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“Since you are determined to force your way into something not your concern, yes. It did.”
“And—um—you’re lookin’ to accept a proposal from some mail order husband you know nothin’ about?”
Hannah sighed, lightly applied her napkin, and put aside her utensils. “No.”
“Well, then, what?”
“I’m only exploring the possibilities, Gabe. I’ve not committed to anything. But that man is looking for true happiness like me. I was drawn to his words, to his ad. I can’t very well say yes or no to what you might consider a proposal when I’ve just now decided to pen my first letter. Can you understand a single part of my reasoning?”
“Now you’re callin’ me stupid, Miss Burton, and I don’t appreciate that one iota.”
“Do you ever listen to anyone else? Or do you just like hearing the sound of your own voice continuously raised in dissentious discourse?” She was glaring at him across the small table, ready to jump up and literally throw her unwelcome guest out the door.
“I came here tryin’ to do a nice thing, and all I get is yelled at. No thanks, no gratitude, just snippin’ and snipin’. I’m beginnin’ to b’lieve we need a referee even to just break bread together!”
Per her own standards for office appearance, Hannah’s dress was one of her simplest, high-collared and narrow-skirted; her luxuriant black hair had been scraped back into an unwieldy knot from which long tendrils had, under stress, escape
d. “I don’t see how or why you—”
Fuming, he pushed back his chair and jerked upright to stamp a few feet away, then back, then away again.
Reining in her own fit of pique, Hannah used trembling hands to neatly pile everything together—plate, knife and fork, napkin—for return transport to Gabe’s choice of restaurant. A spate of fury, unchecked, tends to send the blood pressure skyrocketing and the heartbeat racing. Truly, such a gathering storm can result in dire consequences, both physical and emotional, and needs time to cool down. Hannah, recognizing the symptoms of outrage in herself, realized she must make the effort to disperse it.
Finally, Gabe let out a snort and stormed to his chair once again. “All right. All right. I’ll sit and listen to your story. Quietly. It won’t be easy, but I won’t make a peep.”
“Gabriel.” Fingers clasped tightly together, she drew in a deep breath. “What makes you think I have a story to tell you?”
“Well, goldarn it, Hannah, for sure somethin’ has got into your craw to make you go off the deep end. Are you so dead-set on gettin’ married?”
She couldn’t meet his gaze, that keen virescent gaze that saw too much. “I—I’m not sure. I don’t know. Possibly. Probably. Sometimes I like to be alone, and sometimes—I don’t. Sometimes I think I would like to—to share my life with someone who—someone who cares for me...”
Silence from the man. The rather stunned silence of an audience who is unprepared for the true unburdening of another human heart. Hannah, with a small shaky quiver of laughter, dashed away the few tears that had gathered.
“If you tell anyone what I just told you—and didn’t mean to—Gabriel Havers, I will hunt you down like a dog and rip the innards out of you,” she threatened on a surge of embarrassment.
Easily he shrugged that off. “Well, I sure would prefer to keep from bein’ disemboweled. Of course I won’t tell anyone, Hannah. I’m hurt that you might even consider I would. So why this guy?”
“W-W-What?”
“Your potential husband, the one you’re writin’ to. Why him in particular?”
Sniffling just a little, she glanced away again, shamefaced. “I didn’t find that many notices posted in the Gazette, or any other big city papers here in the office. And there was something that grabbed me. He just wants to be happy. And that’s what I want. I want someone to share my life with. I want to laugh with that someone special. I just want to feel loved. I just want a husband that is my soulmate. But the ads, well, most of those were—were—”
“Mongrels?” suggested Gabriel, with a small grin.
“Well, I don’t know. But they just sounded so—sad... This one really captured my heart. Because he wants what I want. And that’s very important to me.”
“Was it now, by golly?”
“Yes. And so I’m going to write to this man, and see if he answers, and whether we can keep up a decent correspondence. And you can’t stop me,” she finished up defiantly.
“Oh, honey bun, I wouldn’t dream of it. You go ahead and send letters back and forth to your heart’s content.” Suddenly cheerful, he rose and began gathering things together to pile haphazardly, and with a great deal of noise, into the wooden box. “Will you let me know how this mystical communication gets on?”
“Why, I—I don’t know. Why should I?”
Amazingly, he bent forward slightly to cup her chin in one of his big rough hands. “Because, Miss Burton, I am a family friend of long standin’, and I’m a nosy ole galoot, b’sides. I wanna keep track of what’s goin’ on. Okay? I just don’t want you to get your heart trampled on.”
Without further ado, he wrapped a long scarf around his bare throat and pulled his banded black wool derby down over his tousled hair. The wind had picked up its efforts to dislodge anything fastened down, and it would be less than pleasant to plunge on outside from this semi-warm (if you discounted Hannah’s presence) interior.
