TWO
Annette's fingers shook as she sat in front of her typewriter. At her father's request, she had left the office and returned home. For now, nobody but the two of them was to know the true identity of the writer.
Closing her eyes, she said a silent prayer that the good Lord would guide her mind in the direction she needed to take in order to succeed in this endeavor. She had to prove her father wrong. She must make him see that she was a great writer!
As she stared at the blank page in the typewriter, her mind spun in several directions, but all road led back to one topic. Love.
She frowned and tapped her fingernails on the desk in her bedroom. Love? Although the topic appealed to women, would it appeal to men as well?
Groaning, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk as she pushed her fingers through her hair. Think Annette! Was it the timeline stress that had caused her mind to go blank and a throb to beat against her skull?
A noise coming from the main floor of the two-story house brought her out of her thoughts. She snapped upright and listened closer. Although they had one maid and one cook, they didn't stay in the house constantly, and this was not the time of day when they came to work, either.
She moved away from her desk and walked to her door. As she slowly opened it, she heard the footsteps on the stairs. Her heartbeat quickened in fear and she closed the door so that whoever had entered her home couldn't see her right away. She continued to peek through the small space left open, holding her breath.
The footsteps grew closer until a shadow passed in front of her door. When she recognized the man's tall frame, wide shoulders, and black hair, she expelled a relieved sigh. She opened the door and stepped out of the room, startling Peter Fletcher. He jumped and stopped suddenly. His eyes widened as though he hadn't expected to see her.
"Annette," he gasped.
"Sweet nublets, Peter. You nearly scared me to death. What are you doing here at this time of day?"
"Your father sent me. Since we'll be working late tonight, he wanted me to fetch the ointment he rubs on his fingers when they ache."
"Oh, yes. He does need that, especially for long days." She stepped past him. "Let me show you where it's at."
He followed behind as she made her way toward her father's room, which was just down the hall.
"I'm surprised that you are here," Peter said. "I thought you would have been out on some buggy ride with Henry Peck."
She stopped and met Peter's stare, her heart crushing once more just thinking about that man.
Peter grinned and bumped his elbow against hers. "He's sure been sweet on you lately."
Not knowing what to say to keep the tears from reappearing again, she quickly entered her father's bedroom and to the bed stand. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, and she hoped they'd not make an appearance. She wasn't prepared to tell Peter why she was crying. He wouldn't care anyway, she was sure.
Taking a steady breath, she calmed her uprising emotions as she grabbed the ointment. When she turned, she noticed Peter stood out in the hallway. It surprised her that he hadn't followed, but she was relieved to know he was a true gentleman and knew not to be in a bedroom with an unmarried woman, even if she was a spinster.
She returned to his side and set the ointment in his hand. As she raised her gaze to his face, she hesitantly peered into his eyes. He looked at her differently as if he actually cared that her eyes were still watery.
"Annette? What's wrong?"
Not often did he call her by her first name, and it surprised her to hear him do so now. His expression was filled with empathy, and it tugged on her heart.
"I... I..." She swallowed hard. "Nothing is wrong."
He arched an eyebrow and folded his arms. "This morning, I noticed your eyes were red and teary, and now, you look as if you're ready to cry."
He noticed? That shocked her just as much. It surprised her that she didn't want to bawl out her frustrations, but instead, elation flowed through her to think he'd actually noticed. "I'm sorry you had to see me that way. I wasn't having a very good morning."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She held in her breath. Was he serious? He couldn't be. Men never wanted to talk about a woman's feelings – at least the men she'd courted. "No, but thank you."
He gave her a small smile. Why hadn't she noticed before that he had hazel eyes?
"Then I'd better be getting back to the newspaper. It's like your father always says—"
"Newspapers don't sell themselves," she said along with him.
He chuckled with her, nodding. "I suppose you would know that phrase better than I would."
"Well, I have been helping my father since I was a young girl."
He turned and slowly started back down the hallway, and she followed. She hadn't realized until now that they'd never had a conversation just the two of them. Father had always been with them, and the topics had always been politics and the newspaper.
She touched his arm. "Peter, before you go, do you mind answering a question for me?"
He stopped near the top of the staircase and turned toward her. "What do you need to know?"
"Have you courted many women?"
The question must have caught him off-guard because his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. Thankfully, he regained composure quickly. "I've courted my share. Why do you ask?"
"What do men in general think of love?"
