Fine Spirits [Spirits 02] (40 page)

      
“Um . . .” For the first time since I'd met him, the mighty Sam Rotondo looked uncomfortable.

      
It didn't matter, since Dr. Wagner didn't wait for an answer. His color deepening by the second, he roared, “I've never heard such outrageous allegations in my life! Who are you, young woman, that you can cast aspersions on me, a highly respected surgeon? If you think you can get away with such slander, you'll discover your error! I'll sue you until you don't have a pot to--”

      
“Stop it!”

      
This unexpected command issued from the throat and lips of none other than Marianne Wagner, who'd apparently reclaimed her backbone at last. When I turned to gape at her, she'd straightened to her full height, which was taller than I, although not by much, and had her hands bunched into fists at her sides. George tried to take her arm, but she shook him off.

      
In the resulting silence, Marianne continued. “Mrs. Majesty is right, Father. You know she is. Don't you
dare
talk about lawsuits!
You're
the one who's in the wrong.
You're
the one who drove me from home! You beat Mother, you beat me, you did . . . other things. You're a brutal, horrible monster!”

      
Wow. If somebody had offered to bet me that Marianne Wagner would one day stand up for herself against her old man, I'd have turned him down--and not merely because I don't gamble. I honestly, really and truly, didn't believe Marianne had an ounce of spunk in her. Shows how wrong I can be without half trying, doesn't it?

      
She was quivering with wrath and indignation. Dr. Wagner stared at her, his mouth hanging open. George's eyes were bulging with surprise. Billy was totally enthralled.

      
Sam, as might have been expected, was the only one who wasn't influenced by Marianne's affecting performance. Breaking the silence, he said, “All right, let's all calm down.” It was the same suggestion he'd offered before, but this time we all took him up on it.

      
His color still high, Dr. Wagner huffed. I guess he didn't dare say anything more for fear that either Marianne or I would drag some more of his sins out of the swampy darkness and dump them into the light of day. It's
got
to be a crime to beat your spouse and child, never mind the other things he'd done to Marianne. I probably should have asked Sam before this present crisis, but I hadn't wanted to make him any more suspicious of me than he already was.

      
Sam went on. “Can someone please tell me what's going on here?”

      
Once more I leaped into the breach. “I can.”

      
He gave me a sour look. “I expected as much.”

      
I wasn't put off, mainly because I was used to his sneers and snide remarks. “What you've heard is the truth, Sam. Marianne ran away from home when Dr. Wagner made living there too harrowing for her safety and sanity.”

      
Dr. Wagner gurgled but didn't speak. Sam shot him a “shut-the-heck-up-glance,” so I continued.

      
“Mr. Grenville was kind enough to allow Marianne to remain in the cottage behind his store until Marianne decided what she should do from among a variety of options.” I didn't let on that we hadn't come up with those options because Marianne was a totally useless human being, since it didn't have any bearing on the situation at hand.

      
Rather, I took a deep breath and an even greater chance, and said, “Miss Wagner and Mr. Grenville have come to know each other during the past couple of weeks. They are now deeply in love and plan to marry post haste.” There. I'd not only committed myself, but George and Marianne, too. Lord help us all.

      
Dr. Wagner found his voice. “I forbid it!” By this time his face was purple. “She's not twenty-one yet!”

      
Marianne took another bold step and faced her father. “You can't forbid it, Father. I'm eighteen years old. That may not be old enough to vote or to live on my own without your permission, but it's old enough to marry.” She lost some of her spirit and turned to Sam. “Isn't it?”

      
Sam nodded.

      
Marianne was now blushing furiously. “That is, if George--Mr. Grenville, I mean--cared to . . . I mean, unless he thinks we should wait three years . . .”

      
The ending was pretty feeble for a speech that had begun with such pluck, but her reasoning was sound. As luck and my insight into his character would have it, George knew what a chivalrous gentleman should do in such a case. Stepping up to the bat--or to Marianne, in this instance--he got down on one knee and took Marianne's limp (and probably damp from all the tears it had wiped away) hand in his and spoke directly to her, ignoring the rest of us in the audience. “I don't want to wait three years, and we don't have to.”

      
I knew what was coming, but didn't want to spoil his grand moment by speaking. If George proved to be the hero I'd pegged him for, everything might turn out all right after all--except for me having to spend the rest of my life behind bars. I used to be a pie-in-the-sky optimist, but events in late years had knocked me around some; therefore, I held my breath and watched.

      
“If Marianne will do me the honor of becoming my bride, we can be wed as soon as possible. I love her, and I believe she returns my regard.”

      
Marianne nodded and mouthed the word, “Yes.” That was all right; none of us needed to hear it to understand.

      
“
What
?”
Dr. Wagner. Bellowing. Again. “
What
?” He yanked the hat off his head and slammed it to the floor. I expected him to kick it or jump up and down on it, but he didn't. He seemed to swell up before he jerked around and faced me. He was a scary sight, all bright purple and fuming like a steam engine. I didn't blame Marianne or her mother for being afraid of him if he got like that very often. However, before I'd show him he frightened me, I'd fly to the moon, so I lifted my chin and glowered right back at him.

      
“This is all your fault!” he bellowed. “If you hadn't interfered in my daughter's life, none of this would have happened!”

      
But I, unlike the other women in his life, was no shrinking violet. I snapped, “You're wrong! This is
your
fault! If you'd treated your daughter the way any decent man should treat his child, she'd never have run away!”

      
I'm almost certain he would have punched me in the jaw, exactly the way I'm sure he'd punched his daughter and wife on more than one occasion, except that Sam caught his fist and held him back. Sam was darned strong, and as much as it pains me to say it, I appreciated his strength and quickness right then.

