New York City

“No letter again today?” Charlie asked, a tinge of hope still in his voice, though he could tell by his mother’s expression that the answer would be no.

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” Pamela said, placing what had come in the post on her husband’s desk. “I’m afraid there’s nothing today either.”

Charlie’s shoulders slumped. It had been nearly two months since he’d sent his letter to Mary Margaret, and she hadn’t written back yet. “But father’s trip is coming up, and if she doesn’t answer, then how will I know if it is all right for me to visit?”

Pamela wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulders. “Charlie, your father and I have talked about this. Perhaps, this time, it would be best if your father went by himself. He can speak to Mrs. Westmoreland in person, make sure that Mary Margaret received your letter, and then, once they’ve discussed the situation, you can go with him next time.”

“But that may be next year,” Charlie protested, turning to face her. “Must I wait so long?”

She sat down on the edge of John’s desk, her hand still resting on Charlie’s shoulder. “I understand you’re disappointed, Son. I would be, too. Try to understand, this is a complicated situation. You are growing into a fine young man, but for now, it’s best if adults handle the details. Does that make sense?”

Charlie hung his head and nodded. He didn’t want his mother to see that he was fighting back tears. Fourteen-year-old boys were not supposed to cry. He had been looking forward to this trip with his father for a number of reasons. While meeting Mary Margaret for the first time was certainly a priority, he had hoped to have the opportunity to attend some of his father’s business meetings, to see how he handled himself in Southampton and London as well. Charlie had traveled to London a few times, but he had never been to Southampton. Traveling with his father would have been a wonderful opportunity to see more of the world and spend some quality time with his father.

“Are you all done with your studies for today?” Pamela asked, lovingly stroking her son’s neck.

“Yes, Mother.”

“Then, why don’t you take the trap over to Walter’s? Perhaps the two of you could spend some time together?”

Charlie’s face lit up. “You don’t mind?”

“You’re old enough, don’t you think?” she asked, a smile flickering across her mouth.

“Yes, Mother.”

“All right then. Be back in time for supper.”

Charlie managed a, “Yes, ma’am,” over his shoulder as he practically flew out of the room. While he’d been allowed to take the pony trap out a few times, he’d never been granted permission to go so far as to Walter’s house. He hurried to the carriage house to ready the trap and his pony, Scout, as quickly as possible, perfectly content to do the work himself.

While Walter’s mother had been a bit surprised to see Charlie calling upon her son unannounced, she had allowed him to take a break from his studies and accompany Charlie to the little pond behind their house. Most boys their age were off at boarding school, so they had become quite close to each other, being two of the few left to study at home.

“I can’t imagine how it must be to already know who your wife will be,” Walter said as he tossed a flat stone across the surface of the otherwise pristine pond. He had a blond mop and despite the lack of a breeze, it still insisted on standing up almost straight on top of his head.

“I suppose it is a little strange,” Charlie agreed, skipping a stone almost twice as far as the one Walter had sent across. “But that’s how it’s been for as long as I can remember.”

Walter looked annoyed that Charlie had outdone him, so he tried to throw even harder, which resulted in his stone spinning out of control and sinking before it had even gone a few feet. “What if…” he began, “what if she’s hideous?”

“What’s that?” Charlie asked, dropping the stone he’d been about to toss and looking at his friend.

“That is to say, what if she’s quite ugly? Or plump? Or boring?”

“All right, Walter,” Charlie began, shaking his head.

“No, I’m serious, Charlie. What if she’s dull or dimwitted? There will be absolutely nothing that you can do about it. You’re bound to marry her anways.”

“Walter, my father assures me that she is none of those things.”

“But how does he know?” Walter pressed on. “Has he seen her?”

“I believe he met her when she was a small child,” Charlie argued.

“But a lot could change between then and now—or between now and whenever you actually do marry her. What if you go away to study and meet someone else? What if you fall in love with a beautiful woman? You won’t be able to marry her because your father promised you’d wed Margaret.”

“It’s Mary Margaret,” Charlie corrected, “and I highly doubt that will happen.”

“Why not?” Walter pressed on, all thoughts of skipping stones laid aside. “You’re a fairly handsome fellow, I suppose,” he continued, and Charlie snickered at his attempt at a nicety. “It could well happen that you’ll meet some other lady—perhaps at a ball or some such thing—and you’ll fall in love with her. You’ll break her heart.”

Charlie continued to shake his head, not willing to hear what his friend had to say. “Walter, I assure you, that won’t be the case.”

“Or perhaps you shall run away!” His hazel eyes lit up with the idea. “You could elope! Like one of those men in the romance novels my older sister is always reading.”

“Walter, you’ve lost your marbles,” Charlie replied. “Listen, I understand our arrangement might seem a bit peculiar, but I will wed Mary Margaret Westmoreland. My father made a promise, and I will always honor my father’s word the same way I honor my own. I’m sure I’ll meet other lovely ladies, but I will simply have to tell them I’m already betrothed to someone else. If they can’t respect that, then they’re not the type of honorable young women I’d like to associate with anyway.”

Walter stared at Charlie for a long moment before he finally managed, “Charlie, my friend, I think you’re wise beyond your years.”

“Thank you,” Charlie said, nodding.

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment. Perhaps you should try being a child for a while. There’s quite a bit of fun to have in it.”

Charlie considered his words. He had a point. Why was he always consumed with concerns of the grown up world? He was only fourteen. Before much longer, he’d be off to study at a high school and then a university. Then, he’d be forced to pay attention to more important things. So what if Mary Margaret hadn’t written him back. Maybe she was too busy being a child. “Race you to the fence line!” Charlie yelled, and without giving Walter a chance to process the dare, he took off sprinting as fast as he could. A bit of spontaneity could actually be a good thing, he decided, as his lungs began to burn. Even if Walter had been ready, there was no way he could catch Charlie. He was fast, and once he’d set his mind to something, nothing could stop him.