She set out walking again, this time striding purposefully to the sheltered beach where she'd played as a child. She kicked the sand so hard it flew up into the wind and blew back in her face. She blinked to dislodge the fine grains from her eyes and tears rose to wash them clean. Then she couldn't stop the tears and they coursed down her cheeks as she sobbed with frustration.
I took pride in my independence, she thought. In everything I've learned and studied. But look, I'm really no more self-reliant than a penned chicken that picks among the scraps that are thrown to it. When it comes to the important things, the decisions are all made beyond the fence. I don't have much more say in my life than that poor hen.
I don't like Father's insistence on my marrying Richard Randall or anyone else for that matter. I don't like Richard's presumption that his favors are all I've ever hoped for in life. But what does it matter what I like and don't like? The alternative is very bleak indeed. I pretend to be indifferent to the plight of unmarried women, but I see what finally happens. Once they reach a certain age they're not called "unmarried" anymore. They're branded as spinsters, maiden aunts and old biddies who are only tolerated out of duty. She smiled. How many of those maiden aunts are really maidens? How many, like me, have secrets they don't tell?
It would have been so easy if Michael had lived. Have the months since he died embellished his memory? Probably, she admitted. Nevertheless, this possible union with Captain Randall is different. It's motivated by practical concerns not affection. I will have a house, position in the village. Richard will have a wife and family. My parents will be divested of the lingering responsibility for an older daughter. Sara can proceed with her plans to marry John Barlow.
"It all hinges on me,"she muttered. She could gratify her parents' wishes, open the door to Sara's wedded bliss, and satisfy Richard's desire for a wife. And what? What about her?
She bent and gathered up a handful of sand, savoring its moist coolness against her feverish palm. She lofted the sand downwind into a flock of gray and white gulls at the waters' edge. It fell in a fine drizzle on the gulls' backs. They ruffled their wings and flew down the beach where they wouldn't be disturbed. If only she could fly away from her distress like the gulls. She pulled off her shoes and stockings. Wading into the shallows, she dug her toes into the watery sand until they hit a sand dollar. She bent to pick it up and threw it hard, sending it skipping over the water like a stone. So much for dreams and fantasies!
Quiet certainty enveloped her as she stared after the sand dollar. She'd guard the memory of her romance with Michael like her other girlhood treasures and take it out only at special times when she was alone. Like her childhood, it had been a time of butterflies and budding flowers and birdsong. She knew she'd never know anything like it again, but nobody could take away her memories.
She turned to go back to the house and get ready for dinner and the interview with Richard that was sure to follow. She'd wear her good linen blouse with the lace collar and cuffs and her new black shoes. She'd brush her hair until it glowed like crows' feathers. If she was to be part of the dealings to be settled tonight, she would show her value. She would not be lightly given or taken. Maybe she could even have a hand in the bargaining.
