfolded the crisp paper and read,

September 3, 1858

Dear Mr. Bentley,

I’m delighted to inform you that your recent submissions on Godly Marriage have met with an enthusiastic response from our readers. Kipler’s Home Weekly has received an unprecedented number of letters requesting more of these articles. Accordingly, we would like to offer you a weekly column through the end of this year, subject to renewal at that time.

She dropped the letter into her lap and drew an excited breath. Such an offer far exceeded anything she’d dared hope. She couldn’t wait to tell Colin when he arrived on Monday. Without his collaboration, this would never have happened.

In the next moment, she remembered that after Monday she’d no longer have his help—or his companionship. Some of the luster faded from Mr. Kipler’s message.

Picking up the paper, she continued reading.

To express our appreciation for your contribution to the success of our magazine, Kipler’s Home Weekly requests the honor of your presence at dinner in the Orion Hotel on Saturday, September 11. I will personally meet you at the door at eight o’clock on the evening of the event.

Sincerely,
Horatio Kipler

She gasped. This couldn’t be happening.

Her thoughts spun in frantic circles. She had one week to come up with a plan that didn’t involve Colin.