Broken Vows by Shirl Henke Page B

Rebekah home after she and Rory said a very formal, proper good-day at the park. A decidedly cool Amos Wells had done the same with Celia. Neither girl had been able to confide in the other in the Hunts' presence, but Rebekah knew all had not gone well between her friend and Amos in spite of Agnes Hunt's excited chattering about what an honor it was that her daughter had been lucky enough to attract Mr. Wells.
           Rebekah had no more than stepped inside their door before her mother launched her attack, seizing her with red, meaty fingers and dragging her into the parlor for the dressing down of her life. “How could you do such a thing? What were you thinking of, to go off with that—that Irish trash! Rachel Dalton just left. She felt it her Christian duty to tell me what a scandal you created at the park.” Dorcas Sinclair was so angry that tears of sheer fury formed beneath her puffy eyelids. She blinked them back as she glared at her younger daughter. If only Ephraim were home, but he had been summoned to the Grants' place, where the elderly grandfather had just passed on.
           “Mr. Madigan outbid everyone for my basket. What was I to do? Surely having lunch with him isn't anything I should be ashamed of—and he did contribute twenty dollars to charity for the privilege.”
           “Twenty dollars indeed—the last money that profligate will see for the year or I miss my guess. Is that the price you place on your reputation?”
           “My reputation isn't harmed—”
           “Don't you interrupt me, young lady,” Dorcas snapped irrationally, ignoring the fact she had asked the question. “And what about Amos Wells? He expected to get your basket and ended up with Celia Hunt. I know the two of you cooked up the scheme. Don't compound your sins by denying it.”
           “She wants Mr. Wells's attention. I don't,” Rebekah said baldly, knowing it was utter folly, but not caring.
           “You selfish, stupid girl,” Dorcas hissed. “You're not just throwing away your own chance for a brilliant marriage, but ruining the rest of the family as well.” When all else failed, guilt might work to bring a headstrong child like Rebekah to her senses.
           “I know Papa will be disappointed, but I've already told him I don't favor Mr. Wells. He said I didn't have to marry any man I didn't love.”
           “Love!” Dorcas threw up her hands. “Come down from those clouds and face the real world, Rebekah. Amos Wells is not only the largest contributor to your father's church, but Henry Snead's employer as well.”
           Rebekah blanched as Dorcas's words sank in. “He couldn't be so vindictive as to dismiss Henry if I refuse his suit.” Her voice carried no conviction as she recalled that flash of ruthless fury he had quickly masked when he discovered the deception over the lunches. She had not mistaken it. “How could you ask me to marry a man like that?”
           “Amos Wells is a fine, upstanding member of the community, but a man doesn't become rich and powerful without using that power. He can make or break any person in Wellsville. Henry could have a brilliant future with him. So could your father's church—and so could you, if that scoundrel hadn't come along and lured you down the path to hell and damnation!”
           “Rory Madigan isn't like that! His intentions are just as honorable as Amos Wells's.”
           Dorcas pounced. “So, he is trying to court you, isn't he?” Her hands rested on her hips, balled into angry fists.
           Rebekah's chin came up. What was the use in denying it? “Yes, but he said I didn't have to convert for him. He—”
           “He's deceiving you, child,” Ephraim's voice interrupted as he stepped dolefully into the parlor, his hat in hand and a somber expression on his face. “I know his kind. There are things I could tell you...” He shook his head and