Chapter 3
POV: Sorsha
I was rather annoyed that I’d bathed yesterday. I would have preferred smelling of fertilizer while marrying this Callum chap.
Wearing the new dress, all white and two sizes too big, I suspected it was supposed to be a wedding dress, but as those were expensive, my father likely bought whatever was on sale. I didn’t know how much money they’d been offered, but I knew he wouldn’t spend more on me than he had to.
I also knew they hadn’t thought further than their noses, and once the money ran out, what then?
Ryan hitched Mabel to the cart and spread out my old dress for me to sit on. Hopping up, I looked down and almost laughed at the state of my shoes compared to the dress.
In fact, all I wanted to do was laugh, because if I didn’t, I would cry and never stop.
I couldn’t remember the last time I sat on the cart, the swaying making me slightly seasick.
We passed the blacksmith, but for once, he wasn’t at his forge, and I felt a little sad that I didn’t get to look at him one last time.
My worst fear was that this Callum chap was twice my age, and now I realized why I couldn’t find my papers yesterday—they must have taken them to the magistrate as proof.
How unlucky. One day earlier, and I would have been far away from here.
People stopped to look as we entered Bridgeford. Ryan was smiling at all the women, but they all looked away, their noses crinkling slightly. They knew he was a no-good, and no woman in her right mind would go near him, regardless of his good looks.
The magistrate’s office came into view, and Ryan brought Mabel to a halt and tethered her to the pole.
My father offered his hand smilingly, but I ignored it. If there weren’t so many people around, I would have spat on it.
Why were there so many people around?
Mostly women—and they were all sending me venomous looks.
I followed my father into a small office with a table and chairs. The magistrate, Bartholomew Paulsen, a spindly old fellow, stood waiting, nose in the air, and waved us in.
One other person stood at the window, the bright light shining through making it impossible to see who it was.
Must be that Callum chap. His stature was not small; in fact, he was very tall. Squinting, I took a step closer, my jaw dropping open.
It couldn’t be…
Was that his name?
“Miss Quinn and Mr. Sullivan, please be seated,” the magistrate said, placing a paper on the table.
I couldn’t move as I watched Sully step to the table, pull out a chair for me, and cock his head slightly. Sully was short for Sullivan?
My father gave me a shove, and I hastily sat down, completely dumbfounded. Both Ryan and he looked just as surprised to see that it was Sully.
Sully sat down next to me, his gaze trained on the magistrate.
“Right, as the contract was signed yesterday and you already received the money order, all that is left is the signatures on the marriage certificate.”
I couldn’t stop staring at Sully—Mr. Callum Sullivan.
Uncapping the fountain pen, he signed the certificate in a flowing hand.
He’d obviously learned to read and write.
I wasn’t even allowed to attend school.
Oh God, how was I supposed to sign my name?
He held the fountain pen for me and moved the certificate closer. I stared down at it like it could bite me.
What to do now? Would he change his mind when he found out I was illiterate? Why had he offered marriage?
Was it out of pity?
Or did he like me? No, that couldn’t be it.
There were scores of women who came from better families; in fact, they were all standing outside and hating me for taking the most eligible bachelor away.
“Squeeze some ink onto her thumb,” my father chuckled. “She can’t read or write.”
Sully’s head snapped up, but I couldn’t look, too embarrassed by my father’s words. Diligently, I squeezed ink onto my thumb and marked the page.
Sully got to his feet and waited for me.
Lifting the chair before pushing it back so that it wouldn’t scrape against the floor, I got to my feet.
“Well, that’s it then,” Ryan laughed.
“No refunds,” my father chuckled.
I squeezed my eyes shut in embarrassment, still in disbelief that someone like Sully would want me—especially with the type of family I had.
“Remember what it says in the contract,” Sully said.
Ryan laughed. “Never speaking to my sister again won’t be a problem.”
The magistrate cleared his throat. “It says more than that. You may never approach Mr. and Mrs. Callum Sullivan unless you want to go to prison. Understand?”
Prison?
How clever.
Callum Sullivan—such a refined name—had safeguarded against them asking for more money.
