Page 5 of Short-Straw Bride

Roy Mitchell had many admirable traits. He was ambitious and prosperous, and would certainly support a wife in fine style. His dark hair and eyes were handsome to look upon, and his manners were impeccable. Yet he stirred no strong feelings in her. And as far as she could tell, she stirred none in him.

What am I to do, Lord? Do I marry Roy and hope that affection comes, or do you have someone else in mind for me? Please make your will clear to me.

A brisk knock sounded on the door, but before Meredith could answer, her aunt swept into the room, her brows lifted in a scrutinizing arch. “I’m glad to see you had the good sense to dress for the occasion.”

Meredith bit her tongue. After living with the disapproving woman for several years, she’d learned to speak as little as possible during their private . . . discussions.

“Come here, child, and turn around so I can see you.”

Trying to ignore the child remark, Meredith did as instructed while her aunt clicked her tongue and sighed like a martyr who had been given a heavy cross to bear.

“Can you do nothing more to disguise that awful limp? We can’t have Mr. Mitchell second-guessing his offer before the engagement is official. I’ve already done all I can to ensure you every advantage. Cassandra has strict instructions not to enter the parlor while he’s here. Don’t want the man drawing unfavorable comparisons, do we?”

Aunt Noreen narrowed her gaze, as if she could sense Meredith’s inner doubt. “You’d best not do anything to sabotage this proposal,” she said, shaking her finger under Meredith’s nose. “Everett and I have too much riding on this for you to dillydally around. The man expects an answer today. And that answer had better be yes.”

When Meredith had asked God for guidance, she’d never expected him to shove it down her throat with a dose of her aunt’s less-than-flattering opinions. Was this really the answer she sought? Was God speaking through Aunt Noreen, or was Aunt Noreen just spouting her own agenda? Meredith didn’t mind rebelling against her aunt, but rebelling against God was another matter entirely.

Needing to get away from the waving finger in order to think straight, Meredith stepped over to the wardrobe to collect her shawl, exaggerating her limp as she went. When Aunt Noreen moaned, Meredith smiled. She knew it was petty of her, but she refused to let the woman browbeat her without striking back at least a little.

In reality, the hitch in her gait was barely noticeable except on those days when she overexerted herself. Years ago, the doctor had explained that the bone damage she’d sustained from the steel trap had hindered the completion of normal growth in her right leg, eventually causing it to be slightly shorter than her left. With custom-made shoes that added half an inch of height to the right heel, she got along without much trouble. Unfortunately, Aunt Noreen tended to see mountains where the rest of the world saw only molehills, especially when it came to Meredith’s shortcomings.

Wrapping her ivory shawl around her shoulders, Meredith stared at the silky fringe instead of her aunt as she cautiously ventured into the conversation. “Papa always encouraged me to choose a husband with utmost care since the bond would last for life. I aim to follow his advice. Roy Mitchell has many fine qualities, but I need more time to get to know him before I can make this decision with confidence.” She glanced up and found scowl lines furrowing Aunt Noreen’s brow. “Today’s luncheon will certainly help me achieve those ends,” Meredith hurried to add.

“More time?” The woman sounded as if the words were choking her.

Aunt Noreen eyed the open doorway and prowled three steps closer to Meredith. “Did I ask for more time when your father requested lodgings for you in my home so that you could attend the Palestine Female Institute five years ago?” she hissed. “No. And two years after that, when your father’s dealings with those . . . those Negros finally resulted in the end I predicted, did not Everett and I give you a permanent home?”

Meredith swallowed hard, trying to fight the memories of the fever that had taken first her papa and then her mother. They hadn’t allowed her to come home, too afraid she’d catch the sickness. She’d tried to go to them anyway, but when her father refused to unbar the door and gazed at her through the front window, palm pressed to the glass, sunken eyes silently pleading with her to leave, she’d had no choice. She returned to her aunt and uncle’s house and wept in Cassie’s arms.

“My food has fed you,” Aunt Noreen muttered, bringing Meredith back to the present. “Your uncle’s income has provided a roof over your head. You’ve been given more than enough time.”

Noreen sniffed and crossed her arms, looking uncomfortable as her focus jumped to the doorway before returning to Meredith. “You might not be aware, but your uncle’s business has experienced some setbacks in the last few years. We need the stability that a connection with Roy Mitchell would provide. He’s promised to partner with Everett once his land deal goes through. All his lumber will be cut exclusively by the Hayes mill. But the deal hinges on your marriage. No marriage, no partnership.”

Because Roy Mitchell needed her land—the land her father had left in her uncle’s care, intending that he restore it to Meredith when she married or turned twenty-five.

“Would you jeopardize Cassandra’s future simply because you’re unsure of your feelings?”

Meredith blinked. If she refused Roy Mitchell’s proposal, would she be hurting Cassandra?

Footsteps echoed in the hall outside the room for a moment before Cassandra’s smiling face appeared in the doorway.

“Papa sent me to fetch you, Meri. Your suitor’s here.”

Aunt Noreen gave her a pointed look and nudged her toward the door. “Go on, now. Let’s not keep Mr. Mitchell waiting.”

As Meredith stepped into the hall, Cassie’s eager smile, so full of innocence and romantic dreams, lit up her face. Guilt pricked at Meredith like a row of sewing pins protruding through her corset seam.

Cassandra deserved the best, and if marrying Roy would provide her cousin that opportunity, perhaps Meredith should make the sacrifice.

Yet when she entered the parlor and Roy walked toward her, she couldn’t quite stem the quivers of panic that convulsed in her stomach.

Lord, I asked for guidance, and so far everything seems to point me toward marrying Roy. But if you have another plan, any other plan, I’d gladly consider it.

Roy extended his arm to her, and Meredith fought for a polite smile as she slid her hand into its expected place.

2

By the time Meredith finished her slice of chocolate cake, she’d given up on finding common ground with Roy Mitchell. After the soup, she’d asked him what he enjoyed doing in his free time, and he’d answered that he was fond of traveling. This perked her up initially, until his description of a recent trip to Houston turned into a quarter hour of rambling about the area’s booming lumber industry.