he sometimes rode and sometimes drove. He told John Gentry that he did not pretend to be a horseman but he knew some horsemen, and he knew that, among these horsemen, John Gentry had a good reputation for breeding both mules and horses. The upper part of the farm was rich pasture, and the hay fields were cultivated like the hemp fields, with plenty of manure tilled in.
Mr. Bell and Beatrice began to take lovely walks toward evening in these sections of the farm—sometimes Elizabeth and Margaret watched them out the back attic windows, but they never saw them do anything interesting. Beatrice strode along and Mr. Bell trotted to keep up with her. The sisters had been weighing the likelihood of a proposal for several weeks by that time. At night, in whispers, Elizabeth and Margaret figured the odds. They both agreed that the odds were two to one in favor of a proposal, so there was not much to discuss. When they brought this up with Beatrice, she resisted “counting my chickens.” Even so, a proposal looked more and more like the favorite. The odds should realistically have been pegged closer to three to two, or even five to four, in favor of a proposal, especially since Margaret and Elizabeth knew that Beatrice was unlikely to do anything unusual that would throw the proposal into doubt. A book Margaret had read was Jane Eyre. In that book, the parents of Bertha—Rochester’s wife, who lives in the attic and burns the house down—had been quite secretive before the marriage of Mr. Rochester and Bertha. There was none of that in Missouri. If you didn’t divulge the skeletons in your closet to a stranger (should you be lucky enough to make acquaintance with a stranger), your neighbors and friends would divulge them for you. In short, what with the medicinal uses of hemp, the herd of equines, the flourishing hay crop, the tinkling of the piano, Alice’s pork étouffé, and John Gentry’s questionable state of health and lack of male heirs, Beatrice and Mr. Bell were betrothed not long after cessation of hostilities in the Spanish War. He rode out to inform them of that event as soon as the dispatch came in; because it was late, he stayed overnight at the farm and proposed to Beatrice the following morning.
In the books that Margaret read, the young lady in receipt of a proposal always found herself astonished and embarrassed—she blushed with happiness and could barely speak at the thought of marriage. Margaret would have been surprised if Beatrice had summoned up such a performance.
THE WEDDING was set for the fifteenth of December. Lavinia and Beatrice spent the autumn reconsidering every item that Beatrice had stowed away in her chest in light of her new circumstances. Yes, her new people lived on Kingshighway in St. Louis, but she and Robert would be living in their town. Yes, he owned and ran the newspaper, but she was the daughter of Gentry Farm, and everyone knew her perfectly well. They hemmed the tablecloths and monogrammed the bed linen, crocheted edgings around the napkins. Margaret helped with the laundering—they bleached and starched and pressed everything. Where there were pleats, she steamed them out and ironed them in until they were exactly right. Lavinia considered how the ladies in town would be looking for signs, signs that Beatrice was thinking too well of herself, or that she did not think well enough of herself, signs that their father’s demise had taken a sharper toll on the family than Lavinia had let on, signs that their father’s demise had taken less of a toll on his daughters than it should have. Signs that her grandfather was failing, or that her mother was less fortunate and perspicacious than she appeared. They did not actually talk of these things, but every time Lavinia shook her head and decided that some napkin or pillow slip or apron or collar had to be altered, Margaret knew what she was thinking.
Beatrice and Lavinia went to St. Louis on the train with Robert to meet his parents. They came home five days later with a bicycle of the new style, with two wheels of equal diameter and a wide seat. It belonged to Robert’s only sister, a girl of sixteen named Dora. Robert had prevailed upon Dora to loan it to Beatrice as a betrothal favor, while Dora was visiting cousins in Springfield, Illinois. Margaret and Elizabeth were to have the bicycle