should she do if he asked to court her openly? It would be one way to discourage Amos Wells. But such a scheme could backfire and cause her parents to force her to wed the older man.
“I'll never marry a man I don't love,” she whispered stubbornly to herself. Then, seeing her father's stricken hazel-green eyes, so gentle even in stern reproach, she realized how difficult the choices that lay ahead would be.
Her Sunday school class was pandemonium that morning. Ten-year-old Thad Taylor let loose a garter snake right in the middle of her explanation about Moses and the Ten Commandments. The rest of the boys dived down onto their hands and knees in pursuit while the girls squealed and jumped up on their chairs. Old Miss Haversham, the organist, was practicing when the chaos erupted. Hearing the shrieks of “snake, snake!” she fainted dead away onto the keyboard, resulting in a discordant wail from the organ, which drowned out the children until Deacon Becker pulled the elderly lady back on her bench and revived her.
Rebekah and Celia Hunt, who taught the younger children, chuckled about the fiasco after the snake had been released outdoors. The students calmed down, and the classes were dismissed. The two young women walked down to the shade of the big cedar tree out behind the church to enjoy a few minutes of blessed cool before the regular worship began at eleven o'clock.
Looking resplendent in her new yellow silk dress, Celia strolled carelessly by a juniper bush, paying no heed when it snagged the hem of her skirt. “There is something I wanted to discuss with you, Rebekah.”
Rebekah's heart sank. She's heard about Amos Wells asking Papa if he could court me. “Celia, you know we've always been friends—”
“And all the more reason I should warn you—acting so recklessly as to let gossipy old Tess Conklin see you with that awful Irish boxer. Was he really kissing you right out in public—on the bandstand in the park?” Celia's brown eyes were alight with a mixture of censure and excitement.
“He only kissed my hand,” Rebekah retorted guiltily. That time . “Look who's being so prim and proper all of a sudden, Celia Hunt. You weren't exactly hanging back when I suggested that walk over to Benton Street, and you were the one who insisted we could see him better from the porch of that old newspaper office.”
“I didn't even know who he was!” Celia replied indignantly. “Really, Rebekah, he's a nobody—one of those drunken, brawling Irish. Why, he works in Beau Jenson's stable, for pity's sake.”
“You sound like my mother. Being Irish doesn't automatically make a man drunken.” Even as Rebekah rushed to Rory's defense, she realized that he had not told her about working for Mr. Jenson. But he had said January Jones was his manager. Did that mean he had quit boxing? Was he going to settle down in Wellsville?
Her jumbled thoughts were interrupted by Celia's insistent voice. “Why, you are positively moony-eyed over that fellow. I will admit he's fine looking, but he's impoverished, Rebekah. I always thought you wanted a man who could provide you with security and comforts, even if you don't favor one as distinguished as Amos Wells.”
At the mention of Amos Wells, Rebekah’s heart froze for an instant. She had to tell her friend about his suit before Celia learned of it from the town gossips. Swallowing for courage, she said, “There's something I need your help with, Celia...aboutMr.Wells.”
A wary look came into Celia's normally warm brown eyes. “What about Amos Wells?”
“He's asked my father's permission to call on me,” Rebekah blurted out, seizing her friend's hands and adding frantically, “It took me completely by surprise. I've certainly never encouraged him, and I won't marry him. I know you think he'd
“I'll never marry a man I don't love,” she whispered stubbornly to herself. Then, seeing her father's stricken hazel-green eyes, so gentle even in stern reproach, she realized how difficult the choices that lay ahead would be.
Her Sunday school class was pandemonium that morning. Ten-year-old Thad Taylor let loose a garter snake right in the middle of her explanation about Moses and the Ten Commandments. The rest of the boys dived down onto their hands and knees in pursuit while the girls squealed and jumped up on their chairs. Old Miss Haversham, the organist, was practicing when the chaos erupted. Hearing the shrieks of “snake, snake!” she fainted dead away onto the keyboard, resulting in a discordant wail from the organ, which drowned out the children until Deacon Becker pulled the elderly lady back on her bench and revived her.
Rebekah and Celia Hunt, who taught the younger children, chuckled about the fiasco after the snake had been released outdoors. The students calmed down, and the classes were dismissed. The two young women walked down to the shade of the big cedar tree out behind the church to enjoy a few minutes of blessed cool before the regular worship began at eleven o'clock.
Looking resplendent in her new yellow silk dress, Celia strolled carelessly by a juniper bush, paying no heed when it snagged the hem of her skirt. “There is something I wanted to discuss with you, Rebekah.”
Rebekah's heart sank. She's heard about Amos Wells asking Papa if he could court me. “Celia, you know we've always been friends—”
“And all the more reason I should warn you—acting so recklessly as to let gossipy old Tess Conklin see you with that awful Irish boxer. Was he really kissing you right out in public—on the bandstand in the park?” Celia's brown eyes were alight with a mixture of censure and excitement.
“He only kissed my hand,” Rebekah retorted guiltily. That time . “Look who's being so prim and proper all of a sudden, Celia Hunt. You weren't exactly hanging back when I suggested that walk over to Benton Street, and you were the one who insisted we could see him better from the porch of that old newspaper office.”
“I didn't even know who he was!” Celia replied indignantly. “Really, Rebekah, he's a nobody—one of those drunken, brawling Irish. Why, he works in Beau Jenson's stable, for pity's sake.”
“You sound like my mother. Being Irish doesn't automatically make a man drunken.” Even as Rebekah rushed to Rory's defense, she realized that he had not told her about working for Mr. Jenson. But he had said January Jones was his manager. Did that mean he had quit boxing? Was he going to settle down in Wellsville?
Her jumbled thoughts were interrupted by Celia's insistent voice. “Why, you are positively moony-eyed over that fellow. I will admit he's fine looking, but he's impoverished, Rebekah. I always thought you wanted a man who could provide you with security and comforts, even if you don't favor one as distinguished as Amos Wells.”
At the mention of Amos Wells, Rebekah’s heart froze for an instant. She had to tell her friend about his suit before Celia learned of it from the town gossips. Swallowing for courage, she said, “There's something I need your help with, Celia...aboutMr.Wells.”
A wary look came into Celia's normally warm brown eyes. “What about Amos Wells?”
“He's asked my father's permission to call on me,” Rebekah blurted out, seizing her friend's hands and adding frantically, “It took me completely by surprise. I've certainly never encouraged him, and I won't marry him. I know you think he'd
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