Chapter 5-1
454 Words
Chapter 5
Week 2, Instructor Calendar September 1898
The reception of an engaged girl by the family of her future husband should be most cordial. ~Mrs. John Sherwood
Concordia had not been looking forward to the visit. David’s family was pleasant enough and welcomed the upcoming marriage, but they would undoubtedly want to discuss wedding plans. Mother was coming, too, and was sure to fuss over details of flowers, invitations, and menus.
Concordia did not really care what she ate, or wore, or carried at her wedding, so long as David was waiting at the steps of the sanctuary. She could understand why some found elopement appealing.
And now there was a new family member to meet.
“Tell me about your aunt,” she said to David, as the cab lurched away from the college gate.
He cleared his throat. “Not much to tell. Drusilla Fenmore is my father’s older sister.”
“Fenmore…is she related to the man who runs Fenmore Funeral Home?”
“Ran the funeral home,” David corrected. “Edmund Fenmore, yes. He passed away a few months ago. Aunt Drusilla recently moved in with my parents.”
Concordia refrained from wondering aloud: who takes care of the undertaker when it’s his turn to shuffle off this mortal coil? “What is she like?” she asked instead.
Judging by the way he puckered his lips, she knew she was not going to like the answer. “Let us say that she is a...strong-minded woman of fixed opinions and does not hesitate to express them.”
She made a face. Strong-minded did not trouble her—lively debates were commonplace within the collegiate setting, and she relished them—but a person of fixed opinions was exasperating. One might as well ask the mountain to fling itself into the sea. “Am I to assume that women’s higher education and vocations outside the home are topics your aunt possesses fixed opinions about?”
He chuckled.
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you find it amusing, do you? Perhaps I should engage Mrs. Fenmore in conversation about the new engineering program at Hartford Women’s College. I am sure the discussion would entertain you no end.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Let us make a pact to nod and grit our teeth together, shall we? Besides, who cares what the old lady thinks? We won’t be seeing her all that often.”
She sighed. Refraining from debate about an earnest subject was not her strong suit.
In the dimness of the cab, he moved closer and took her gloved hand in his. “In the meantime, let us consider more pleasant matters.”
She suppressed a tremor as he rubbed his thumb along her gloved palm and gently massaged her fingers.
“I thought myself too old to require a chaperone in your company, Mr. Bradley,” she managed finally, in a quavering voice.
David’s eyes gleamed, though she could not tell if it was from amusement or amorous feeling. “You appear to have been mistaken,” he murmured.
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