Calling on the Matchmaker by Jody Hedlund EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Jody Hedlund
- Language: English
- Genre: Christian Historical Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 7 MB
- Price: Free
ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI
JANUARY 1849
“Nip along with you now, Finola.” Madigan bounded onto Broadway,
dodging an omnibus that was slogging through the thick mud. “The
matchmaker is waiting.”
“Have patience.” Finola Shanahan followed her younger brother and
tiptoed into the mire. She bunched up the black habit the Sisters of Charity
had so graciously provided for her to wear whenever she accompanied them
for charity work. “I’m going as fast as I can.”
“Mam and Da are done putting up with your impertinence.” Madigan
shot her a warning look. The sixteen-year-old was already a handsome
fellow with his big blue eyes and brown hair, turning the heads of the local
lasses wherever he went.
Of the six Shanahan children, everyone claimed she and Madigan
resembled each other the most. And aye, she had the same blue eyes and
brown hair. But when God had been doling out the freckles, He’d forgotten
to spread them out between her and Madigan. She’d ended up with them all.
The winter wind rustled against her hood and sent a chill down her back.
“I’m a dutiful daughter.”
Madigan released a snort. “And I’m the pope.”
Guilt nudged at Finola. She was a dutiful daughter in almost every way
except one. . . . She wasn’t cooperating with her parents’ efforts to find her
a husband.
Madigan leapt over a half-frozen puddle. “They’re just trying to make a
good impression on the matchmaker, dontcha know.”
“I’m well aware, to be sure.” They might want to impress Oscar
McKenna, the local Irish matchmaker. But she wanted to frustrate Oscar
enough that he’d refuse to help her parents. And being late for the meeting
was a good start to that effort.
As she took another tentative step into the busy thoroughfare, the mud
sucked at her lace-up ankle boots.
A faded yellow hackney rumbled down the street toward her. The
coachman sat slouched, his head down, the brim of his top hat pulled low.
He didn’t seem to be looking where he was going. Rather, he held the reins
loosely, as if the team of horses knew the route well and didn’t need his
directing.
Finola forced her feet to move more swiftly after Madigan. In the late
afternoon of the dreary January day, the St. Louis traffic was heavy,
especially on Washington at Broadway so close to the riverfront where
factories, warehouses, and stores crowded the mostly unpaved streets.
Apparently now that the gray skies had finished spitting a mixture of rain
and sleet, everyone had come out to finish the day’s work.
As a beer delivery wagon filled with casks lumbered from the other
direction, she paused. The driver wasn’t paying attention to her any more
than the hackney. A dray from the levee followed, piled high with boxes of
merchandise and hogsheads of tobacco.
Madigan was already on the opposite side, and as he spun to check on her
progress, his eyes widened. “Holy thundering mother, Finola! Get out of the
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