The Scandalous Mrs. Wilson by Laine Ferndale

Author:Laine Ferndale
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Adams Media

Chapter 18

The town of Fraser Springs was unnaturally still on the morning of the meeting. The wind had quieted, leaving an oppressive mugginess. Even the birds were silent, the way they were before a storm. The droning mosquitos seemed to be the only living things for miles.

At breakfast, Wilson’s patrons sat in a quiet tableau, occasionally glancing at the boarded-up window as if expecting something to come bursting through. Humidity slicked the walls and fogged the glasses. Jo could barely stomach a bite of bread. Doc Stryker had come over for the morning meal, but even he picked at the edges of his bacon and stared off at nothing.

Around 10:00 a.m., the sound of hammering and sawing echoed off the buildings and the water.

“They’re building a platform,” said Nils, who had just arrived. “Right there by the wharf. Miss Jo, I think they plan to escort you out on the next boat.”

“Stop that negative talk,” she said, mustering up a confidence she didn’t feel. “No one’s hanging anyone; no one’s hustling anyone out on the next boat. This isn’t the Wild West.”

“Surprised they aren’t preparing the tar and feathers, the way they’re carrying on,” Doc snorted. “This is the most fun they’ve had all year.”

Owen had promised to join them at the meeting, saying that he didn’t want to look partial to her. As silly as it was, she wished he were beside her right now. She couldn’t handle all these dour faces and their grim predictions. At least Owen would have been able to coax a smile out of her.

Soon, however, it was time to go. Ilsa and the girls had put on their church clothes and taken pains to give each other the most conservative hairstyles they knew. A few wore thin gold chains with crosses or heirloom brooches several decades old. It was strange to see her girls dressed as spinster schoolmarms, and Jo was touched by the gesture.

In the promenade by the wharf, the townspeople had constructed a raised platform decorated with bunting. A table flanked by four chairs—one for her, one for Doc Stryker, and two, she guessed, for the Society Ladies—stood on the platform along with a podium. The townspeople were well dressed and already flushed with anticipation, creating an almost festive atmosphere. Many of the women wore sashes decorated with needlepoint designating them as members of the Moral Purity Brigade, The Society for the Advancement of Moral Temperance, or the Ladies’ Charitable Club. Jo half expected a brass band to begin playing and someone to hand her a glass of lemonade.

And in the middle of it all was Mrs. McSheen. She was flanked by her sash-wearing army of Society Ladies and positively glowed, despite the clouds and the mosquitos. Jo didn’t think she had ever seen Mrs. McSheen smile, but today, the queen of the scowlers looked as if she’d won a beauty pageant. Moral crusading must be good for her skin.

She scanned the scene for Owen and found him leaning against the side of a building just outside of the crowd’s perimeter.

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