He blinked several times as if he didn't understand the question. Then he slowly shook his head. "Love? Are you referring to love between a man and a woman?"
"Yes. Are all men focused on how much a woman brings into the marriage rather than loving her for herself?"
He stared at her, and she couldn't quite figure out his expression, but she felt as if he pitied her. She would not tolerate that.
"I have a few minutes," he said. "Let's go down in the sitting room and discuss this further."
She walked with him down the stairs and to the sitting room. Her heartbeat thudded faster, and she twisted her hands against her middle. Would she like what he was going to tell her? Perhaps there was a secret code that only men knew about and didn't share with women, which could explain why the men who had courted her had been only after her father's money.
They sat on the couch together. After she was comfortable, it occurred to her that she should offer him some tea or coffee. After all, a good hostess would do that. Her dearly departed mother would have done that.
"Can I assume," he began with a sigh, "that this has something to do with Henry Peck?"
She clutched her hands together and tried to keep them still on her lap. "Not just Henry, but Jonathan, Tobias, Leroy, and Gerald."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I had high hopes that you and Henry would have found love."
She shrugged. "I had thought I'd found it, but apparently, he only found it in my father's bank. However, from what I'd seen this morning, I think Henry also saw it in Miss Stanhope's arms."
His frown deepened and he touched her clasped hands. "I'm so sorry. No wonder you looked as if you'd been crying earlier."
"Which is why," she cleared her throat, "I wonder what's wrong with men... or is there something drastically wrong with me that nobody has told me about?"
"Nothing is wrong with you, Annette. You have a kind heart. You also have a wealthy father who is pretty powerful in this town."
"What does that have to do with love?"
"That means that men are going to look at you and see dollar signs, especially men who aren't wealthy." His thumb slowly moved back and forth across her hand in a light caress.
"Are you saying I should find a rich man and hope that he can fall in love with me?"
He chuckled. "No, because then you'd just be marrying him for his money, too."
She huffed. "Which brings us back around to the main problem. I swear I don't understand any of this."
"If it makes you feel any better, men can't figure out women, either."
She rolled her eyes. "No, that doesn't make me feel any better at all."
He squeezed her hands. "Don't give up hope, though. You'll find the man perfect for you, and then you'll be grateful all those others didn't ask for your hand in marriage."
"Sadly, no." She sighed heavily. "I'll embrace the life of spinsterhood. I'm tired of getting my heart broken."
Peter stood. "If you start spinsterhood this early, I fear you're going to break many hearts."
She snorted a laugh. "Then it was those men's fault for not treating me any better. I just cannot stand men who lie."
Smiling, he caressed her cheek. "That's the way to think."
"Thanks, Peter. I'm very grateful you took the time to talk to me."
"Anytime." He winked before turning and leaving the room.
She wasn't sure if their talk had helped her or not, but it made her more agitated. She jumped up and hurried back to her bedroom. She and the typewriter would become very close today, and yet, pouring out her feeling in her article probably wasn't the best thing to do. After all, she needed to professional.
She sat at her desk and stared at the typewriter as she positioned the tips of her fingers over the keys. Breathing slowly, she cleared her mind, waiting for some inspiration. Unfortunately, the talk she had with Peter left her upset. How could she stop thinking about that?
Courtship: A love-hate relationship.
From the beginning of time as we know it, men and women have courted in an effort to see if they were compatible enough for marriage. Yet, who is to say this is the correct method? Many countries have arranged marriages. Couples don't have a choice but must wed the person their family has arranged for them. Remarkably enough, these types of couples know they have to work with each other in order to create a marriage where they can grow into love and acceptance.
I know many women and men who fail at the current method of courtship. Some men are focused on finding the most beautiful woman or the wealthiest, while some women are searching for a man who will make the best provider or the best lover. Both men and women are looking for things that can be unreasonable at times. Why can't they accept the other for their true worth, instead of the disguise they wear when courting?
Will there ever be a time when people can just be themselves? What must be done in order for people to be themselves instead of concealing what's truly in their heart?
Written by – The Lovelorn
Annette sat back and reread the short article, trying to see if it was obvious that the writer was a woman. Just as in her stories while writing the male character, she mentally stepped into his shoes. Men could get hurt from a wrong courtship, just like a woman. So, perhaps this article would work for her father. She also hoped it would generate some interest in the city, or at least, have people write to the paper and make suggestions.