May stifled a yawn. Perhaps tomorrow she would actually climb the stairs and seek out a proper bedchamber, but last night she’d barely managed to find a soft chair to rest for a few hours.
While sleep had evaded her, regrets and memories had not. Those had chased her through the rooms she’d managed to walk and swirled around her even after she’d given up trying to ascend the staircase.
Mama and her friends in New York would be aghast to see her now. Even as she had the thought, May couldn’t think of a single one of them she expected would still call her a friend once word got out that she had married in haste.
Or worse, that she was penniless.
The benefit to all her sleepless hours, however, was the time she had to consider how to best remedy her situation. Though several plans had occurred to her, each of them was tripped up by one thing. By one person.
And that person was Samuel Austin III.
If her father’s servants thought it odd that she chose to sleep in a chair in her father’s library and to wash and dress in an empty room tucked off in a remote corner of the first floor, they were too discreet to say so. Even the girl who brought her morning meal had kept her eyes downcast and avoided looking anywhere but at the tray overflowing with food May would eventually ignore.
She wanted to tell them all that it wasn’t fear that kept her from climbing those stairs but guilt. Guilt and a profound sadness.
Her father’s butler appeared at the door. “Mr. Austin is here to see you, Miss Bolen.”
“Please send him in,” she said as she rose to pinch her cheeks and smooth her hair back into place. After exchanging a greeting with Samuel Austin, she returned to her chair and indicated that he should take a seat.
“You’re prompt,” she said as the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed half past ten.
“I work for a living, Miss Bolen. Being prompt is generally required of a man like me.” He paused. “But we’re not here to talk about me, are we?”
“Aren’t we?” May let that question settle between them before she continued. “After all, I have no power in this odd situation we’ve both been put into. You’re the one who will be making the choice, so in that case, I think that talking about you is exactly why we are here.”
Mr. Austin acknowledged her statement with a dip of his head but remained silent. Finally he shrugged. “Then help me make the choice,” he said.
“And how do I do that?”
“Tell me about those alleged offers you’ve had,” he said. “The ones you’ve purported to have brought me aboard the Vengeance.”
“The telegrams I delivered to you were real indeed, Mr. Austin,” she snapped. Oh, how this man irritated her. “And if I had not been treated so poorly while aboard your vessel, I would still have them to offer as evidence. As such, I have sent responses asking for another telegram from each of them.”
“If you had not come aboard my vessel uninvited, and had you not prodded my deckhand with a stick, you would indeed still have them.” Mr. Austin shifted positions. “Look,” he said as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I am no more happy about any of this than you are, so can we agree to work together to solve our mutual problem?”
“Of course,” she said as sweetly as she could manage. “And how do you propose we go about this?”
“Tell me about these three offers. Who are these gallant men who are willing to marry you on such short notice?”
May searched his face for signs that he might be teasing her. When she saw none, she nodded. “I realize it may be difficult for you to understand that I could find three men to make offers of marriage so quickly, but truly all three of them—and several more—have been making offers regularly for quite some time. You see”—she said as she paused to consider her words— “when a woman lives at a certain level of comfort and ease, gentlemen tend to gravitate toward her.”
“So what you’re saying is rich girls get marriage proposals pretty regularly?” Mr. Austin sat back in his chair and seemed to be pondering his own question. “If these three men are making offers to you due to your ‘level of comfort and ease,’ then that does not speak highly of them, does it?”
“I disagree. All three of them are well thought of in the community and among our set. Why, I can name a dozen charities that have benefitted from each of them. And many more likely that I do not know about. Each has his own high level of financial comfort as well.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. The expression on his face told her he was completely unconvinced.
“All right,” she said as she held her hands up. “You tell me what you want to know about them.”
“Nothing you could say would give me good reason to say yes to any man I have not met.”
May’s breath caught. “Are you serious?”
“Quite.”
“You’d ask three men to drop everything and hurry to New Orleans so that you can look them over like prize racehorses?” She paused for effect. “Truly?”
