Earthly Vows (8 page)

Jeb excused himself to the Oakleys.

Donna apologized. “She can’t have gone far.” She asked Marion, “Is there a balcony in this hotel?”

“There’s a rooftop garden,” said Marion. “There was a brief rain, somebody said.”

Donna said to Jeb, “You’ve noticed, haven’t you, that Fern likes to stand outside after a rain?”

He didn’t say. But he hadn’t noticed. It had been too long since the last rain shower.

“It’s been so hot and all, I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Donna.

He didn’t know her well enough to tell if she was irritated with Fern. Jeb had taken a few steps when he heard Donna ask Marion,
“Do you know where that Walton fellow went to?”

“Senator Baer’s gone to look for your sister,” said Marion.

“Senator?” asked Jeb.

“Dear one, I thought you knew,” said Marion. “Senator Walton Baer.”

Fern wasn’t among the group of women who came out of the powder room laughing. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen her laugh
the whole weekend. She was civil most of the day, but not her happy self, not the way she was in Nazareth—not even on the
trip all the way from Nazareth to Ardmore. He felt like an insensitive fool to keep nudging her to go to this bash. Jeb found
a building diagram down the hall from the elevator. He gave it a look. There was a right turn, and then a small lobby with
a doorway leading guests out onto the roof. He had never seen such a sight, a little square of Eden on a hotel roof. Maybe
it was like Fern to want to see such a thing, especially by night. He followed the hallway right and found the two glass doors.
He pressed his face against the glass to see out. A couple necked near a potted tree. He pushed open the door.

The air was dank, steaming under the cloud barrier that turned the sky black, erasing the moon and stars, like Sanford’s ink
washing every point of light from heaven. A brown thrasher fluttered suddenly, bursting out of the foliage of an olive tree.
Drops rained off the leaves, gold dripping under the lanterns. The stone pavement was shining and black, everything damp.
A pondlike vapor hung over the terrace, but it couldn’t have rained that much. A gardener had been out and watered it. Water
hoses were wound up like snakes and put against the wall. The raised gardens were framed all around with wood, a tangle of
mountain sumac and primrose petals dripping over the potent boxed soil.

Fern was where Donna said she might be. She stood near the rooftop balustrade, looking down on Oklahoma City. Her fingers
lightly gripped the barrier. Jeb walked around the tree that blocked his view of her. Now she was in full sight. The rhinestone
hairpins in the back of her hair flickered like a cat’s eyes.

Walton leaned against the railing near her. She kept looking away and he was talking to her in a low voice. “I was surprised
to hear you were coming,” he said.

Jeb slid his hands into his pockets and stepped sideways behind the tree.

“Who said I was coming?”

“Marion’s daughter, Sybil, told Anna,” said Walton. “She didn’t know who you were, though. Did you know Sybil? It’s been so
long. At any rate, since college, Sybil’s still my wife’s best friend. They sit out on the patio all morning, gabbing and
drinking coffee. I’m glad for Anna she still has Sybil.”

Fern kept looking down at the street below. “I knew I shouldn’t have come.” She fumbled with something at her wrist. Walton
reached and with both hands adjusted whatever bauble it was she fiddled with around her wrist. “Was I that bad, Fern?” he
asked.

“We were all bad, Walton. That’s the way things were back then.”

The Oklahoma senator gripped the railing and his hand rested near the hand that bore Jeb’s engagement ring. “Fern Coulter’s
marrying a preacher. I couldn’t believe it when Marion introduced him. I guess you’ll have to be good now. Abigail must be
pleased, she never could keep a good leash on you.”

“Hush, Walton.”

The door opened behind Jeb. The necking couple took their party inside. The woman laughed, a loud, rolling flutter of laughter
that echoed across the terrace. Fern turned and then froze. She moved away from the railing. “Jeb, is that you?”

Jeb came from behind the tree. “I was worried. I came looking for you.”

“Evening, Reverend,” said Walton.

She stared at him after he stepped out from behind the tree. “You should have said something. Told me you were here.”

Jeb looked first at Fern and then Walton.

“Jeb, this is Senator Walton Baer,” said Fern.

“We’ve met. Our host and hostess are probably wondering what happened to us.” Jeb held out his hand. She sighed and then accepted
his hand. Her fingers trembled slightly and then clasped his. Her husky grip was gone, but she followed him. Her palm was
clammy. She kept her eyes to the pavement all the way across the terrace and then even as they walked down the hallway and
into the Venetian Room.

She knelt and brushed away a soggy leaf from the hem of her gown. A trace of brown stained the hem. She sighed and then straightened
upright.

Walton followed them. “No need to spoil a good party,” he said. He slipped on his jacket. “I’m not hungry anyway. I hope we
meet again, Reverend. See you, Fern.” He turned and left.

“I’m getting a headache, Jeb. Can we leave?”

Donna spotted them. Her face brightened. She rested against her chair back to allow one of the waiters to fill her soup bowl.
“They’re bringing your food,” she mouthed.

“Donna’s already ordered for us. We ought to go in,” said Jeb.

One by one, each dinner guest turned his or her face from the table and looked at Fern, a set of curious eyes connecting back
to Jeb, and then turning back to whisper.

“You going to tell me who Walton is?”

She lifted her face. “I knew him once.”

“Where’s his wife?”

“He didn’t say.” She took a breath. “He followed me, Jeb. I went outside to be alone. Don’t make it something else.”

“Do you want to be alone now?” He let go of her arm.

“This isn’t right, what you’re doing.”

“What am I supposed to think, Fern? A man I don’t know shows up and ends up out in some garden with my fiancée. You think
I’m an idiot?”

