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June 1860
St. Paul, Minnesota
“Bertha Mae Jorgenson.” Arms folded beneath her ample bosom, one Bertha unfortunately hadn’t inherited, her mother stood in the doorway of the library. “Get your nose out that blasted book and get ready for the Woods’ ball. We are leaving in three hours.”
Lest her mother see, she turned her head before rolling her eyes before setting The Scarlet Letter face down in her lap so her mother couldn’t see what she was reading. “But, Mother, I don’t want to go to the ball.”
Mrs. Jorgenson tightened her lips and frowned. “Did I ask you if you wanted to go to the ball?” She stormed across the room, snapped the book from Betha’s lap, and tossed it on the floor. “You listen to me, young lady. You’re seventeen years old. It’s time to start looking for a husband, one who’ll take care of you. I have just the man in mind for you. He’s the son of Eldon Woods, who owns several banks.”
Bertha held back a sob. “I don’t want to find a husband. I want—”
“And just what is it you think you want? I’m your mother, and I’ll tell you what you want and that’s a husband.” Mrs. Jorgenson sat on the arm of the chair and brushed back a strand of Bertha’s dark hair. “Oh, honey.”
Closing her eyes, Bertha held back a sigh. Here it comes. It was always the same thing. Her mother would rant and rave, then change tactics to one of a concerned, loving mother, something she wasn’t.
“I only want what’s best for you. I’m not saying you have to marry this man tomorrow or even this year, but it’s time to give up your childish ways and settle down.” She took one of Bertha’s hands in hers and rubbed a thumb over the top. “You think you know what you want in life, but you truly don’t. Why, when I was your age . . .”
Here it came. Bertha rested her head on the back of the chair. When she was her age, her mother already had several beaus after her hand. She was an excellent pianist, made stitches so tiny in her clothing women around the area wanted to learn from her, and knew how to run a household. By the time her mother was seventeen, she was married with her first child on the way.
Why couldn’t her mother understand things were different now? Girls didn’t marry at such a young age and have so many babies, they were worn out by the time they were twenty-five. Bertha wanted to see what was beyond St. Paul and Hastings, and the new state of Minnesota. She wanted . . .
“Bertha,” her mother tugged on her hand. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes, Mother. I’m listening.” For sure she was going to go to hell for lying.
“Now, this man you’ll meet tonight is ten years older than you.”
She held back a shudder. Oh heavens, he was ancient. Probably had hair growing from his nose and ears.
“He’s rather dashing looking.”
Another way of saying he had a crooked nose and protruding teeth.
“He’s tall . . .”
Bertha let her mind wander away from this ancient paragon her mother was rambling on and on about. All she wanted to do was spend time with Mamaw and Papaw at their farm outside Hastings. She spent so much time there, it was more than a second home to her. It was a refuge from her mother’s demands to be more ladylike, less intelligent, more demure, less rambunctious. Ugh. When she thought of all the hours wasted learning to stitch a sampler, to play the piano, to sing and dance, and worst of all how to flip open a fan properly and flutter her eyelashes at a man, she could cry.
Those hours could have been better spent playing by the Vermillion Falls near Pine Acres, her grandparents’ farm. Or riding her horse through the fields and woods. Although if her mother ever found out she didn’t ride side-saddle, she’d never be allowed to spend time there again.
Since she was five, her summers were spent at the farm where she’d learned a man who worked with his hands was every bit as important as one who worked in a bank or law office, wore pristine clothing, had clean hands, polished boots, and knew all the right people. As she grew up, there were times she wished she could live with her grandparents forever.
How had her mother, who grew up on the farm, turned into this social climbing biddy who scared people with one look?
“Bertha Mae.” Mrs. Jorgenson slapped Bertha’s knee. “Get your head out of the clouds and pay attention.”
“Yes, Mother.” Pay attention to what? To how she was supposed to simper and smile a certain way to attract a man? How she was supposed to hang on his every word like he was some kind of god or something? How she was supposed to obey her husband in every way? Another shudder ran through her. Ugh. That was not the type of marriage she wanted. If she married, and it was a very big if, she wanted one like Mamaw and Papaw had, where the husband treated his wife like an equal. One who showed his love for her with little gifts and smiles. More than once, she’d caught them in an embrace or kissing. Not like her parents, who barely spoke to each other except to say, “pass the peas.” Oh, heavens, she needed to visit the farm.
“Mother? Can I ask you something?”
“Yes. But make it quick. You need to start getting ready for the ball.”
“Do you love Father?”
Mrs. Jorgenson stood and frowned down at her. “What kind of question is that to ask? It’s none of your business if I love him or not.” Her skirts swished as she stomped to the door. “Besides, love isn’t necessary for a good marriage.” She opened the door.
“Mother.”
