avoiding my other question. Do you think this marriage is a mistake?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. Of course I want Henry to be happy. He deserves it more than anyone I know. I only wish that—”
“Dearly beloved.” Reverend Daniel Patterson, the pastor of the church in town, smiled at the assembled guests. “We’re here on this fine spring morning to join Henry Bell and Mary Stanhope in holy matrimony. Anybody has an objection, best to say so now.”
Carrie looked up at her brother. Henry winked at her and reached for Mary’s hand. The two young hooligans poked each other and giggled. Carrie looked heavenward. Did Henry Bell have any idea what he was taking on?
“There being no objections, we’ll proceed. Henry, Mary, hear these words of God.” Mr. Patterson opened his Bible and in a strong solemn voice read from 1 Corinthians: “Charity . . . beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.”
Carrie watched her brother’s weathered face come alive with hope and promise and regretted her own lack of it. Shouldn’t she be grateful that Henry had found love so late in his life? If a readymade family was what he wanted, who was she to object? It wasn’t as if Henry was kicking her out. He expected Carrie to remain in the house until her own wedding day. He’d fixed up a room in the attic for Mary’s boys, and Mary would share his room, of course. There was no reason for Carrie to be displaced at all. And with another woman in the house to share the chores, Carrie would have more time for herself. It sounded so pleasant and sensible. Why did she feel so desolate?
“Amen.” The preacher closed his Bible and smiled at the newlyweds. “Those whom our Lord has seen fit to join together, let no one put asunder.”
Carrie watched Henry kiss his new bride and said a silent prayer for their happiness. Her sons danced around Henry, yelling, “Pa! Pa!”
“Come on, everybody,” Henry called. “Let’s eat.”
Carrie hung back, allowing the guests to fill their plates, her gaze searching the empty road.
“Carrie?” Mariah Whiting and Eugenie Spencer, her closest friends from church, crossed the yard, carrying plates and glasses.
“You’d better get some food before it’s all gone,” Eugenie said.
“We’ll save you a place over there.” Mariah indicated a shady patch of grass near the fence. “Ada’s joining us too. It’ll be like old times.”
“Did someone say my name?” Ada appeared behind Mariah with her plate.
“Let’s go sit,” Mariah said. “I can’t wait to hear all about Texas.”
The four friends seated themselves on the grass, their skirts billowing around them, and took up their forks.
“First of all,” Eugenie said, “tell us about Wade and Sophie.”
“Sophie’s doing wonderfully well,” Ada began. “Last year she won a prize for a poem she wrote for a magazine. Wyatt was so proud he had it framed and mounted it on the wall in the dining room. Sophie said it was nothing special, but I know she was pleased. She adores Wyatt. Always has.” Ada smiled. “At first he wasn’t sure about taking her with us to Texas, but neither of us has regretted it for a moment. We think of her as our own.”
“Is she hoping to write for the newspapers?” Mariah popped a strawberry into her mouth and closed her eyes, sighing in appreciation. “I remember she was quite taken with Patsy Greer’s typewriting machine.”
“Perhaps. Last fall she met a correspondent for the Dallas Herald, Mrs. Aurelia Mohl. Sophie was quite impressed.” Ada paused to take a bite of wedding cake. “Of course, Sophie is only fifteen. She changes her mind about as often as she changes her hat. One moment she wants to study medicine. The next, she talks about coming back here to run the newspaper.”
“I’m surprised she’d even think of coming back here, after the way the other children treated her.”
Ada nodded. “Children reflect the attitudes of their elders. I’m thankful Sophie survived her years at the orphanage. But the experience left her feeling that she has something to prove.”
“I admire the child’s spunk.” Eugenie sipped her lemonade. “Has she had any trouble in Texas because of her mixed blood?”
“No one there knows.”
Carrie’s eyes widened. “She’s passing for white?”
“Yes. Wyatt and I feel it’s best. Texas has become such a jumble of people since the war, nobody gives Sophie a second look. She isn’t the only one who has crossed that invisible line.”
“But, Ada, what about when she grows