Read Online An Unlikely Love by Dorothy Clark - Free Book Online Page B

beside an outside support post and edged into it. People crowded in behind him, muttering about being late, about not being able to get closer to the speaker.
    He scanned the profiles of those seated under the canopy looking toward the platform at the front. There was no beautiful face with a pert nose and a small determined chin in sight. A grin tugged his lips into a slanted line. She’d jutted that chin at him like a weapon last night. Marissa Bradley had spunk to spare. He liked that. He’d never cared for coy, simpering women.
    The desire to see her strengthened. He glanced over the crowd again. If she wasn’t here, he didn’t know where to look for her, beyond the vague “top of the hill” direction she’d thrown at him in her anger. Ah! She could be sitting up by the platform with Miss Gordon. He frowned and glanced over his shoulder. If he could get through those who were vying for position behind him, he could make his way to where he could see the faces of the people seated on the front benches. He inched around the post, glanced toward the front and froze, stared at the slender, black-garbed woman on the stage.
Marissa?
Shock held him rooted in place. He fastened his gaze on her face, strained to hear what she was saying over the rustle and bustle of the other latecomers seeking a place to stand.
    â€œI am not telling you anything you do not already know. We are gathered here from many different cities and towns in many different states. Think of your hometown. How many churches are there? How many taverns where strong drink is sold? In most towns, for every minister there are three or four or more barkeepers, and while churches meet, at most, a few days a week, the taverns and bars and men’s clubs sell their products of destruction all the days of the week.”
    There was a murmur of agreement from many around him. But it had always been so. He scanned the nearby faces. If Marissa’s aim as a temperance speaker was to plant seeds of discontent among those listening, she was doing a good job.
    â€œAnd what happens inside those shops? The proprietor tucks the coins offered into his till and gives the patrons drinks that numb their brains and dull their senses. When the patrons go home to those who love them above all others, their drunken state causes them to inflict pain with their words and their hands. The same is true of those who drink only in their homes. And though I am aware that not all who drink to excess turn mean or abusive, they still inflict pain and shame upon their family by their very state.”
    There was a collective gasp followed by furtive looks and bowed heads. A woman in front of him blinked tears from her eyes. Another rubbed at her upper arm and winced. He glanced from face to face of the people in front of him, noted frowns and set jaws on the men, overbright, downcast eyes on some women, lips pressed into firm lines and heads held high in others. He leaned forward and slid his gaze over the attendees on the seats that had been blocked from his view by the post, focused on a woman who sat clutching a handkerchief, her head slowly nodding as if it had a will of its own. Sarah Swan? Why was the grocer’s wife here? Toby Swan was a friendly, jovial man—
    â€œâ€”brother died
an untimely death because of the ravages of strong drink.”
    The pain in Marissa’s voice jerked him from his thoughts. He slid around the post for a clearer view of her, remembered her speaking of her brother that first night on the steamer.
    â€œLincoln is the reason I stand before you today. I want you to know you are not alone in your hurt and your shame. And to
implore
you to take steps to help your loved ones before...” Marissa’s head bowed then lifted. “...before it is too late.”
    So
that
was why she was lecturing on temperance. Grief was in her voice, the line of her slightly bowed head, her rigid posture. He clenched his hands,