“I know you’re not, Jeb. But I told you I didn’t want to come, didn’t I?”

“So you knew this Walton would be here?”

“You’re not listening, so what difference does it make?”

“Why’d he come alone?”

“I think he came to see me.” She waved to acknowledge Donna. “We never brought things to a proper close. I think he wanted
to make sure I was all right. Everyone’s looking at us. Can we stop talking about it?” Marion waved at Jeb. Jeb cupped Fern’s
elbow with one hand, and clasped her wrist with the other. He steered her back toward the dinner party. Marion had commented
about Walton finishing law school when Fern and Donna were in college. But she had never mentioned him before. “I hope we
can return to the party and at least be civil.”

Fern smiled at the hostess, but she didn’t comment any further. “I wish you would say something, Fern,” said Jeb. “I told
you I didn’t want to come.”

Marion was talkative, telling Jeb that while he and Fern were out for their walk, Donna started a rumor about them. “She says
you’re getting married this week, is that right?”

“Tuesday, most likely in Abigail’s church. A simple ceremony,” said Jeb. But he said it without looking at Fern.

“I’m surprised Abigail isn’t throwing you-all a big wedding. I’ll bet she had no say in this,” said Marion.

“She didn’t at all,” said Donna. “I think I was the instigator and Mother never lets that happen. I’ll be surprised if she
lets them up and get married without a big to-do.”

Jeb tried to keep from looking at Walton’s empty chair. His bowl was cleared by the wait staff.

“Let me see your ring, Fern.” Marion extended her hand to Fern, who was seated next to her. The rock on Marion’s hand could
sink the table.

Fern held her hand up to Marion. Her tone was staid when she said, “It’s very old. Jeb’s mother left it to him.”

“I’ve never seen diamonds in that sort of arrangement. It’s a fine ring and the plainness of it is what I like best,” Marion
said to the entire party.

“I propose a toast,” said one of the men.

“If it’s all right with the preacher,” said Henry Oakley.

Several of the men said, “Hear! Hear!”

Donna elbowed Fern until she lifted her water glass.

Jeb touched his glass to Fern’s. There were shadows under her eyes. She was breathing heavier than usual, her chest rising
and then sinking. As she lowered her glass, Marion began bending her ear again, wanting to know about her trousseau.

Henry touched Jeb’s arm. “How about we get down to business, Reverend? Marion and I have been friends for years with Jon and
Rachel Flauvert. They’ve traveled all over, you name it, Mexico, Peru, what have you. I think they’ve been to China or some
such. We lost our last pastor to some big church outfit in New York. Jon Flauvert knows everyone, so when I was asked on behalf
of First Community here in Oklahoma City to find a new minister, I knew he was the man to see about it.”

Jeb listened to Henry talk about the founding of First Community and then told him, “Dr. Flauvert asked me to speak on Sunday.
But it’s happening kind of fast. I still have a lot of ties back in Nazareth.”

“Understood. But we like what we’ve heard about you, so we hope you’ll give us a look and we’ll give you and your bride a
look and see what happens.”

“Tell us, Fern, what you think of coming here, of your husband taking the pulpit of a city church?” asked Marion.

Fern turned to look toward the restaurant entrance. Donna whispered something to her. She said, “I’m not sure.”

“She hasn’t had a minute to think about it, I’m sure,” said Henry.

“I’ve made a life for myself in Nazareth. The people are good.” The whole time Fern talked, she shifted her gaze from Marion
and then back to Henry, avoiding Jeb’s eyes. “Most, I’d say, are good.”

Everyone laughed.

“The last thing I remembered saying about Nazareth was to Jeb before we left town. I wondered if we would live there the rest
of our lives,” she said.

“Is that what you want?” asked Marion.

“She said it didn’t matter as long as she was with me,” said Jeb.

Fern finally looked at him. “I don’t think I said that.” She was smiling for everyone, but there was that irritating tension
between them.

Henry laughed and a couple of women leaned forward, elbows on the table.

The entree arrived and the soup bowls were removed. Donna had ordered a steak for Jeb. He thanked her for that. The waiter
filled Jeb’s glass again. The jazz singer was taking a break, so the band struck up a soft melody. The lights were dimmed
so much that all members of the dinner party had a blue cast to their skin. The smoky haze made a halo around Fern’s blond
hair. She mostly listened to Marion gabbing, communicating by an occasional nod of the head. Donna kept looking at Fern and
then Jeb. Her fingers nervously tapped the table.

Jeb closed his eyes when he chewed the first bite of steak. It was a perfect cut, fork tender. He had not dined on steak since
the time before he and his brother, Charlie, went to work for a man named Leon Hampton in Texarkana. Maybe it had been longer.
He could taste the rareness of it, the tender pink juice flowing into his mouth. The fluid music lulled him into a relaxed
state.

The woman sitting next to him wore a spangled shawl, the border threads dripping over her fingertips whenever she reached
for her glass. Her husband invited her to get up and dance a slow one. Another couple got up from the table and then a young
man walked all the way across the room and invited Donna to dance.

“Looks like we’re the only old fogies left to hold down the fort,” said Henry.

“Henry, why don’t you ask Miss Coulter to dance?” asked Marion.

Fern glanced at Jeb. She didn’t wait for his nod of approval, but got up and met Henry on the floor.

Marion turned around in her chair to watch them gliding around the floor. Then she faced Jeb and said, “That Fern is a pistol,
sharp, sharp, I’m telling you. She’ll be an interesting one to watch. Not your typical preacher’s wife.”