Page 7 of The Spinster & the Sock

I am never being charitable again. Ever.

“You are rude and insufferable,” my mother cries, rising from her chair to stand next to Grandmother, who now stares stoically out a window with quivering lips. I can not tell if it is to refrain from tears or laughter. Knowing her, the latter is more probable.

Regardless, I realize I have missed Blaze rambling on the topic of me straddling him and how it was more of a medical experience than a sexual one.

I choke on air.

My brothers gasp.

Georgia runs from the room entirely.

The tension is shifting from shocked to disgusted quicker than marriage-minded mothers race their daughters towards matrimony. I watch with sinking disbelief as all but my father turn their backs, not knowing how to even look at me.

“Will you marry her?” Father shouts now, slamming an empty crystal glass onto an end table, nearly tipping the entire thing over.

I imagine the sturdy oak tabletop crushing father’s toe, distracting him long enough for me to run away and ask the nearest children’s hostel what their age minimums are. Alas, I am certain orphanages and bachelors are alike in their aversion to twenty-six-year-old women seeking asylum.

I step forward now, courage seeming to be the only option as it appears my fellow offender is fresh out of stupid things to say. His face is locked in a dumb expression, and I actually wonder for a moment if nothing is occurring in the brain behind his eyes.

“Father!” I plead, closing the space between us to grip the silk of his vest. “You must believe me! T’was only a misunderstanding! The poor fool was drenched and in some disoriented stupor! I was merely trying to help! I truly believe if I had left him, he might’ve staggered back into the pond and drowned.”

“Almost drowning once is enough for me, actually,” the poor fool in question mutters, seemingly to himself.

My words do nothing but fuel my father’s fire. “So, you choose to warm him with your own body! In a building full of more decent options? Have we not raised you better than to squander your virtue?!” He sucks in an angry breath. “I have turned a blind eye to your business endeavors. I have indulged your whims of being unwed and such—but an unmarried tradeswoman whore will not be suffered!” Father bellows now, shoving me aside as though I am a misbehaving dog. I stumble over my skirts, collapsing in a heap on the cushioned chair, still warm from where my mother previously sat, and a burning heat rises in my cheeks.

Not sorrow.

Not embarrassment.

Anger.

“Fine, then!” I hiss indignantly, pushing off the couch to stare at his back while he moves menacingly close to Blaze. “Cast me aside, marry me off to this stranger! And don’t count on seeing me again! I may not be a daughter you are proud of, but I have always been a woman of honor, and that sentiment holds true now, whether you believe me or not.”

At this, Blaze performs some strange hop to the side, dodging my father and tiptoeing a few steps closer to me. Surrounded by my entire family, he has the audacity to clear his throat, lean in to place a hand on my arm, and then whisper.

Not helping our case any.

“Listen,” he stumbles over his words. “You, uh, yeah, you seem nice and all. And you’re hot for a woman wearing enough fabric to clothe all of the world’s orphans. Thanks for trying to save me from freezing my huevos off—I’m rather attached to those things. But Jo…between bibbidi-bobbity-bo-ing myself home and then making sure Carter doesn’t sink the damn boat before she docks…I don’t exactly have time to marry you. I’m gonna need my mom and her wacky-ass plants to get over this mindfuck—I need to go home.” He winces, his face stretching into the most awkward grimace I have ever seen before he rolls onto his heels, shoves his hands in his pockets, and says, “On second thought, drowning doesn’t sound that bad right about now. What’re the chances of me just walking out of here and jumping back into that delightful pond?”

Well-Bred and Corn-Fed

Blaze

“I beg your finest pardon?”

I snap my gaze to where Daddy Dearest stands. His face is redder now than mine was that time I fell asleep floating out on the lake. “How dare...the audacity! To speak so crudely!”

“Hold the phone, pops,” I say, bringing both of my hands up when I realize where his understanding went. “I didn’t mean her pond, I meant the wet one!” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jo face-palm, and damn if I don’t feel it from where I stand.

Right, put the shovel down, Blaze.

“Helena! Fetch my pistol! This scoundrel has chosen death.”

“Whoa, whoa! No, I didn’t! Jo, we can annul before I go home, it’s fine—totally fine—let’s just get hitched!” My voice hasn’t hit this octave since I was fourteen, but I’m realizing this man is dead serious. I’ve gone from alive to dead to alive enough times today, and I don’t really want to end the chaos with dead. I’ll marry Gerty if it saves my sack.

“If you think for a second,” he seethes, finger inches from my nose, “that the offer of marriage still stands—” I can hear his teeth grind as he clenches his jaw. “Outside. I shall best you in a duel for my daughter’s honor, but I’ll not besmirch my home with pig’s blood.”

I sigh as the family files out of the parlor, presumably into the backyard where they all plan to watch me fertilize the roses.