auction.”
Josh reached for her hand. “I have no idea who Merkel is, but you can’t think I believe you to be a horse or anything else to be bargained for. Surely you’ve known for months I want to marry you. I don’t think there’s another woman anywhere to whom I could speak with such frankness, let alone one so adorable and—” He broke off, as if remembering that he and Mollie were not alone, and looked at heraunt. “Thank you, Mrs. Brannigan, but I don’t require a dowry. Only Mollie’s answer.” Then, turning to her once more, “Will you marry me, Mollie Brannigan?”
Eileen held up her hand. “Wait a moment before you answer, Mollie. Mr. Turner, that is a very gallant statement, and I can on occasion be as charmed by romance as any woman, but it’s not good business to turn down an offer of one hundred thousand dollars. The pair of you will have a desperate time of it in future if you’re no more sensible than that. On that evidence I would strongly advise you to refuse, Mollie.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t take the money, Mrs. Brannigan.” Josh still held Mollie’s hand. “Only that I would not accept it as a dowry. Mollie is beyond price, you and I both realize that, and I’m bound to add that however large a sum a hundred thousand sounds, it won’t be enough for what I have in mind. It will certainly help, however. And I’d be pleased to know that when the time is right I can count on you investing that sum in my endeavors.”
“At a favorable rate of interest, no doubt,” Eileen said.
“Very favorable. And perhaps delayed for a period. So let’s say an interest-free loan during construction,”—Eileen started to respond, but Josh wasn’t finished—“and to remain interest-free for the first three years after completion.”
“A loan of a hundred thousand dollars,” Eileen said. “Unsecured, no doubt.”
Josh nodded.
“And interest-free for a period of years.”
“Exactly,” Josh said.
Eileen smiled. “Done, Mr. Turner. At least from my perspective.”
“Then it’s up to Mollie.” He had kept hold of her hand. Now at last he turned back to her. “What about it? Will you marry me, sweet Mollie Brannigan?”
So here it was.
After all the years, after she had schooled herself to accept spinsterhoodas her fate, a man had appeared who wanted to marry her. And not just any man. Someone who frequently made her laugh, who made her heart beat faster each time she saw him, a man whose touch was making her feel quite warm in ways to which she was entirely unaccustomed. Mollie gathered herself, waited a few seconds, aware of how momentous her next words must be. Then, finally and firmly, said, “Yes, Joshua Turner, I will.”
5
E BENEZER T ICKLE WAS a dwarf.
Josh had seen General Tom Thumb in Barnum’s museum; barely three feet tall and dressed up like Napoleon, or Cupid, or the commander of a Highland regiment. Unlike Thumb, Tickle was not a miniaturized man as he might be conceived by someone making a drawing. The man facing Josh had an ordinary-size head and torso, with powerful though short arms, a barrel chest, and hams like oaks. It was the shortness of his legs that dictated his height.
The address on Dey Street had turned out to be a small room cut out of a corner of a coal cellar. With the door shut the only light came from an old-fashioned whale-oil lamp that cast flickering shadows on the raw brick walls and the sparse furnishings. There was a cot, a small table, and two wooden chairs. Josh sat on one and Tickle on the other—both legs stuck out straight in front of him—smoking a corncob pipe. The pungent smell of his tobacco hung over the place like a pall. “’Bout these flats of yours, Mr. Turner. There’s no question what’s needed.”
“It’s a question to me, Mr. Tickle.”
“Steel,” Tickle said.
Josh brought his eyebrows together over the bridge of his nose. “Steel?”
“Yup.” Tickle was tamping more tobacco into his pipe
Josh reached for her hand. “I have no idea who Merkel is, but you can’t think I believe you to be a horse or anything else to be bargained for. Surely you’ve known for months I want to marry you. I don’t think there’s another woman anywhere to whom I could speak with such frankness, let alone one so adorable and—” He broke off, as if remembering that he and Mollie were not alone, and looked at heraunt. “Thank you, Mrs. Brannigan, but I don’t require a dowry. Only Mollie’s answer.” Then, turning to her once more, “Will you marry me, Mollie Brannigan?”
Eileen held up her hand. “Wait a moment before you answer, Mollie. Mr. Turner, that is a very gallant statement, and I can on occasion be as charmed by romance as any woman, but it’s not good business to turn down an offer of one hundred thousand dollars. The pair of you will have a desperate time of it in future if you’re no more sensible than that. On that evidence I would strongly advise you to refuse, Mollie.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t take the money, Mrs. Brannigan.” Josh still held Mollie’s hand. “Only that I would not accept it as a dowry. Mollie is beyond price, you and I both realize that, and I’m bound to add that however large a sum a hundred thousand sounds, it won’t be enough for what I have in mind. It will certainly help, however. And I’d be pleased to know that when the time is right I can count on you investing that sum in my endeavors.”
“At a favorable rate of interest, no doubt,” Eileen said.
“Very favorable. And perhaps delayed for a period. So let’s say an interest-free loan during construction,”—Eileen started to respond, but Josh wasn’t finished—“and to remain interest-free for the first three years after completion.”
“A loan of a hundred thousand dollars,” Eileen said. “Unsecured, no doubt.”
Josh nodded.
“And interest-free for a period of years.”
“Exactly,” Josh said.
Eileen smiled. “Done, Mr. Turner. At least from my perspective.”
“Then it’s up to Mollie.” He had kept hold of her hand. Now at last he turned back to her. “What about it? Will you marry me, sweet Mollie Brannigan?”
So here it was.
After all the years, after she had schooled herself to accept spinsterhoodas her fate, a man had appeared who wanted to marry her. And not just any man. Someone who frequently made her laugh, who made her heart beat faster each time she saw him, a man whose touch was making her feel quite warm in ways to which she was entirely unaccustomed. Mollie gathered herself, waited a few seconds, aware of how momentous her next words must be. Then, finally and firmly, said, “Yes, Joshua Turner, I will.”
5
E BENEZER T ICKLE WAS a dwarf.
Josh had seen General Tom Thumb in Barnum’s museum; barely three feet tall and dressed up like Napoleon, or Cupid, or the commander of a Highland regiment. Unlike Thumb, Tickle was not a miniaturized man as he might be conceived by someone making a drawing. The man facing Josh had an ordinary-size head and torso, with powerful though short arms, a barrel chest, and hams like oaks. It was the shortness of his legs that dictated his height.
The address on Dey Street had turned out to be a small room cut out of a corner of a coal cellar. With the door shut the only light came from an old-fashioned whale-oil lamp that cast flickering shadows on the raw brick walls and the sparse furnishings. There was a cot, a small table, and two wooden chairs. Josh sat on one and Tickle on the other—both legs stuck out straight in front of him—smoking a corncob pipe. The pungent smell of his tobacco hung over the place like a pall. “’Bout these flats of yours, Mr. Turner. There’s no question what’s needed.”
“It’s a question to me, Mr. Tickle.”
“Steel,” Tickle said.
Josh brought his eyebrows together over the bridge of his nose. “Steel?”
“Yup.” Tickle was tamping more tobacco into his pipe
Similar Books
