Laura, p.1
Laura, page 1
LAURA
Margery Scott
CLOVER RIDGE PRESS
Copyright © 2021 by Margery Scott
All rights reserved
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.
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No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
BOOKS BY MARGERY SCOTT
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
Laura Shelton’s father stood in front of the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. Her mother sat in a damask-covered armchair in the corner of the room, her head bowed over the sewing needle she held in one hand and the hoop holding her embroidery in the other.
“Sit down,” her father commanded as Laura entered the drawing room.
She’d been surprised when one of the maids had rapped on her bedroom door a few minutes before with a message that her father wished to see her. Immediately, the maid had stressed.
Now, taking in his rigid stance and the tension in the muscles in his jaw, Laura knew something was very wrong.
For a few moments, she didn’t move as tiny tingles of apprehension rippled through her.
Her father glared at her. “Now!”
He was upset. No, she amended, taking in his rigid posture and the tension in his jaw. He was furious. But why? Try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything she’d done—at least recently—that would make him so angry.
She slowly crossed to the settee near the window and perched on the edge of the cushion. “What is it, Father?”
He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze resting on her mother, still sitting quietly working on her embroidery.
His gaze cut to her. “I had a visit today,” he began.
Why should someone visiting him make him angry with her? “Oh?”
“Linus Wellington came to see me at the office,” her father continued.
Suddenly, she knew exactly what had upset him.
“He told me he asked for your hand in marriage and you turned him down.”
She had rejected Linus’s proposal. She couldn’t imagine being tied to a man who was so…stuffy. “Papa—”
“What were you thinking?” Her father’s voice boomed, filling the room. “That’s the fourth proposal you’ve turned down in the past six months.”
“I know, but—”
“You’re almost twenty years old. If you don’t marry soon, you’ll be too old to attract a man, and even if you do, you won’t be able to give him the large family men want. Do you understand that? There are only a limited number of men in Springhill who are in a position to support you adequately.”
Laura almost laughed. She was well aware of how many men there were in their small town, and how many of those men were men of means, men her father would approve of. And she couldn’t bear to think of spending her life with any one of them.
“Why in heaven’s name would you turn Linus down? He comes from a respectable family. He’s well educated and he has an excellent future in front of him. He’d make a perfectly acceptable husband for you.”
Her voice quivered as she spoke. “I don’t love him.”
She slid a glance at her mother, hoping she’d find understanding there and realizing within a split second that she would get no support from her.
Suddenly, her father’s loud booming laughter filled the room.
Laura frowned. Why was he laughing?
He unclasped his hands and straightened. “You are a naïve young woman and you don’t have the sense to know what you’re doing. That is why it’s up to us as your parents to take matters into our own hands.”
Laura was incensed that her father had such a low opinion of her. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but his skin had taken on a reddish tinge and a vein in his temple pulsed, a sign she knew meant that he was dangerously close to losing his temper completely.
He stalked across the thick carpet to where she was sitting and towered over her. “Love has nothing to do with marriage. You need a husband who can support you. In return, you look after his home, bear his children and do what you’re told. Nothing more.”
Laura couldn’t stay silent a moment longer. “No, Papa. I’d rather be a spinster—”
“Believe me, you do not want to spend the rest of your life as an unmarried woman, being pitied by your friends, being dependent on family or even strangers for a home. You refused Albert Dawson, William Fredericks and Charles Raton. Now you’ve refused Linus Wellington. How many more offers do you expect to get?”
Lowering her gaze, she spoke softly, knowing her words would be ridiculed even more. “I don’t love any of them. In fact, I don’t even like any of them enough to spend more than a few minutes in their company.”
She raised her head and met her father‘s eyes. “Papa, if I must spend my life with a man, I want him to be one I can love and respect.”
“You can learn to love your husband.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe that,” she said. “Love isn’t something a person can learn to do. It’s a feeling that can’t be explained—”
“You’re wrong,” her father cut in. “Look at your mother and I. Our parents arranged our marriage and we’re very happy together. Isn’t that so, Maisie?”
For the first time since Laura came into the room, her mother looked up from her sewing. The sadness in her eyes belied the words that came out of her mouth. “Of course, Theodore.”
Laura’s father waved his arm in his wife’s direction. “See? We’ve made a good life for ourselves—and you. Now it’s time you started your own family, while you’re still young enough to attract a decent man.”
Laura rarely defied her parents, but this time… She stood, drawing herself to her full height, even though she barely reached her father’s shoulder. “I will not marry any of those men.”