      
“That's enough from both of you,” he growled. Some of my appreciation wilted. Darn it, everything else might be my fault, but Dr. Wagner's being an ogre sure wasn't. “Calm down, Dr. Wagner. And you too, Mrs. Majesty.”

      
I frowned at him, but he didn't pay any attention to me. As soon as he got Dr. Wagner under control, he turned to George and Marianne. George had scrambled to his feet when Dr. Wagner started hollering and clutched Marianne in a protective embrace, even though it was I whom the doctor was threatening at the moment. “What about it, you two? Are you willing to marry?”

      
“Willing?” George asked, astounded. “I adore this woman. If she'll agree to marry me, I'll be the happiest man in the world!”

      
I wondered how long that would last, but not out loud.

      
“And I love George,” Marianne whispered. “I would be so happy to be his wife.”

      
I gave that declaration a longer life expectancy.

      
“But . . . but . . .” As he sputtered, Dr. Wagner's gaze went from George to Marianne and landed on me. His face screwed up in an expression of such outrage that I'd have shrunk back if I were, say, Marianne.

      
Since I'm not, I scowled at him. Then I did something that was unworthy of a woman with my reputation for graciousness, not to mention the ability to commune with spirits from beyond life's pale. I stamped on his hat. I thought for sure he'd bust an artery or something, but he didn't. He recommenced swelling up until he resembled a dapper but outraged toad.

      
Again, Sam stepped in to prevent homicide (or whatever the doctor had planned for me). “That's enough, you two. What we need to do now is have a calm chat with the couple and see if we can't get this problem solved.”

      
“I won't have it!” shouted Dr. Wagner.

      
“I'm afraid you don't have any say in the matter,” Sam said coolly. “Not if your daughter is eighteen years old and she wants to marry this gentleman. He's clearly amenable to such an action.”

      
“I am,” George said sturdily.

      
“And I,” said Marianne.

      
“Then I'm afraid there's nothing you can do, sir.” Sam smiled slightly at Dr. Wagner, who didn't return the gesture.

      
Instead he stood, rigid and trembling, for approximately ten seconds, before he spun on Marianne. Secure in George's arms, she didn't cower. He pointed a quivering finger at his daughter. “You are no longer a member of my family,” he declared in the voice of doom.

      
As he swooped down and picked up his crunched hat, Marianne spoke. “Thank God for that!”

      
Dr. Wagner looked stricken as he walked out of the bookstore.

      
I felt like applauding.

      
After the door closed behind Marianne's father, Billy
did
applaud. We all turned and gawped at him but, by gum, he was chuckling!

# # #

      
We agreed that George would drive Marianne to the courthouse and Sam would join them there. He promised to hurry them through the process of securing a marriage license and so forth, pulling whatever strings might be necessary, while I drove Billy home. He didn't feel up to attending the nuptials. Then I would drive down to the courthouse and stand as a witness for the happy couple.

      
“I was afraid you'd be mad at me,” I confessed as I pushed Billy and our Christmas presents along Colorado Street, heading west toward Marengo.

      
“I probably would have been if I hadn't witnessed that scene at the bookstore,” Billy admitted. “But you were right about Dr. Wagner. He's a louse.”

      
“He sure is. I couldn't just send Marianne back to him. When we're alone, I'll tell you some of the things he did to her, Billy. You won't believe it.”

      
“Yes I would, and I don't want to hear about them, thanks anyway.” He shuddered. “I can't imagine a father doing that to his own child. Or anyone else's, for that matter.”

      
“Me, neither.” It was either really cold or shudders were contagious, because I shuddered, too.

      
I kept waiting for him to blow up or say something nasty to me, but he didn't. I didn't have any idea what had come over him, but I hoped it lasted--as long as it didn't presage something horrid. As I have no precognitive powers and couldn't tell, I remained nervous.

      
Spike was so happy to see us, he piddled on the floor of the living room. I didn't scold him; it was excitement that had made him do it. Billy only laughed. I got more nervous.

      
Since I was going to a wedding, even if it was going to be at the courthouse, I changed into a nice blue suit. It wasn't as elegant as my black wool dress, but I didn't think black would be appropriate for a wedding, especially under the circumstances.

      
Right before I walked out the front door, Billy stopped me. “Wait a minute, Daisy.”

      
My heart thudding, I waited. But Billy surprised me.

      
Digging into his pocket and withdrawing a couple of dollars, he handed them to me. “Get a posy or something for Grenville and Miss Wagner. They'll be the only flowers the blushing bride will get, I reckon.”

      
“Oh, Billy!” I was so touched, tears sprang to my eyes. “Thank you so much.” I leaned over and kissed him.

      
He blushed a little. “It's nothing,” he muttered. “Just some flowers.”

      
But it wasn't just some flowers. It was a tender gesture from the man I loved, and I knew it if he didn't.

      
The Ford balked at being started. I have no idea what was wrong with it, and I worried that it would break down completely before I could replace it. But I didn't want to walk to the wedding, so I took a chance on the Model T.

      
There was a flower vender on the corner of Colorado and Fair Oaks, so it didn't take much time to pick out a pretty bouquet of white roses and yellow chrysanthemums. It might not have been wedding material under normal circumstances, but I figured we'd all make allowances.

      
The weather was frigid. The wind hitting me in the face gave me more color than usual (I know it for a fact, because I glanced in the little mirror I kept in my handbag before climbing out of the motorcar). Clouds covered the mountains, and I wondered if it was snowing up there.

      
The old Pasadena City Hall, which was destined to be replaced in 1929, had been erected in 1877 on the corner of Fair Oaks Avenue and Union Street. By 1920 the old wooden building was kind of shabby, but my heart was light as I parked at the curb in front of it. I saw Sam's big old Hudson and George's gray Cadillac already there, and when I ran up the steps and pushed the door open, the three of them were waiting for me.