A momentary expression of worry passed my father’s face, but Ryan pulled him toward the door.
“Let’s go to that guesthouse and have pork chops and good whiskey,” he suggested.
A smile lit my father’s face, and without saying goodbye or anything, they left.
Grasping my forearm gently, Callum pulled me out the door and into the open, and my heart sank. The crowd hadn’t dissipated—quite the opposite.
“Callum?” a man shouted from somewhere. “You’ve really dipped your hand in the shit now.”
Callum froze and turned in the direction the shout had come from and said in an ice-cold voice, “I guess I’ll be looking for a new supplier.”
There was a pregnant silence before the man pleaded, “Sorry, forgive me. I didn’t mean it. Sorsha is lovely, it’s just her family.”
Callum’s hands spanned my waist and lifted me onto the cart, and I heard a collective sigh coming from the women, but I kept my head down.
For all I knew, he played the gentleman in public and turned cruel in private. I didn’t want to believe it, but I couldn’t let hope blind me.
Stroking Mabel’s neck, he then scratched between her ears before leading her through the crowd and toward my new home.
My breath hitched at the thought.
But we hadn’t even left the market when he stopped and tethered Mabel again. Nervously, I looked around and realized we’d stopped directly in front of Nora’s—a store that sold dresses, hats, and shoes.
Callum lifted me off the cart and ushered me inside. I wished he would talk more, but it seemed he only spoke when absolutely necessary.
“I have them ready,” Nora said with a smile, showing me three dresses hanging from a rod, with three pairs of shoes placed neatly below.
Three dresses?
Oh—I was supposed to choose one.
Stepping closer, I examined each one and finally chose the one in the middle. It was made of sturdier fabric and would last longer. I picked the matching pair of shoes—canvas, much softer than the ones I had on, and more importantly, not falling apart.
“You don’t like the other two?” Nora asked.
“I do, but this one’s best for me,” I replied with a smile.
She grinned and looked up at Callum. I’d almost forgotten he was there.
“Mr. Sullivan paid for three dresses with matching shoes,” she informed me.
I turned in surprise.
Was he wealthy?
“I—I…” I stammered, not knowing what to say. I felt overwhelmed and undeserving. “You don’t need to buy three. One is enough,” I finally managed, my voice more high-pitched than usual.
“You can’t only have one dress,” he said, his cheeks going blood red.
“Let me pack this up,” Nora chimed in. “I’ve also added underwear, nightclothes, and a cardigan; autumn is on the way. If something doesn’t fit, just let me know, and we can exchange it. But I have a good eye—I can usually judge people’s sizes. The dresses have a little room, too.
You’ll probably gain a bit of weight once you’re eating regular meals.”
I nodded. My cheeks felt as hot as Callum’s had been. How completely embarrassing. Had he asked her to do that, or had Nora suggested it?
In next to no time, Nora packed everything in brown paper and handed the parcel to me. I looked up at Callum briefly but couldn’t hold his gaze.
“Thank you,” I whispered, very close to tears.
He nodded, and we left the store.
This time, I jumped up onto the cart before he could lift me. I turned sideways and stared at the back of his head all the way home, my mind racing. I’d never have to speak to Ryan or my father ever again? It felt surreal.
I had three dresses and wouldn’t have to wait for one to dry before wearing it. I’d often worn my dress while it was still damp—sometimes even wet.
Such a luxury, to have three pairs of shoes.
And underwear. I hadn’t owned any before.
A cardigan.
The last cardigan I’d had was when I was twelve. I’d long outgrown it, and my father took it to the second-hand shop to exchange it for a penny—never thinking I might need a bigger one to ward off the chill wind in winter.
All too soon, we reached the outskirts of Bridgeford, and Callum’s house came into view. I looked at it with fresh eyes.
The forge, which was under cover as though it had once been a barn, took up one side, with an interleading gate.
There was a front door too, with an awning so you wouldn’t get wet when it rained.
“I’m going to unhitch Mabel, but you can go inside and look around,” he offered.
I nodded, jumped off the cart, took a deep breath, cradled the parcel to my chest, and pushed open the front door.