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 An Arrangement among Gentlemen Excerpt

Dear George,

I am ill; the end for me has finally come. The doctor says no more than a few months. I am worried for my daughter now that her brother is gone, especially in this time of war. We joked of it all those years ago when Olivia was born, and now I want to broach the subject without jest. I should like to discuss the subject of marriage between the two of them. Olivia is a fine looking girl, and Cort, I have been told, is a handsome man. I have not brought up the subject with Olivia. I will not unless we can come to an agreement in regards to the arrangement. I know arranged marriages are becoming a thing of the past, but I feel this is the only way to see that my daughter is well cared for. Cort is no longer a boy; he has proved that well, but Olivia is still just a girl. I can't see her surviving without someone to watch over her. I have not given her a good life. A stable may have been fine for James, but it is not the place for a girl, especially without a mother. I should have seen that before now. A good home with women around as an example and a man to give her a place is what she needs most. Please, if you feel the arrangement is agreeable, discuss it with Cort and then, based on the answer, I will tell Olivia. It would make a dying man rest easy to see all he has left in the world taken care of.

Henry Thatcher

 Dear Henry,

Cort indeed needs a proper female influence in his life; travels all over the world may sow many oats, but sets no roots. I fear that he may never find a wife before I die and can see grandchildren from the match. Knowing Cort, I'm sure if she has even a semblance of looks and a pulse, she will be good enough for him. Until the vows have made them man and wife, there is a room in the house for her to use.

George Garrett

 Late in the winter of 1916, a train rolled to a stop in the snowbound rail station in the middle of Alberta, Canada. The station was small, but of picturesque brick with a slate roof. Two men in heavy wool shirts and pants and thick fur coats stood waiting for the train. They looked nervous. No, on second thought, one looked nervous. The other looked furious.

"Please, Miss Olivia, let me help you down the steps?" The porter asked after several people had disembarked. The two men perked up at the name and watched as she took the porter's arm. The younger man watched not her face, but the foot that emerged from under the skirt that was lifted for descent. Once down the stairs, the porter handed her a stout silver-capped walking stick. Both men could only stare. Olivia had thick black hair and dark eyes that made her pale skin stand out. Under a full-length seal coat, she was dressed in the latest fashion.

The men walked over to the train. "Olivia Thatcher?”

She raised her eyes. They weren't black as they first thought, but a deep blue-gray that reminded them of a horrendous storm over the mountains. It didn't bode well for the present situation.