“No,” Mr. Austin said. “I would not.”
“Well, that’s more like it.”
He shifted positions but held her gaze. “You would. After all, it is up to you to bring the offers to me. I merely make the choice.”
Several responses came to mind, but none of them would be beneficial to achieve what she wanted from this man. So she smiled. And then she offered a slight nod of her head.
“You know, this does not have to be so difficult, Mr. Austin. Wouldn’t it be easier to simply take my word for it that these are men whose reputations are sterling and with whom I am willing to spend my life? Must everything be so difficult?”
“The easy way is rarely the best.” Mr. Austin’s gaze swept the length of her, and then he shook his head. “Miss Bolen, do you believe in a loving God?”
What an odd question. “Of course I believe in God.”
“That isn’t what I asked. I want to know if you view your heavenly Father in the same way you apparently saw your earthly father. If you think He is good and loves you.” He paused. “Because I don’t believe you thought the same of Thomas Bolen.”
“Thomas Bolen was content to live without me. I would hope that God did not wish to abandon me, although there were times …”
“Times when what?” he urged.
May shook her head. What was it about this man that made her want to unburden her thoughts on him? “Times when I felt that my heavenly Father might be as far away as my earthly one. Or, at least it felt that way.”
“I do understand,” he said.
“So you are estranged from your father, too?”
“Quite the opposite,” he said. “I see him almost every day when I am in port and write him daily when I am not.”
“Oh,” she said as she felt the slightest twinge of jealousy. What might it feel like to have that sort of relationship with a parent? Sadly, she would never know.
“But I digress. I asked for your thoughts on God because I want to understand whether you believe the Lord can have your best interests in mind when plans are interrupted or life changes abruptly. A good father always protects his children, even when the children do not always understand they are being protected.”
“So you believe I am being protected from something by being cast into this untenable situation?”
“I would rather know whether you believe that.”
May rose to walk over to the window. Though there was a lovely garden just beyond the glass, she looked beyond the beauty to the brick wall that protected her from the world outside. That sort of protection she understood. The kind this man was claiming for her made no sense at all.
Finally she turned around to lean against the windowsill. “I confess I cannot reconcile the situation.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning if my father truly cared what happened to me, why did he not leave me cared for? Why didn’t he provide a roof over my head and an allowance on which to live?” She straightened but remained by the window. “And why wouldn’t a loving God intervene to cause my father to do that?”
“So you want God to make you safe and happy?” he said. “To see that you do not experience any discomfort or have any questions as to how your life will turn out. That is your definition of a loving God and a loving father?”
“It is,” she said as she focused on the tiny scar on his cheek rather than the man himself.
“Then you and I will have to agree to disagree.”
May crossed her arms over her chest. “I fail to see why. Do you have children, Mr. Austin?”
“I’ve never been married, Miss Bolen, so no, I do not.”
She smiled. “So all of this is based on what? Theory? Some sort of significant study of biblical texts? Perhaps a sermon you once heard?”
Mr. Austin rose to come and stand in front of her. “All of this is based on experience, Miss Bolen. You see, my earthly father’s greatest failure was in the area of making life comfortable and easy for his children. Despite his best efforts, he lost his company, his home, and eventually his wife. And yet my brother and I never doubted his love.”
“Oh,” she managed, as much in response to the intensity of his words as to the nearness of him. She slipped past him to return to her chair though she stood behind it rather than sitting once more. “Your father sounds like a wonderful man. Congratulations on that.”
“This is not a contest, Miss Bolen.”
“But it is, if you think about it. I either win or I lose, and in either case, you—a complete stranger—are the one who decides.” She met his even gaze. “You’ll forgive me if I remain skeptical that a loving God would allow something like that.”
“Let’s just see what God does,” he said. “And in the meantime, let’s talk about the issue of my meeting your prospective suitors. Why don’t you just see who is willing to make the trip and then we’ll go from there?”
May opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand to silence her. Her fingers gripped the back of the chair as she bit back words she might regret.