“Yes, Bertha Mae?” Her words came out in a deep sigh.
“If I attend this ball, may I please go to Papaw and Mamaw’s?”
“If you behave tonight and act like a lady toward Mr. Woods, I promise you can spend the summer at the farm.”
“If you act like a lady toward Mr. Woods.” She mimicked her mother’s fake, sweet voice after she left the room. Well, she’d show her. Tonight, she’d smile like a lady, simper like a lady, dance like a lady, and try not to throw up on this Mr. Woods’ polished boots.
****
“Is he here?” Leatrice Morris peered over her pink and red rose-covered fan and raised an eyebrow at Bertha.
As best friends went, Letty was about the best a girl could ask for. Until recently, she’d been always ready to get into mischief with her, willing to fish, and ride horses bareback. Now she’d become a bit too boy crazy for Bertha’s tastes.
“How should I know if he’s here or not?” Maybe it would be best if she softened her words, but that was about the tenth time Letty had asked the same question. “I have no idea what he looks like.”
Letty snapped her fan closed and tapped Bertha’s hand with it. “Aren’t you excited?” She closed her eyes and giggled. “If I were in your shoes, I’d be swooning with excitement knowing I was going to meet my future husband.”
Excitement certainly wasn’t the word she’d use. More like dread, dismay, and disappointment. She didn’t want a husband and wasn’t ready to be a wife. She wanted to teach. She didn’t care if this Mr. Woods was the most handsome man on Earth. Letty could swoon over him if she wanted to, but not her. She’d do just enough to satisfy her mother, then tomorrow hightail it to Papaw and Mamaw’s for the rest of the summer.
“Oh, look. Here come your parents. Do you think the man with them is him?”
Bertha opened her fan and peeked over the top at the man talking with her father. With his head bowed listening to something her father was saying, she couldn’t get a good look at him.
Her mother glared at her then turned a smile on the gentleman. “Bertha Mae. This is James Woods. James, this is our daughter, Bertha Mae.”
Bertha did a quick curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
“The pleasure is all mine, my dear.” Bending at the waist, he kissed the back of her hand and peered up at her, winked, and squeezed her fingers.
His kiss sent a shiver down her spine. Was it because of the audacity of the man winking at her or because of his good looks? While not the tallest of men, he stood a few inches above her five foot six inches. His shoulders were broad, and even though she shouldn’t have noticed something so personal, his thighs, encased in tight breeches, were stocky.
His dark hair, parted down the middle, was slicked back and curled behind his ears. She didn’t mind his mustache, but the bushy hair growing along the sides of his cheeks put her off. Why did men think mutton chops were attractive? His deep brown eyes held a twinkle, as if he knew something she didn’t. The dimple denting his right cheek when he smiled was cute. Overall, he wasn’t too bad. Not like the ogre she’d been visualizing.
Mr. Woods turned his attention to Letty, bringing a blush to her face. “And who is this lovely lady?”
“This is Letitia Morris, Bertha Mae’s best friend.” Bertha’s mother raised an eyebrow and cleared her throat. “Now, let me tell you more about my daughter.” She took Mr. Woods’ elbow and guided him away.
Mr. Woods glanced over his shoulder and winked at her again. Her heart skipped a beat. Goodness, he was good looking—or would be if he got rid of those mutton chops.
Letty gripped Bertha’s forearm and sighed. “Oh, my. What a handsome man.” She fanned herself. “And to think he’s going to be your husband.”
“I have to agree he has a nice face, but I’ll need to get to know him first. Besides, I’m not getting married when I’m seventeen and having babies when I’m eighteen like our mothers.”
“Well, I think you’re crazy. I can’t wait to have babies.” Letty frowned. “Wait, he didn’t sign your dance card, did he?”
Bertha let out her breath, opened her flowered dance card, and showed it to her friend. “Don’t worry, my mother already took care of it.” His name was on the card six times. Since eyebrows were raised if a woman danced with a man more than twice, this was tantamount to saying they were already betrothed.
“Oh, my. She really wants you to marry him, doesn’t she?”
“Yes.” Bertha shrugged. “I guess I shouldn’t disregard him simply because my mother is pushing him at me.”
The orchestra tuned up their instruments, filling the ballroom with squeaks and squawks. Skirting the dance floor, and pausing every so often to greet acquaintances, her mother headed their way, her eyes sparkling.
“So, what did you think of Mr. Woods?” She tapped her fan on Bertha’s arm. “Isn’t he wonderful?”
If her mother thought he was so wonderful, why didn’t marry him? Oh, that’s right, she was already married, but that didn’t seem to stop her from giggling like a schoolgirl over a man younger than her. “Well, mother, I have to admit he’s quite good-looking, but you never gave me a chance to speak with him before you whisked him away, so I have no way of knowing what he’s like.”
