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Authors: Barbara Woster

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Well, truth be told, Miss, it

s usually a waste of food and time, since none of your suitors have stayed for more than a minute or two.


A
h! Well,
I guess it was best that you waited for me to request the refreshment,

Marcelle
said.


It was still a wasted effort, nonetheless. Still, I actually
thought this one would make it
, since he

d been here so long.

Marcelle laughed.

I see. Well, thank you, Nancy.


Very good, Miss.

Nancy said then left the way she came. The front door slammed at the same moment, and Marcelle quickly moved away from the parlor door.


Marcelle!

Her
father

s voice boomed shortly before the parlor doors slid open with a bang.

Marcelle stood by the French doors and watched Clifford Stanharbor

s carriage pull away
quickly
from the house, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.


He wasn

t interested in me,
Father
.

Marcelle tried to placate before a full-fledged argument ensued.

He pinned his eyes to my bosom
the minute he acknowledged my presence. Had his gaze pinned there
nearly the entire time he was in here.


Well, dearest, you do have something to offer in that regard, you know,

her
father
muttered,

which just goes to show what an attractive woman you are and how eagerly sought after.


You mean, how eagerly sought after my body is, don

t you,
Father
?


You are not going to sidestep this conversation again with talk of love, are you, because I

m sick to death of trying to explain over the screeching and yelling that you are not
mentally
impaired.
A
re
you aware, as important a man as Clifford Stanharbor is, he could spread rumors that you are a fruitcake over
eight
counties before the sun sets tomorrow?


Good!

Marcelle snapped.

The
n maybe, just maybe, I

ll have a short reprieve from
grand
father
ly
type men showing up on my doorstep and openly gawking at me. Each time, I fear they may end having an attack from the strain all that ogling has to be putting on their heart.
Oh,
Father
,

Marcelle
moaned
,

why must I marry at all? Why can

t I stay here, as I wish to do, and simply take care of you?


Because you know as well as I do that I will not be around forever
.

Peter settled
on
to
the same settee that Stanharbor occupied moments earlier. He rubbed a hand
wearily
through his hair and sighed
in a huff
. He was still afraid to reveal to his only child the unsettling news he

d received from his physician a few weeks ago.


Don

t say that,
Father
! Don

t say you won

t be around, because you will!

Marcelle settled herself at her
father

s feet and laid her head on his lap.

Her
father
absently stroked his daughter

s long, chestnut tresses, still thinking about his physician

s dire prognosis. If he was to believe what the doctor said, he had less than a year left to live. That meant less than a year in which to find his daughter a suitable husband.


It

s true enough,

he whispered,

t
hat
I won

t be around forever, and what have you to say about it? Telling me it isn

t going happen, won

t change the fact that it
will
happen eventually, and then what are you going to do? Women can

t own property, so the bank will sell the house. Where will you go, if you haven

t a husband to care for you?


You shouldn

t talk like this.
I don

t like it
!


No, I don

t suppose you do, because you don

t like hearing the truth of the matter. It bothers you,

he said.

Well, it bothers me when you try to avoid the conversation, but not today. Today you

ll answer me, girl. What will you do with yourself if I up and die tomorrow?


Well, I can always go to live with
Aunt Vera
, in
Georgia
.


Ha! You

d never survive your
Aunt Vera
and you know it!

Her
father
scoffed.

Besides the fact that you absolutely hate the city
;
your
Aunt
Vera will push you harder into marriage than I ever would. She would drag you to so many soirees that you

ll jump at the first man who walked into sight just to get out from under her thumb

and you know it to be true.

Marcelle giggled, but realized that her
father
was right.
Aunt Vera
was definitely not the answer. She shuddered as a memory surfaced of an encounter she had with her the old bat. She actually
dared get sassy in her presence. She hadn

t done so to be deliberately disrespectful, but as
a result over distress from the loss of her mother, and at how angry her aunt was making her father. Her aunt was droning on about Marcelle

s future and prospects. Marcelle hadn

t comprehended a word spoken. S
he was simply too young
. Her father

s reaction caused her mouth to start flapping
. She told her
father
to pour glue in her
aunt

s
mouth and maybe that would shut her up. For that one outburst, the repercussion was so harsh that she never even considered doing it again.

Her
Aunt dragged
her upstairs by the hair and dunked her head in a vat of water. Then she took the lye soap
,
and shoved it in her mouth and made her sit there for five minutes. When that torment was complete, she locked
Marcelle
into her room for the night and
allowed her not one bite of dinner

not that she could

ve
eaten
anything
having so much
lye soap sitting heavily in her stomach.

She

d been five years old.

Every time her
Aunt
paid
visited
from that day on, she avoided her as if she had contagious boils covering her body. She asked her
father
later, why he allowed her
Aunt
to do that to her, but all he would say was that, while he disliked his sister and her methods, he couldn

t allow a child of only five to learn disrespect for an adult

no matter how much that adult deserved it.

The thing that scared her more than
anything did
now, is that her
father
would
die, forcing her into having to move to
Georgia
. No choice. Inevitable. Her
Aunt knew
that Marcelle cared little for her company,
but
persisted with each visit, increasingly too many, that Marcelle needed a woman

s influence before turning

too barbaric

and

unweddable

. Marcelle hated her visits.

She dreaded her
Aunt
and her visits so, that she
even prayed
that her
father
would outlive her. It was unrealistic, she knew. She also knew that her
father
was advancing steadily toward old age.
Already
, he

d reached his sixt
ieth
year. Older than most dads
of her acquaintances
. Still, while she understood that he wouldn

t survive for too many more years, she hoped that
he would hang on long enough for her
to find someone that would care for her and love her for who she was. Not the
phony
they expected her to be, and not solely for her physical appearance
; p
referably find that someone before her
father
forced her to wed a cadaver or he died
.


I can

t go to
Aunt Vera

s anyway,

Marcelle said, suddenly remembering her
Aunt

s
previous visit four years earlier.

Don

t you
re
member the last time she
visited?
She said that I was already too unruly and beyond hope. Since that

s the case and she wouldn

t have me any more than I

d go

you can

t die. Simple as that.

Peter shook his head in frustration at his daughter

s apparent naiveté,

For the love of Mary, girl! You can

t keep assuming that!
I might very well fall off my horse tomorrow and break my bleeding neck. Now, no more dillydallying. I want your word that you will, at the very least, attempt to find a husband before the end of this year, you hear me?
If you don

t, I

m going to ship you off to your
Aunt Vera

s without a second thought, whether she wants you or not! Whether you want to go or not!

Marcelle looked at her
father
and winced.
That was the second threat he

d issued her in less than quarter of a day.
What had gotten into him lately? He

d never been
this
concerned about her marriageable prospects before. Until now, their combats had been closer to a game

admittedly one where each lost their tempers at times, but a game none-the-less.
A
game of who would capitulate first.


Okay,
Father
,

she murmured, lowering her head back onto his lap,

I

ll try
to
find a husband if you promise me that you

ll not bring another walking dead man in here for me to consider as a prospect.
Deal?

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