“In the meantime, I’ve brought a list of questions I would like to have answered.” He retrieved an envelope from his pocket and held it out in her direction. “Just some basic information so that I can learn more about you.”
She accepted the envelope and then dropped it onto the chair. “This is highly irregular.”
“So is our situation, don’t you think?”
May retrieved the envelope and opened it, pulling out the pages. The first few questions concerned her likes and dislikes. “Broccoli and a warm bath,” she said, answering the first two.
“Please write them in the spaces provided,” he told her.
As she continued to scan the questions, her irritation rose. “On which side of the bed do I sleep? Do I prefer my toast buttered or with jam?” Again she dropped the papers onto the chair. “This is ridiculous.”
“This is valuable information,” he told her. “Although it is just part of the information I need in order to make a decision. I do hope you’ll cooperate. We only have a few weeks until the deadline.”
He’d bested her with that statement, and his expression told her he knew it. May, however, was not prepared to give in so easily. “Fine,” she said with a polite nod. “I shall endeavor to answer each of these questions with the care this document deserves.”
“Good.” Mr. Austin’s voice held a tone of wariness. “When can I expect your answers?”
She upped her smile. “Oh, I shall begin work on these just as soon as you and I return from our errand.”
“An errand? I don’t recall mentioning any such thing.”
“You haven’t,” she said. “But what you’ve just said has me thinking. How can I possibly know you well enough to present a man who meets your approval if I do not find out more about you?”
Mr. Austin’s grin began as a slight rise at the corners of his mouth. As he appeared to consider her question, the smile grew. “Yes, all right,” he said with the hint of a chuckle. “I suppose that’s fair.”
“Oh, it’s more than fair, as is the list of questions you’ll be presented with as soon as I find the time to write them out.” She paused and gave him an appraising look. “A few have already come to mind, such as have you ever sustained a significant blow to the head? I suspect you will answer that in the affirmative.”
Now the laughter sounded genuine. “Fair enough. And I shall endeavor to answer each of those questions with the care the document deserves,” he said, echoing her words to him.
“Fair enough indeed. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just get my things and we will be off.”
May stepped into the foyer to find the butler wearing a worried look. “Miss Bolen,” he stammered, “I fear there’s a problem.”
“What is it?”
He nodded toward the stairs. “There’s been a delivery for you. Mrs. Gallier says she must personally see that you receive it. I tried to stop her, really I did, but she just went on past me of her own accord. I am sorry, Miss Bolen.”
“Mrs. Gallier from my father’s office?” At his nod, she added, “Where is she?”
Diverting his eyes, he replied, “Up in your bedchamber, I’m afraid.”
“Do see to Mr. Austin. Let him know I may be a minute longer than anticipated and offer him refreshments.”
May turned toward the staircase, an imposing matched set of stairs that curved around to meet in the center halfway to the second floor. She paused on the landing with her heart slamming against her chest, not from exertion, but from dread of reaching the second floor.
Of stepping into a bedchamber she’d last left as a small child.
“There you are,” Mrs. Gallier called from the top of the stairs. “Do forgive the imposition, but a thought occurred after you left yesterday and I realized I had a situation in need of a remedy.”
“That seems to be happening to me quite frequently since I arrived in New Orleans,” May muttered as she joined Mrs. Gallier in the second-floor hallway. “So what is this situation in need of remedy, exactly?”
“Come with me, child, and I will show you.”
She led May down the hall to the last bedchamber on the right—the room across from the one that had once been May’s—and gestured for her to step inside. To her recollection, this bedchamber had been saved for visitors. Nothing seemed to have changed, as the canopy bed and both south-facing windows were still hung in white lace and the walls were still covered with wallpaper depicting pink roses climbing trellises.
In the midst of all this, an ugly black garment lay draped across the bed. Mrs. Gallier gestured toward it.
“Do you know what this is?”
She did. “It is a mourning gown,” she said as she fingered the jet buttons that traveled down the front of the bodice.