Her father let out an exasperated sigh. Turning to his wife, he threw up his hands. “This is your fault,” he ground out. “You let her read those…those books…”
Maisie threaded the needle into her embroidery to secure it and then set it on her lap. “What books, Theodore?”
“Those books…Jane somebody…”
“Do you mean Jane Austen?”
“Yes,” he replied shortly. “I didn’t approve of them, but I gave in to your pleading. If I’d forbidden you to buy them for her in the first place, we wouldn’t have a daughter now with these ridiculous fanciful ideas in her head.”
Laura watched the exchange between her parents with interest. She’d never known her mother to be able to convince her father of anything. She couldn’t help but wonder what else went on between them that she was unaware of?
Apparently her mother had more influence with her father than she knew of. Maybe her mother understood how she felt. “Mother…”
Her mother’s voice was soft and gentle when she spoke. “Theodore…” she began. “I think—”
“I will not have it!” Her father slammed his hand on the fluted walnut table beside the chair. Her mother’s china teacup rattled in the saucer. “I’ve let you deal with her until now and look at where we are. You will stay out of this.”
He spun around and glared at Laura. “If you’re determined to only marry for love, then be my guest. Go and find the man you can love, but I expect you to be married before the end of the year.”
“What?” Where was she going to find a husband so quickly, especially since she rarely left Springhill? Laura spun around to face her mother. Surely she would find support there, especially since it seemed her mother had never found love. “Mother…”
“I’m sorry, Laura.” Her mother’s soft voice was like a death knell to Laura. With a sympathetic shake of her head, her mother returned to her sewing.
“I’m not going to coddle you one minute more,” her father spat out. “Both of your sisters found suitable husbands, even Edith, and she’s two years younger than you. Either you find a husband and marry before the new year, or I will find one for you and you will marry him.”
Anger surged through her. Could he really force her to marry someone? She wasn’t sure, and even though she knew she should keep quiet, when she got angry, she tended to ignore her good sense. Raising herself to her full height, which even then barely reached her father’s shoulder, she met his gaze defiantly. “And if I refuse?”
“Then you’ll find somewhere else to live and another way to support yourself, because you will no longer be welcome in this house.”
The schoolhouse door opened just as George Cowan dismounted and tied his horse to the hitchin g post. Children poured out, their excited voices and laughter filling the air as they raced down the steps and scattered.
Where was Alice? he wondered. Was she being kept behind? The thought had just crossed his mind when his six-year-old daughter appeared in the open doorway. As usual, the hem of her dress was dirty, she had a bluish stain on her apron, and her hair had come loose from the pigtails he’d spent so much time taming that morning. He watched as she jumped from the top step to the ground and hurried over to where he was waiting.
“Papa,” she said breathlessly, “my teacher says to go see her before we go home. Can I go play with Tommy? He got a new ball.”
“Oh…sure…” he replied. “Don’t go anywhere. I won’t be long.”
Alice seemed far too happy to be in trouble, but what other reason could the teacher have for wanting to see him?
His stomach churned, and for some reason he couldn’t understand, he felt like a boy again and he was the one who was in trouble with his teacher. I’m a grown man, he told himself as he stepped through the door. He paused, letting his eyes adjust to the dim interior after the blinding sunshine outside. The smell of chalk and books filled his nose, bringing back memories of his days in the same schoolhouse. His gaze drifted to the third desk in the second row, which likely still had the initials GC and PJ on it that he’d carved into the wood when he was eleven years old. He’d gotten taken out to the woodshed for what he’d done, but it had been worth it at the time to show Patsy Johnson how much he loved her. He’d been so sure she was the girl he’d spend his life with. She’d disagreed, he’d been broken-hearted and he’d made a vow that he’d never ever love another girl. And then, a few years later, he’d met Verna. A soft smile tugged at his lips at the memory.
A clipped female voice burst into his musings. “Mr. Cowan.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied automatically. Even though Alice’s teacher wasn’t any older than he was, he’d been taught to respect ladies and authority, no matter what.
Miss Coleridge, the new teacher in town, gestured to one of the desks in the front row and then took her place at her desk. “Please sit down.”
George folded himself into the chair facing her.
“Mr. Cowan,” she said once George was settled, “I wanted to speak to you about Alice.”
“What about her? Is she having trouble with her studies—?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” the teacher interrupted. “In fact, she’s one of my best students.”
“Then what? Is she causing trouble?”
“No.” She paused, as if she were trying to figure out what to say next.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but you didn’t ask me to come in here to talk about the weather, so whatever you’ve got to say, don’t you think it’s best to just spit it out so we can get it out in the open?”
