Chapter 5: Marriage Markets and Unspoken Strength

5.

As I approached my eighteenth birthday, marriage talks began.

Aunt Linda started dropping hints at church potlucks, and the matchmakers seemed to sprout out of nowhere, all smiles and secrets. My teacher’s praise for my learning and wisdom became my bargaining chip to secure the best husband possible.

Matchmakers flocked to our door, and even sons of local judges sent inquiries.

For the first time, my dad was so pleased he could hardly close his mouth.

He thumped my shoulder at breakfast, beaming. He boasted every day about how smart he’d been to marry into my mom’s family.

After marrying my mom, this gruff old veteran could have such a talented daughter!

Though my grandpa’s job wasn’t high-ranking, their family had been teachers and writers for generations.

My mom was well-read, with a unique bearing.

Even when she walked down Main Street, heads would turn—not for beauty, but for the confidence in her stride. She belonged to every era and none at all.

6.

Yes, a unique bearing.

Since I was young, I always felt my mom was different from other ladies.

When my dad left for military duty, she briskly packed his bags, never shedding a tear—perfectly considerate.

When my dad took up with another woman, she never made a scene—perfectly gracious.

When servants made mistakes, she’d just sigh and let it slide, saying everyone messes up sometimes.

If my dad’s reputation in the county is good today, I feel half the credit goes to my mom.

She always seemed to move with a purpose, a quiet strength beneath her gentle manner. But I always sensed there was something weighing on her mind.

Sometimes I’d catch her gazing out the window, fingers drumming the sill, eyes distant—as if she were listening for a voice only she could hear.