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Book: Trinity: Bride of West Virginia (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 35) by Carré White
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Authors: Carré White
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Saga, Western, Short-Story, stepmother, Religious, Christian, Inspirational, Bachelor, gifts, Marriage of Convenience, Faith, father, Letters, West Virginia, Forbidden Love, age difference, victorian era, Forever Love, Single Woman, Fifty-Books, Forty-Five Authors, Newspaper Ad, American Mail-Order Bride, Factory Burned, Pioneer, Thirty-Fourth In Series, Older Gentleman, City Hall, Stolen Heart, Grown Son, Mistake
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decidedly vexed about it, behaving unpleasantly. If she produced a letter, I quelled the desire to jump for joy, privately tearing open the correspondence to read what had been written.
I wrote him one afternoon, after having succumbed to a crying spell, my heart feeling as if it bled.
Dearest Nathaniel,
You have outdone yourself, sir. A package arrived earlier today containing the most magnificent gown I have ever seen. You must stop this. Every stitch of clothing I own has been in your hands. I hardly know what to think anymore, or, perhaps, you have missed your calling. Should you have been a dressmaker? I tease you, sir. But you needn’t send anything new. I won’t be able to fit into them anyhow soon.
Mr. Witherspoon asks when you will return. I ask too. I adore the locket. I won’t ignore the paper inside. I do believe I know what it means.
Yours truly,
Trinity
Several days later, I received a response.
Dearest Trinity,
I adore dressing you. I imagine exactly what each outfit might look like, how it might cling to your curves like a second skin. I do wonder at that comment you made. Why will you not fit into your clothing soon? The only reason I can think of is pregnancy. Are you with child? I am at work at this instant, needing to concentrate on a legal brief, but you occupy my mind, as usual. Even from a distance, you are a distraction.
On other matters, I have not spoken a great deal about Miss Victoria Peterson. I am expected to offer for her. It has been far too long now, and her family is, well, her father, is applying pressure. I had supper with them the other night. He pulled me aside to lecture me on keeping his daughter waiting so long. I dare say; I might have to offer for her. I have been dragging my feet. I wanted to tell you this now. I don’t want you to hear about it from the paper or from one of my father’s friends. I wish to spare you that shock.
Please clarify the statement I asked about earlier. Are you with child?
Yours truly,
Nathanial
I sat in the parlor with the letter, my fingers trembling. I had written a few words, and he had all but guessed at my condition. Doctor Watson had confirmed it a few days ago, saying I was in the early stages of pregnancy. Now Nathanial will ask Miss Peterson to be his wife. The pleasure I normally derived from his letters vanished, my eyes filling with tears. Feeling weary and aggrieved, I ventured to my room, where I lay on the bed sobbing, my emotions once again in turmoil.
Mrs. Dexter came upon me a moment later. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Trinity.”
“What?” I glanced at her. She had to know or guess at my distress or, perhaps, she was truly in the dark.
“Supper is nearly served. Mr. Witherspoon is asking about you.”
“I’ll come down.” I pushed myself to a seated position, staring glumly at the pretty bedroom.
“Are you all right?” She glanced at the letter. “Did you receive bad news?”
“I don’t know. It was … nothing.”
“Being in your condition, some women feel melancholy. I can make you chamomile tea, if you like.”
“Thank you.” I had to gather my emotions into some sort of order quickly. I should be happy for Nathanial. I had no right to claim him in the least, having married the father. If only … if only he had been the one to put out the ad. “I just need to wash my face. Tell Mr. Witherspoon I shall be down in a moment.”
She smiled sympathetically, eyeing the open letter upon the bed. “I will.”
“Thank you.”
I joined my husband a few minutes later, rallying up good cheer, although I still felt terribly low. He sat at the head of the table, a grey-haired man in a suit. He stood as I approached, pulling out a chair.
“You look handsome this evening, my dear.”
“Thank you.” I eyed the plates, the china having come from France. “I believe the cook made ham tonight, with potatoes and … and some sort of vegetable.”
“That sounds delightful.”
He had every right to
I wrote him one afternoon, after having succumbed to a crying spell, my heart feeling as if it bled.
Dearest Nathaniel,
You have outdone yourself, sir. A package arrived earlier today containing the most magnificent gown I have ever seen. You must stop this. Every stitch of clothing I own has been in your hands. I hardly know what to think anymore, or, perhaps, you have missed your calling. Should you have been a dressmaker? I tease you, sir. But you needn’t send anything new. I won’t be able to fit into them anyhow soon.
Mr. Witherspoon asks when you will return. I ask too. I adore the locket. I won’t ignore the paper inside. I do believe I know what it means.
Yours truly,
Trinity
Several days later, I received a response.
Dearest Trinity,
I adore dressing you. I imagine exactly what each outfit might look like, how it might cling to your curves like a second skin. I do wonder at that comment you made. Why will you not fit into your clothing soon? The only reason I can think of is pregnancy. Are you with child? I am at work at this instant, needing to concentrate on a legal brief, but you occupy my mind, as usual. Even from a distance, you are a distraction.
On other matters, I have not spoken a great deal about Miss Victoria Peterson. I am expected to offer for her. It has been far too long now, and her family is, well, her father, is applying pressure. I had supper with them the other night. He pulled me aside to lecture me on keeping his daughter waiting so long. I dare say; I might have to offer for her. I have been dragging my feet. I wanted to tell you this now. I don’t want you to hear about it from the paper or from one of my father’s friends. I wish to spare you that shock.
Please clarify the statement I asked about earlier. Are you with child?
Yours truly,
Nathanial
I sat in the parlor with the letter, my fingers trembling. I had written a few words, and he had all but guessed at my condition. Doctor Watson had confirmed it a few days ago, saying I was in the early stages of pregnancy. Now Nathanial will ask Miss Peterson to be his wife. The pleasure I normally derived from his letters vanished, my eyes filling with tears. Feeling weary and aggrieved, I ventured to my room, where I lay on the bed sobbing, my emotions once again in turmoil.
Mrs. Dexter came upon me a moment later. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Trinity.”
“What?” I glanced at her. She had to know or guess at my distress or, perhaps, she was truly in the dark.
“Supper is nearly served. Mr. Witherspoon is asking about you.”
“I’ll come down.” I pushed myself to a seated position, staring glumly at the pretty bedroom.
“Are you all right?” She glanced at the letter. “Did you receive bad news?”
“I don’t know. It was … nothing.”
“Being in your condition, some women feel melancholy. I can make you chamomile tea, if you like.”
“Thank you.” I had to gather my emotions into some sort of order quickly. I should be happy for Nathanial. I had no right to claim him in the least, having married the father. If only … if only he had been the one to put out the ad. “I just need to wash my face. Tell Mr. Witherspoon I shall be down in a moment.”
She smiled sympathetically, eyeing the open letter upon the bed. “I will.”
“Thank you.”
I joined my husband a few minutes later, rallying up good cheer, although I still felt terribly low. He sat at the head of the table, a grey-haired man in a suit. He stood as I approached, pulling out a chair.
“You look handsome this evening, my dear.”
“Thank you.” I eyed the plates, the china having come from France. “I believe the cook made ham tonight, with potatoes and … and some sort of vegetable.”
“That sounds delightful.”
He had every right to
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