“Then you know why I’ve brought it.” Mrs. Gallier moved to stand beside her. “I know you and your father weren’t close, but here in New Orleans it is a sign of respect to our loved ones that we wear mourning attire.”
She noticed for the first time that the older woman was also clad in black. “Was my father a loved one to you?”
“He was,” she said with a wistful smile. “But not in the sense you’re probably thinking. He was a good man, May, though I doubt you got to see that side of him.”
“And you did?”
“Oh yes, as did my husband. You see, your father was a fixer. Do you know what that is?” She waited for May to indicate that she did not before continuing. “A fixer is a person who comes into a situation and believes he’s got to make it right. Now before you scoff, listen. He wasn’t always that way. When I first started to work for him, well, let’s just say he was not an easy man to spend time with. But then neither was I, so we developed an understanding. I was a war widow with little children who needed feeding and clothing, and your father was … well, he was a man who had just found out his wife and daughter were moving up north and leaving him here to fend for himself.”
“So you stepped in to take my mother’s place.”
“I did nothing of the sort,” she snapped, “and shame on you for suggesting it. No, on the day I came in for my job interview he told me he didn’t hire women, and I stood right up to him and told him that I would earn him more money in one day than any man could earn him in a week. Of course he had a good laugh, until I told him I had a special skill. You see, I can read something one time and remember every word of it. Same goes for hearing it. Once your papa realized I was a walking encyclopedia of information, he decided I was probably right. Now here I am shedding a tear because he’s gone, when he only kept me around for what he could get from me, at least until he changed there at the end.”
“I guess that’s why he never bothered with me,” May said. “I had nothing to offer. Nor did my mother, apparently.”
“Oh honey, I wish you knew how wrong you are,” she said.
“As do I.” May pasted on a smile. “So while I truly am grateful you thought to bring this to me, I feel hypocritical wearing this for him.”
“Then do it for yourself when you’re ready,” she said. “Forgiveness is a powerful thing. Even if it is to put that dress on and never leave this house. Of course, it’s just a suggestion.”
May took a deep breath and chose her words carefully as she gripped the bedpost with her right hand. “My father died one year ago. I was not informed about this until approximately four weeks ago. In the time since I arrived in New Orleans, I have been informed that my father thought so little of me that he gave the responsibility of choosing a husband to someone else and then required me to marry within thirty days of the reading of his will or lose everything.”
Mrs. Gallier reached over to grasp May’s free hand then placed her other hand atop it. “That’s hurt talking. It’s pain pure and deep that’s guiding you right now. Let it for now if you must,” she said. “But I’m going to warn you that if you let it forever, you’ll be the one to pay for it and no one else. See, hurt is skin deep, but bitter goes straight to the bone.”
May released her grip on the bedpost and pressed her hand atop Mrs. Gallier’s. “Thank you,” she said. “Truly.”
“Sweet girl, I wish I could do more, but just know that here I am if you need me.” She nodded toward the dress. “It’s past the required mourning period, so do with that dress what you will. The Lord, He knows your heart. He doesn’t have to look at what you’re wearing to know when you’re finally mourning your father.”
“Yes, I believe that.”
“And whatever you do while you’re here in New Orleans, make sure it’s not coming from bitter, yes?”
Once Mrs. Gallier said her goodbyes and left, May sank onto the bed beside the awful black dress and tried not to cry. She failed.
Finally, she rose to summon a maid to deliver a message offering her regrets to Mr. Austin and providing details and a request to complete their errand tomorrow at the same time. Then she stepped out into the hallway to face the door that led to her childhood bedroom, and opened it.
To her surprise, it looked exactly as it had in her youth. It was as if she walked out at a young age and then time stopped once the door closed. Without stepping inside, she shut the door and returned to the guest room, where she once again summoned the maid.
“Do something with this, please,” she said, gesturing toward the hideous ensemble. “And then have someone bring up an envelope and papers I left in the parlor.”
When she was alone again, May went to the desk and retrieved several sheets of writing paper. If Samuel Austin III could require her to answer a list of questions, then she would most certainly do the same.