The Scholar (Emerson Pass Historicals 3) - Page 8

“We have to be out by the end of the month,” Father said.

My mind couldn’t grasp any of this. I looked around our small, tidy kitchen. It was all I’d known since I’d moved in with the Linds when I was nine years old. We would be homeless.

“But why would they do this?” I asked out loud.

“From what I can gather, Mrs. Poe would like more fire and brimstone,” Father said. “And less encouragement about how the love of Jesus can save any sinner.”

“Isn’t that the main message of Jesus?” I asked, flabbergasted. Before I’d come to live with the Linds, I hadn’t known much about being a Christian. We hadn’t even had a Bible in our ramshackle house. But they’d quickly rectified that, teaching me of the ways of the Lord. I’d come to understand how daily talks with God could change a battered heart.

“What will we do?” I asked.

Mother sighed. “Do what we’ve always done, move on.”

“To another church?” I couldn’t believe my ears. This was our home. “Can’t you simply retire? We could find another house here in Emerson Pass.” Father was in his mid-sixties. He’d been working hard all his life, always there for his flock.

Father took off his wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief. “My salary was barely enough to live on and with your mother’s operation last year, we’re out of money. There’s nothing left. I don’t know what we can do, other than find another church. There are small towns sprouting up all over the country. Surely I can find another position. We always have before.”

The idea of leaving Emerson Pass seemed inconceivable. We belonged here. All our friends were here. Frustration made me tremble. What had been the point of sending me to school? “Why, in heaven’s name, did you send me to finishing school? I should have stayed here and worked.”

“We wanted you to find a wealthy young man who could take care of you,” Father said. “I thought it was your best chance of meeting the right sort of people.”

“Right sort of people? You’re my people. I didn’t want to get married and leave either of you or Emerson Pass. This is my home.”

He put his glasses back on, tucking the flexible temples around the backs of his ears in a gesture I knew very well. “Louisa, you have to think about yourself. We’re not going to live much longer. A husband is your only opportunity.”

“Opportunity? For what?”

“Survival.”

I stared at him as tears of anger dampened my cheeks. “Father, why didn’t you send me to school for something practical? I could have become a teacher or a nurse.”

“Neither of those professions is something you can do and have a family. Do you want to be an old maid?” Mother asked.

I was astounded by their reaction. Had I not known how much they wanted me to marry? Neither had ever expressed it in such a blunt fashion. Perhaps they should have. I’d thought they were content to have me stay with them forever. That idea had been shortsighted. I could see that now. However, the idea of either of them dying on me was so heartbreaking, I couldn’t even think about it.

“I thought you wanted me to stay with you,” I said. “I’ve been useful to you, haven’t I?”

Mother’s eyes filled with tears. “Louisa, I told you from the beginning that we weren’t adopting you because we couldn’t afford a housekeeper. You’re our daughter, not our maid.”

“Is that what you’ve thought?” Father asked. “That we needed you?”

“Well, don’t you?” I asked. “I’m young and strong. And a good cook.” I mumbled the last part.

“Do you not want to marry because of us?” Mother asked. “Because that’s not a good reason.”

“I don’t want to marry because, well, I just don’t want to.”

“As much as we love you, we want you to have a life of your own,” Mother said. “A family of your own.”

“We thought finishing school would bring exactly that,” Father said. “Didn’t you wonder why we were sending you in the first place?”

“I…I guess I didn’t,” I said. “I thought you wanted to refine me so that I would be more of an asset at the church. Anyway, how was I supposed to meet a young man at a girls’ school?”

“By becoming friends with your classmates who would then introduce you to brothers and cousins,” Father said with obvious irritation in his voice. “Louisa, I don’t understand you.”

That much was clear.

“But what about Flynn?” Father asked. “You liked him.”

Tags: Tess Thompson Emerson Pass Historicals Historical
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