She smiled softly. “You’re absolutely right, and I apologize. First, let me say that Alice is a delightful child, bright, friendly and full of energy.”
He already knew that. “So, what’s the problem?”
“She’s…acting more like a boy than a girl.”
“Oh.” George really didn’t know what else he could say. He’d expected to hear that she was lagging in her studies, or that she wasn’t behaving herself, but this…
“She tells me her mother has passed…”
George still had trouble thinking about Verna without a lump forming in his throat. “That’s right,” he replied.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the teacher said. “It’s difficult for a girl to lose her mother at such a young age.”
“I do the best I can, but there aren’t any women at the ranch. When she’s not here at school, she spends her time with me or the boys.”
“I understand, and in that case, it’s understandable that she’s the way she is.” The teacher rose and moved to sit down on the chair beside him. “Mr. Cowan, all Alice’s friends at school are boys. At recess, instead of playing with dolls or jumping rope with the girls, she’s either playing marbles with the boys, or climbing trees, or—”
George held up his hand. “You don’t have to tell me,” he admitted. “I know what she’s like.”
Miss Coleridge let out a soft sigh. “I know it’s difficult for a man to raise a young girl, but if she continues the way she’s going, she’ll never grow up to be a lady. And if that happens, she won’t have the skills to care for a home and family or her own, even if she can find a man who’s willing to marry her.”
George slumped against the back of the chair and glanced out the window to the fields beyond. He was failing as a father, but he didn’t know what he could do about that. He couldn’t teach her about the things girls needed to know.
Mrs. Lazlo, the housekeeper he’d hired the month before, had told him she didn’t like children and had made it clear that looking after Alice wasn’t part of her job. Still, he’d hired her because she was the only housekeeper he’d been able to find who was willing to come to the ranch. Her employment had lasted until the week before when she’d walked out without even giving him a chance to find a replacement.
“I hate to even suggest it, but Alice needs a mother.”
George’s eyes widened. No other woman could ever take Verna’s place. At her funeral, the pastor had told him that time would ease his grief, and he did admit that he didn’t miss her quite as much as he did at first. But he sure wasn’t ready to go courting again. “Miss Coleridge, I appreciate the advice, but I’m not ready to even thinking about marrying again.”
“If you aren’t ready to marry for your own sake, do it for Alice’s. I’m not one to gossip, and it’s none of my business, but…”
“But what?” George asked.
Miss Coleridge didn’t speak immediately. “I want to choose my words carefully, because I shouldn’t criticize, but I do know Mrs. Lazlo. While she may keep your house well, you may find that in time, her…temperament…will affect Alice.”
George had wondered the same thing, but finding another housekeeper was next to impossible. It had taken weeks to even find Mrs. Lazlo.
“Mr. Cowan,” the teacher said softly, “the sooner Alice has a woman’s influence, that is, a woman who loves her, the better off she’ll be.”
Chapter 2
“Miss Coleridge is a nice lady,” Alice said once George settled her in the wagon and they began the drive back to the ranch, “but she says I need to bring a doll to school for recess.”
George glanced over at his little girl, his heart full. She looked so much like Verna that sometimes it took his breath away. Was he really hurting her by not marrying again?
“She said I should bring a doll to school for recess tomorrow,” Alice repeated.
The teacher had already tried to lead Alice into more female territory. He wasn’t sure he liked the thought of someone else influencing her but at the same time, he knew she was trying to help his daughter. “Why don’t you take the doll your mama bought for you?”
Alice looked up at him, her nose scrunched and her brows meeting in the middle. “I’m not going to play with a doll. I’m going to play baseball.”
He didn’t respond. What was he going to say? He could force her to take the doll, but he couldn’t force her to play with it.
Beside him, Alice chattered on about her day at school. “I ran so fast, Papa,” she said, grinning widely as she told him about the race she’d won against a boy who was older than she was. “And he has long legs.”
She swung her legs as she spoke, and George noticed a hole in the knee of one of her stockings. “What happened to your stocking?”
She looked down at her legs as if she’d never seen the hole before. Then she met his gaze. “I fell down.”
George wasn’t surprised. Alice seem to fall at least once a day, usually because she wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing or where she was going. Now she had a hole in her stocking he’d have to try to mend. Just one more chore to add to the list of things that needed to be done since he had no wife and Mrs. Lazlo had made a point of telling him her job was to cook, to clean and to do laundry. Nothing else.
