Page 17 of Part of Your World

A low whistle filled the air as Laraline’s eyes danced. “Girl, you don’t do things halfway, do you?” She chuckled. “I think you snagged yourself an Erickson.”

“Erickson?”

Laraline nodded. “Yep. Not too many Zanes around these parts. And only one Clem I can recall. Clement Erickson. Self-made man in the cotton industry. His son, Horace, is the real powerhouse in the family, though. Runs the Cotton Exchange and, with it, half the town. He’s got a boy named Zane. Used to come over to Trimble House often. Young master Max and he were best friends. Still are, as far as I know. Fine lookin’ gent, that Zane. Polite, too. Always ready with a kind word for the staff. You can tell a lot about a man by how he treats those beneath his notice.”

Muriel’s speeding pulse zinged her blood about at such a pace that she grew a little lightheaded. “Ye met Zane during yer time at Trimble House? Oh, Laraline! I knew ye’d be the right person to ask. Surely, this is a sign from heaven.”

A chuckle warmed the air. “Easy, gal. Don’t go shapin’ your rolls before they’ve had a chance to rise. Take the time to see the job done right. Though, I gotta admit, I feel better about this fishing expedition now that I know who you’re anglin’ for. Mr. Zane’s a gentleman. Takes after his grandpa, that one. His father, on the other hand, well, let’s just say his apple fell a fair ways from the tree. And took on a few worms.”

Zane Erickson. She had a name. Now all she needed was an introduction.

“Catching a man like Zane ain’t gonna be easy,” Laraline continued as if she’d read Muriel’s mind. “Folks like the Ericksons look for matches among their own kind. They won’t let a gal like you anywhere near their son without someone to vouch for you. There’s only one person I can think of who could get you in the door.”

“Who?”

“The Match Maven. Octavia Underhill.”

The Match Maven? Muriel had heard whispers of such a person, but she’d assumed they’d been based more in myth than truth. Had she really brought a hundred couples together? How romantic! Surely she’d help Muriel connect with the man of her dreams.

“Where can I find her?”

Laraline tapped a finger on the tabletop. “St. Ursula’s by the Sea.”

Muriel frowned. “She’s a nun?” Seemed a rather odd hobby for a woman of the cloth.

“A nun?” Laraline cackled. “Heavens no. She’s a widow. Teaches at the Ursuline Academy, though. Music, I think. From what I’ve heard, she was one of the academy’s first graduates back before the War Between the States. After her husband passed, she returned to the academy as a teacher. Never had any children of her own, so she devotes herself to her students and helps them find advantageous matches in her spare time. Apparently, she’s quite good at it. Before I left Trimble House, I heard that the mistress was considering hiring Mrs. Underhill to find a match for the young master if he didn’t see about the business himself.” Laraline shrugged. “I don’t know if Mrs. Underhill will take you on since you ain’t one of her students, but I suppose it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

Then ask was precisely what Muriel would do.

A school of overactive minnows swam about in Muriel’s stomach the following afternoon as she walked past the chapel on Avenue N and arrived at the academy. The iron gate creaked as she pushed it inward. The sound echoed loudly in Muriel’s ears, doing nothing to calm the fish frenzy in her belly.

She pressed a hand to her midsection and practiced the breathing technique she used to expand her lungs for swimming longer distances underwater. After releasing her breath in a slow, controlled exhale, her pulse steadied enough for her to stroll up the walkway without mishap. She opened the door and stepped inside, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dimmer light.

“May I help you?” A nun rose from behind a desk, her black habit swishing quietly about her as she stepped forward.

She smiled at Muriel, her face sweet and remarkably young. Muriel had been expecting a glowering, wrinkled visage with eyes that saw every sin she’d ever committed, but this Ursuline sister looked to be around Alana’s age and her gaze exuded nothing but kindness.

“I’m here to see Mrs. Underhill.”

The young nun dipped her chin. “I see. Is she expecting you?”

Muriel swallowed and rubbed her quickly moistening palm along the edge of her best dress, a green muslin dotted with small yellow flowers. “Nay. I’ve come to seek her help with a personal matter. Mrs. Catherine Trimble recommended her services.” Perhaps not to Muriel, personally, but a secondhand recommendation still counted.

The nun seemed to recognize the Trimble name, for her smile widened. “Ah. Celeste Trimble graduated from our academy last year. Lovely young woman. Mrs. Underhill should be finishing her music instruction in a few minutes, though things might run over. Our pupils will be giving a recital next week, and Mrs. Underhill strives for perfection.” Had her smile become a tad strained at that observation? Perhaps not. Her expression seemed as gentle as ever as she regarded Muriel. “May I ask your name, miss?”

“Oh, yes. I’m Muriel Quinn, ma’am.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Quinn. I’m Sister Mary Vincent.” A hand previously hidden within her black sleeve appeared and gestured toward a bench positioned along the side wall. “Please, have a seat. I will let Mrs. Underhill know that you are here.”

But Mrs. Underhill had no reason to see her. Making matches for Galveston’s elite would have acquainted her with all members of the wealthy set. The name Quinn held no prestige beyond the docks. What if she turned Muriel away without ever giving her the opportunity to plead her case? She couldn’t take that risk. This might be her only chance to meet the Match Maven. She had to see her in person.

“Could I observe the end of her class?” Muriel blurted. She offered a smile in hopes of covering her desperation. “I’m a musician, myself. A soloist for the Grace Church choir.”

Oh, dear. Muriel nibbled on the inside of her lip. In an effort to portray herself as both musical and religious, had she just committed the sin of pride? Right in front of a nun? Sister Mary Vincent might be young, but she probably still had supernatural nun knowledge, including the ability to spot heart impurities at twenty paces.

“I don’t suppose there would be any harm in that.” Her eyes warmed with humor that did little to ease Muriel’s guilt.

She’d clearly detected Muriel’s selfish motives, but like the God she served, she opted to bestow grace in place of condemnation. Muriel’s heart sent a prayer of thanks heavenward.