Lenoir

Maryland, 1849

The flickering of candlelight threw deep shadows across the large bible held before them. The old priest's ancient hands shook a little and his voice was like gravel sliding down a mountain.

Lenoir's nerves felt like an avalanche was coming for her. Should she take shelter or run? Her instincts to fight or take flight had turned into freeze and fawn. Her rose pink lips were wearing a beautiful smile, but a single tear sat at the edge of her emerald eyes.

"Clarence George do you take," could barely be heard for the sobbing of the bride's younger sisters. Her father tried to angrily shush them, but it hadn't helped much.

Lenoir had been their mother since their mother's passing. The men in the church that evening couldn't possibly fathom what the girls were loosing in this wedding.

The blushing young bride was picture perfect in her hand embroidered bridal gown, soft curls in her dark hair, a string of pearls Clarence had given her strung about her slender neck. However, she didn't seem much happier than her sisters. Determined to be a dutiful daughter and hopeful for her future she still managed to say her vows.

"Lenoir Town do you take," the priest had said and she had agreed.

Not that she felt like she had much choice. Her father had arranged this marriage. Like a business arrangement. She was unsure if money or dowry was exchanged, she wasn't privy to matters of money or contract.

It did seem practical, she told herself, defending him to her inner child. Lenoir's mother, Abigail Blessing George, had died in the cold winter of 1847. Typhus fever had broken out when emigrants brought it from Europe to New England. The fever and chills seemed like a flu like illness at first, and then days after the nausea started she got a rash that spread across her body, followed by delirium.

It had made her father bitter and distracted from the necessary responsibilities of life, like personal hiegene, feeding children, and finances.

Her father was getting Lenoir well established in life and society while loosing a mouth to feed. And she had no doubt that 14 year old Hesther Marie with her brilliant wit and pretty green eyes and 12 year old Ingrid Eileen with her gentle nature and splatter of freckles would be married off or farmed out soon. Her father was out of money and not the most nurturing of people even before he started grieving their mother. He had always wanted boys.

Lenoir was barely 18, and had a face considered extremely beautiful for the late 1840s in Maryland, with a figure that could not be hidden by the ragged blue dress the groom had first seen her in. She had been sitting on a wagon seat in front of his store while her father loaded supplies he was purchasing. Her brunette hair was pinned up in a bun and he complemented her on how lovely she looked. Making her blush to the tips of her little pale ears.

It was a week later that her father arranged for her to see Mr. George again. Clarence walked her through town to a jeweler and bought her a pare of silver earrings with green gemstones that matched her eyes. The earrings were the most expensive thing anyone had ever bought her. And the young lady was charmed by the polite manners of the much older man. But she had to admit the gift made her feel somewhat uneasy. Or maybe it was the possessive way his hand reached for her as they walked.

It was a whirlwind courtship. Like he just couldn't be without her. He bought her fancy jewelry and gifts, he took her to gorgeous picnic spots and they went to the theater, scandalously by themselves.

One night he picked her up for dinner in his wagon. He seemed to drive the horses most urgently along the road. She clutched her shawl against her body and bowed her head against the wind. At least it was unseasonably warm for that early in the year.

She looked like a queen, dressed in an evening gown that Clarence had chosen for her. The dark blue gown had an open neck and wrap front, and tiny pleats at the tops of the sleeves, which were short but very full. The bodice clung tightly to her lythe torso and her tiny waistline was accentuated by a thick belt and gold buckle. This only made her skirts look even fuller, the blue cloth trying to take over the wooden wagon seat.

She wore a pair of gold earrings set with bright blue stones and a gold necklace that matched. The set had been given to Clarence in the inheritance, a gift from his long dead grandmother, who had willed then to Clarence's father. He had had the dress handmade by a talented seamstress to match them.

Clarence had agonized over where to ask her as much as he had worried about the details of the wedding that he was already planning. He escorted her to a dance where he could publicly show off this treasure that he now had claim to. He relished the jealousy of the other men in a way, and wanted everyone to know he had staked his claim.

During the dance, held at the home of a wealthy local business man, Clarence escorted Lenoir to the terrace overlooking the flower garden. This part he wanted to do privately, in case it proved overwhelming for her or God forbid she say no.

The terrace had hedges sculpted to either side of an area layed with cobblestone. Benches and marble sculptures trimmed the manicured landscape, where roses rambled and cherry trees would soon welcome the first rays of spring sunshine.

Their faces lit by a nearby lamp post, Clarence faced Lenoir. He was humbled by her beauty and greatful for this opportunity that he had been praying for.

"Are you having a good time?" He asked her, wanting everything to be perfect as possible.

"Yes." She smiled, "Thank you for bringing me tonight."

"It is a beautiful night," He said, "It would have been a great shame for you to miss it."

They both held hands between them and looked up at the stars. Where they aligning?

Lenoir wasn't sure, but she knew she felt like she wanted to float off into those stars. She was light headed from the cinch of her belt and the taste of spiked punch on her lips.

Clarence wanted to taste those lips desperately. His heart throbbed in his broad chest and his body ached to know her more intimately. His blue eyes looked back at her angelic face, turned to the stars, as he lowered to one knee.

Still holding her hands he said, "Lenoir,"

She looked back into his eyes and gasped, seeing him kneeling before her.

"I feel so blessed to have met you. Always you are near my every thought. Will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife."

Lenoir held his hand and hoped it would keep her upright as she felt, for a moment, like she might faint. Regaining composure she gently reached up and brushed the blonde hair across his temple over his ear. Her voice was sweet and silky, "Yes. I will marry you Mr. George. "

"Please, darling, call me Clarence." He hugged her as best he could around such a full skirt. Stepping a half step back he kissed her fingers and pulled her back to the dancing.