Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

When he arrived back at Number 34, the house was dead quiet. He felt much too empty—raw, actually—to sleep. He knew if he tried, the sheets would feel like sand, the mattress like gravel.

He lit a candle from the mantel and saw a small, bound book lying next to it.

Alicia Fotherington’s diary.

Otis had given it to him earlier to keep safe for Jilly.

He picked it up, took it to a chair, and sat down to read. He’d nothing else to do, and reading would remind him of her. At first, the entries in the diary were cheerful. But little by little, the tone changed.

Lyle just added on a second wing, he read. Our elegant little house is getting larger and larger. Lyle makes it very clear why. He’s preparing the house for our children. But—it pains me deeply to say it—I’ve not been able to conceive. Every day that goes by, he acts more like a disapproving father, not a loving husband.

All these years later, Stephen felt sorry for Alicia. A little while later, she wrote:

A chill fog this morning seems to match my growing sadness about the lack of a babe in our lives. I don’t believe Lyle loves me anymore. Indeed, I think he might have taken up with someone else. He comes home with the scent of her on his garments.

Stephen read swiftly. Alicia had his complete attention now: The third wing is complete, she wrote. It is to house her. He pretends he feels pity for her. She’s been widowed these two years. But I know why she’s here. She’s my cousin. How could they do this to me?

Stephen gazed into the candle flame. Poor Alicia Fotherington. How different these later entries were from the first ones, where she’d had such hope about her new life as wife to Lyle. As he turned the pages, more and more entries mentioned the unrelenting fog.

The sun had just come up when he began the last entry:

I’m a far distance from the woman I used to be. There’s nothing left here that I love. The house is a rambling mess of wings that reminds me every day that I’ve failed in my duty as a wife to bear my husband children. My beloved street fair is long gone, chased away by the strange, clinging fog that seems peculiar to Dreare Street only this past year. I’ve decided I shall run away, but before I do, I must save some money. It will take me at least a year of my gritting my teeth and pretending I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll do it. And then she’ll have to move out. They won’t have me here to guard her reputation anymore.

And that was the last thing Alicia Fotherington had to say.

Stephen closed the book and thought about Jilly, about Alicia, about all women who’d been mistreated by unloving mates.

It was a sad thing, profoundly sad. But there was nothing he could do about it, although everything in him raged against cowardly beasts like Lyle and Hector.

He stood, looked out the window, at the fog creeping up his steps—steps Lyle and Alicia had traipsed two hundred years ago—and wondered what had happened to the pair. Had she succeeded in running away? Had Lyle died a slow, lingering death—alone?

Stephen knew it was wicked of him, but he hoped so.

It came to him that Hector was still alive, and at this very moment, he was probably sleeping a fine sleep. Soon he’d wake and have a hearty meal and continue living his comfortable life, all the while causing Jilly tremendous pain.

It wasn’t right.

And it wasn’t too late, either.

Stephen couldn’t do anything about Lyle, but he could do something about Hector.

He’d find him. And he’d make him pay.

* * *

The next morning Jilly kept her hand on the counter, straightened her spine, and prepared herself for another disappointment. Otis was outside with his bell, calling a meeting at Hodgepodge. She insisted he wear his town crier regalia to do it, too. Reluctantly, he’d agreed. He’d stood silent, forlorn, while she placed the tricorne hat on his head and wished him luck.

Now he rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Through the fog, he called, “Emergency meeting at Hodgepodge!”

At one point, he came to the bookstore window and stared at her mutely. She knew what he was thinking. No one was coming. He should stop now.

“I can’t bear thinking of you enduring any more rudeness directed toward you,” he’d said earlier as he’d reluctantly put his arm through the magnificent scarlet coat she’d held out for him. “The ignominy you’ve suffered already is more than I can bear.”

She’d smiled at him and said firmly, “I can bear it. I’m stronger than I realized. And so are you.”

She’d patted him on the back then and sent him on his way.

While she waited now, she wondered what Hector would think if he’d arrived home last night and this morning would find her gone. No doubt he’d come straight to Hodgepodge. This time, however, she wasn’t going to go back with him.

No more hiding.

She had to fight back.

This was her only life, and she was going to live it without fear.

This time, she was going to tell him to go away. And if he tried to pick her up over his shoulder and force her to go back, she’d scream and thrash and pummel him.

But she didn’t think it would go that far. Because if Hector did show up, the first thing she’d do was stand behind her counter, where Papa’s small pistol was now sitting in a drawer. She’d never thought she’d use it when she’d taken it with her from home, but she was a different person now.

No longer manipulated.

No longer hiding.

She was going to fight to stay at Hodgepodge. She’d cling and cling and cling until something or someone managed to tear her away.

She clung now to hope while the bell rang.

The first to show was Susan, with Thomas. At the door, she looked tentatively at Jilly. “Are you all right?” she said, her voice stricken, her eyes wide.

“Yes,” Jilly said, even as she felt a great sadness wash over her about Stephen.

“I’m so glad you’re back!” Susan opened the door wider, and Thomas came running in, his hair wet and slicked neatly over his head.

Jilly felt an immediate surge of happiness. At least one family was welcoming her back, the very first one who’d greeted her when she’d arrived on Dreare Street.

Thomas hugged Jilly around her legs. “You went away yesterday. My mother couldn’t even sing me to sleep last night, she was so sad.”

Susan hugged her next, a long, lingering embrace. When she pulled back, understanding passed between them.

“Are you all right?” Jilly asked her. “Even though you couldn’t sell your gowns and mobcaps?”

Susan grinned. “I’m fine.” She colored. “I hate to say this right now in the midst of your suffering, but even though I sold only one gown in the time the fair was open, things are very good. I sold that gown to a fine lady named Lady Harry, and she told me she’d tell all her friends in Mayfair about me. She’s a friend of Captain Arrow’s.”

“Wonderful!” Jilly said, even though her heart ached at hearing Stephen’s name.

“That’s not all,” Susan said. “Nathaniel proposed last night. I know we don’t have much to live on, but he loves me, Jilly. And I love him.”