The Promise Read Online Free Page A

that would call for begging. It would mean she could dictate what I must do and whom I must marry. I considered again moving to Cincinnati or to Columbus but my courage had slipped. As unforgiving as Dayton was, I could not imagine being alone in an unfamiliar city, my money almost gone. I made arrangements to move to a boarding house where I would share a room with another woman. I wrote again to Oscar. Whatever is it like to live on an island in Texas?
    Near the end of June, I received the letter I had been waiting for and yet dreading.
    Dear Miss Wainwright,
    I am not a Rich Man but I am not Poor either. My Dairy is Fair sized and I am free of Debt. Miss Wainwright, will You consider Marrying Me? My Son is in need of a Mother. I am in need of a Wife. I will make You a good Husband and Provider. But there is Something You should know. Galveston is not like Dayton. And there is Something else. Me and my Boy are Catholics. I converted and my Boy was baptized one. But I will not push It on You.
    Sincerely Yours,
    Oscar Williams
    I held the letter, trying to put together the images of a farmhouse, a small child, and a life of rituals far removed from my own. I tried to put shape to Oscar, but with the arrival of his offer his image had blurred, reminding me how little I knew him.
    I reread Edward’s correspondence, touching his cursive script with my forefinger, tracing each letter on the linen stationery. I enjoyed our conversation, he had written two months after we’d met during the Christmas season of 1895. His penmanship was slanted, the j and i not dotted, but the t crossed with a brief dash. I will be in Philadelphia next month, he’d written in April of 1897, his wife a confirmed invalid by then. Perhaps you might accompany me to the art museum there. Three years ago, that invitation both shocked and thrilled me. Now, I saw his words as his wife might. He had pursued me. Surely, if I reminded him of those letters, he would be willing to provide for me.
    The silk drapes at my sitting-room window rustled in the mild summer breeze. Below, the street was busy. Several buggies passed by, and on the sidewalks, women wearing feathered hats carried shopping baskets. At the opposite corner, two men in business suits and derbies stood talking. All of them were going about their day, occupied with their lives, their worries and problems perhaps nibbling at their thoughts as they searched for solutions.
    Blackmail. I had fallen to that. Edward would despise me. Just as I would despise myself.
    I read Oscar’s letter again. He offered escape from my debts, from my mother’s rejection, and from certain poverty. He offered escape from myself.
    The next morning, I sat at the baby grand in the empty hotel ballroom, the keyboard covered. My face was drawn and my eyes ached from lack of sleep. I had sent my answer in yesterday’s late afternoon post. Yes, Mr Williams, I responded. I will marry you.

CHAPTER TWO
    Galveston, Texas
    The wind gusted. The train rocked. Sea spray splattered the windows. I gripped the armrests of my seat as we skimmed above choppy white-capped waves. I had understood that Galveston was an island but until now, I had not realized just how unattached it was to the rest of Texas.
    The train’s ventilation system had stopped and the car was stuffy and warm. The woman who sat across from me opened her silk fan, unfolding a painted picture of snow-covered mountains. ‘We’re crossing West Bay,’ she said to me as she waved her fan before her round, glistening face. Her words were drawn long with a Southern accent. ‘Our bridges are the longest in the world. Three miles if they’re an inch.’
    My father had designed bridges and if this were one of his, I would have faith in its piers and bracings. Instead, I kept my gaze on my lap, unable to look at the other rickety wood train trestles that ran parallel to us, the waves breaking against their thin wood piers.
    ‘Smelling salts,’ the woman said.