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She Sued Him for $10,000—Then Married Him Before Trial

A long-running Woodinville breach-of-promise case collapsed when a minister, a widow and a reluctant bachelor slipped out of the courthouse and came back married.

The celebrated breach-of-promise case of Mary K. Clapsadle against Charles W. Estabrook came to an abrupt and unexpected end in the superior court yesterday—not with a verdict, but with a wedding.

R. J. Huston brought the news to W. R. Gay and Will H. Thompson, counsel for the adverse parties, as they waited in Judge Osborn's chambers. 'In the name of heaven, what do you suppose our clients have done?' he asked. 'They have gone and got married.' Gay and Thompson were not merely shocked; they were thunderstruck. Thompson recovered first, rose, extended his hand and said: 'Gay, I have important business at my office. You can manage this case properly. Good by,' and he was off like a flash.

The suit had been before the public since the latter part of 1894, when the first stories of the aged couple's courtship at Woodinville were told. Mrs. Clapsadle then brought an action for breach of promise, asking $10,000 for her shattered affections. That action came to a sudden end in December, after Rev. Alfred Crumly, of Bothell, effected a compromise: Mrs. Clapsadle agreed to drop the proceedings, and Estabrook agreed to marry her on demand.

A few days later 'Charles' was asked to make good on his promise. He said he was going down to Seattle to get the marriage papers, but needed money. Mrs. Clapsadle produced $1.50, and he started off on his mission. She waited three days, then received a doleful message: 'Charles' had been to the city, had called at the auditor's office, but had not had the courage to ask for a license. With the message came the $1.50 and the comforting advice that, since he could not marry her, she should be a good Christian and live holy in the sight of the Lord.

Mrs. Clapsadle would not be cast off so easily. She again retained her attorneys and began a second breach-of-promise suit on the renewed engagement. When she appeared in court yesterday, her counsel were prepared to prove that Estabrook had courted her zealously for five years; that friends had helped him storm the citadel of her heart; that after a long struggle she had consented to an engagement; that 'Charles' had begun building a house suited to her station in life; and that the couple had planted apple and prune trees about the yard. The trees had prospered and were loaded with fruit, but hard times had cramped the aged bachelor, and he had repudiated his lady love. It was, the report said, a clear case of hope deferred.

Yesterday Judge Osborn was engaged with another case and told the parties he would not be ready until 11 o'clock. The attorneys withdrew to a private office. Mrs. Clapsadle and Estabrook, with their train of witnesses, waited in the hallways. Among Mrs. Clapsadle's witnesses was Rev. Mr. Crumly, who had once before arranged a truce. He spoke a word or two to the widow, then approached the bachelor. Before spectators knew what was happening, the trio were on their way down the stairs. The woman went willingly; the man hung back, but finally went in, followed by the minister. A few minutes later the two reappeared, and Mr. Crumly had tied the knot before the office door could close behind them—even before the ink on the marriage certificate was dry. It was the quickest action on record.

The widow was radiant. Her eyes brightened, her face was flushed, and her whole demeanor suggested the virgin bloom of the springtime of life. She had dressed herself out in a handsome dress of black silk, with a gay bodice, and looked smiling and happy. She took her husband, hers at last, up the stairs and triumphantly sent the news in to the attorneys. After a wedding trip down through the King County jail, by courtesy of the jailer, the couple left behind them the courthouse and the breach-of-promise suit, and started for their home in Woodinville.

Mr. Gay was left to his own resources. He smiled to himself, looked at the ceiling and then at the floor, and after the first fit of astonishment had died away, he reflected and evolved the following: 'This cause having been settled by the parties out of court, without assistance from their learned counsel, and by duly intermarrying with each other, and it not appearing that a trial without the presence of the parties would be desirable, said cause is dismissed by the plaintiff, if concurring.' And so ended the famous Clapsadle-Estabrook breach-of-promise case.

Those who know the newly married pair say they will be prosperous and happy. The auditor's records show that the husband and wife are both advanced in years, though Mrs. Estabrook is several years younger. She is a small woman, of pleasing appearance and agreeable manner.

“In the name of heaven, what do you suppose our clients have done? They have gone and got married.”

— Printed in The Seattle Post-Intelligencer (Seattle, Wash. Terr. [Wash.]) 1888-1914, 1895
Then · 1895131 years apartNow · 2026

Breach-of-promise suits once made private romantic promises into public courtroom drama; today the cause of action is largely gone, but the appetite for watching relationships unravel in public is not. The courthouse-hallway wedding also shows how quickly a legal spectacle can become a local legend.

The original page

The Seattle Post-Intelligencer (Seattle, Wash. Terr. [Wash.]) 1888-1914, 1895-05-22. Library of Congress, Chronicling America.

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From
The Seattle Post-Intelligencer (Seattle, Wash. Terr. [Wash.]) 1888-1914, MAY 22, 1895, Page 5
Text
Cleaned up from the page — spelling and layout repaired — not a word-for-word transcription. The page itself is above, for exact wording.
Rights
Public domain
Place
47.60264, -122.33053 · placed automatically
The paper in the Library of Congress catalog ↗