“What’s there to know beyond what I’ve already told you? He’s handsome, rich, and when his father passes on, will own several banks. You’ll never want for anything.”
So, marriage was about money? Granted, she had no experience other than being with her parents and grandparents, but it seemed a couple should at least like each other and be able to carry on a conversation the way her grandparents did. Come to think of it, she’d never heard her parents talk about anything. Mealtimes were quiet, and after dinner her father retired to his study while her mother left the table for the parlor where she did her stitching.
Maybe her ideas of marriage came from her grandparents, who made mealtimes fun and exciting, sharing their day, and talking politics, which lately revolved around the south, slavery, and states’ rights. She was always encouraged to join in. How had her mother turned out the way she had?
“What if I want love, Mother?”
“Oh, nonsense.” Mrs. Jorgenson craned her neck and waved her fan in the direction of one of her friends. “A couple can be married and not love each other. Marriage is based on mutual respect, not the sappy trappings of love. Why, your father and I have been married for twenty years and love has never entered into our relationship, but our respect for each other is strong.”
Sadness gripped her heart. How awful for her mother never to experience the love she knew her grandparents had for each other. She wanted more. She wanted love.
The orchestra struck up a waltz, halting any further discussion with her mother. Mr. Woods crossed the ballroom floor. Inside her gloves, her palms sweated. All too quickly he stood before her and bowed.
“I believe this first dance is ours.” He held out his hand.
Bertha glanced from his hand to her mother, who nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Woods. I believe you’re right.”
His hand at her waist tightened as they waltzed around the floor. Was he supposed to be holding her so firmly? He was keeping the proper distance prescribed by society, but why did his fingers seem to be scorching through her dress?
“So, Miss Jorgenson. How are you enjoying the ball tonight?”
What was she supposed to say? That she was irritated at her mother for her high-handed machinations? How she was unhappy Mr. Woods’ name was on her dance card so many times? His hold on her made her nervous. How could she get him to loosen his grip on her waist and hand? She held in a huff. That wouldn’t go over well with her mother.
“It’s lovely so far.” She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “How about you, Mr. Woods?”
“I was a bit nervous tonight in anticipation of meeting you.”
Bertha raised her eyebrows and looked into his eyes. “You were?”
“Sure. Men get just as nervous meeting women as women do men.”
“I’ve never thought about it that way. I always thought men were so sure of themselves they never became nervous over anyone or anything.”
Mr. Woods smiled down at her. “Of course, we get nervous, especially when meeting beautiful women such as yourself.”
Her stomach fluttered. He thought she was beautiful? Did he honestly believe that or was he flattering her because of her parents? “How did you meet my parents?” He spun her around the room, making her a bit dizzy.
“Your father does business with one of our banks and is friends with mine. I met your mother at one of my mother’s dinner parties. When she heard I was in the market for a wife, she couldn’t stop singing your praises. I was intrigued and asked to meet you.”
She cringed inwardly. In the market? Made it sound as if women were cattle ready to be cut from the herd and possessed by a man.
“And I have to say, everything she said about you was true. You’re lovely, smart, dance divinely, and, while I can’t say for sure, probably excellent at all the womanly arts.”
Why did he squeeze her waist at the words womanly arts? The waltz ended and, with his hand at the small of her back, he escorted her back to her mother. Letty was nowhere to be found. Probably batting her eyelashes at some man.
“I thank you for the dance, Miss Jorgenson.” He bowed at the waist. “I look forward to the next one.” He strode away and entered a room used for men and their card games and cigars.
“Well, Bertha, what did you think?” Her mother’s cheeks were rosy. Her titter set Bertha’s teeth on edge.
“He seems nice.”
“Nice? Why, Bertha Mae Jorgenson, he’s the perfect gentleman for you.”
“I’ll reserve judgement until after I get to know him better.”
Mrs. Jorgenson frowned. “Why, what’s there to know? I’ve already told you about the important things.”
Obviously explaining herself to her mother was a waste of time. “I am looking forward to spending time with him. Truly I am, Mother.”
“See that you are.” Her mother tapped her on the arm again. “Oh, and just to make sure, you won’t be going to my parents’ farm tomorrow.”
Her heart sank. “Why not?” It was difficult not to whine. “You said I could go tomorrow. I’m all packed.”
“I’m sorry, dear. You can go the following week. James is going on a business trip a week from today. You’ll be spending time with him before he leaves. In fact, seeing as it’s Sunday tomorrow and the banks are closed, he will be spending the day with us. I’ve planned a picnic for lunch then he’ll be staying for dinner.”
Bertha blinked away tears. Her mother had lied, but calling her out on it wouldn’t do her any good. “All right, Mother, but I’m visiting Papaw and Mamaw as soon as Mr. Woods leaves.”