For Love's Sake (7 page)

On Saturday morning, she awoke to the sound of a brass band. It was the first weekend of October. Leaves were just beginning to turn, but the weather was still good and warm. The perfect time of year for the Cotton Festival, and she was bursting at the seams to get out there and enjoy the festivities.

She dressed herself in her nicest cream-colored blouse, with its high collar and sleeves that gathered tightly from the elbows to the wrists. It may have been a few years out of date, but paired with her new camel brown skirt, Laurel cut a very pretty picture. She brushed her light brown hair until it glistened, and then gathered it into a loose ponytail at the base of her neck with an old ribbon.

Christopher was waiting for her outside the hotel, thumbing through a newspaper as he drank his coffee on the porch. He looked incredibly handsome in his navy blue jacket and waistcoat. At his neck was a gold silk necktie, and gold cufflinks gleamed from his wrists in the morning sunlight.

“Good morning,” he smiled when he saw her approach. “Would you like some coffee?”

“It’s too warm for coffee.”

“Perhaps some orange juice then?”

Laurel picked a piece of cotton lint from her sleeve. “No thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Christopher said as he folded the newspaper and placed it on the wicker table beside him. He stood, stretched, and pressed his flat straw boater hat onto his head. “I suppose we should get going.”

People came from all over the county to celebrate the Cotton Festival. The streets were bustling with families bringing their children for the parade, which would start at noon. The stores would close then, dedicating Main Street over to the festivities for the rest of the weekend.

On the courthouse lawn, a puppet show entertained youngsters. Their antics were earning lots of laughter from the children, but with the music from the band drowning them out, Laurel had no clue what they were saying. She longed to cross the street, flop down in the grass, and watch, but felt that she was much too old that year. Plus, she wondered what Christopher would think of her behavior if she did.

He was busy taking in the scenery, as colorful flags and streamers hung from shop windows, and street vendors set up stands of popcorn balls and candied treats. Even in London, he had never seen such a colorful spectacle. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, and the day had only just begun.

They bought candied apples and found a perfect spot to watch the parade as it started. Mayor Waycaster acted as the Grand Marshall. He and his family rode in a colorfully decorated carriage, smiling and waving to the crowd. The marching band followed, playing
A Hot Time in the Old Town.
Not far behind them came Lottie Dellinger, reigning Cotton Queen for another year, surrounded by her ‘Ladies in Waiting’ – debutantes that had just made their bow into society, who threw out hard candy and salt water taffy to the spectators. Other town notorieties brought up the procession as it passed down Main Street.

Laurel smiled over at her companion. “Wheelbarrow races start in a half hour!”

Christopher had never heard of anything as undignified as a wheelbarrow race, but her enthusiasm was contagious. The two of them walked back to the courthouse lawn and found two vacant white wooden folding chairs to sit on. He recognized faces from the mill, except today they were well groomed and nicely dressed. His secretary was there with her small son, and he saw one of his supervisors seated with his family in the shade of a clump of pear trees.

“Are you having a good time?” Laurel asked him.

“I am,” he said. “My family back home wouldn’t believe it.”

She laughed, teasing him. “I take it you aren’t much fun!”

“My niece and nephews would disagree. They love to visit their ‘Uncle Chris’.”

Laurel smiled at the thought of rambunctious youngsters clinging to his pants legs. She almost dared to ask him if he ever wanted children of his own, but that was a very personal question, and she hated over-personal questions. Luckily, the moment was ruined by the lineup of the wheelbarrow racers.

It was the young boys first – one in the standing position, holding his partner’s feet up as he scrambled across the grass on his hands. The crowd clapped and cheered, urging the teams across the finish line. Next were the teams of men and women. The ladies took their male partner’s feet and steered them. This earned uproarious laughter from the spectators, as usually dignified townspeople made fools of themselves all in the name of good fun.

Christopher and Laurel took a break from the afternoon’s activities to have luncheon at the hotel. They sat amongst the other patrons on the porch, enjoying potato salad, finely chopped pork barbecue, and red coleslaw. Although he had been reluctant at first, he was glad Laurel convinced him to try the meal that was found so delicious by North Carolinians. It was a perfect compliment to the wonderful day.

Laurel pointed her fork at him. “I’ll make something of you yet!”

“Is that so?”

She nodded. “And you’re coming dancing tonight.”

Christopher took a long drink of his sweet tea. He was
not
going dancing and he told her so.

“But you have to!” Laurel begged. “That’s the best part of the entire festival!”

“Don’t be childish, Miss Graham. It has been a perfect afternoon, and let’s not spoil it.”

She did not think she was being childish at all! “Why won’t you come to the dance with me? Everything always has to be on your terms – I call
that
childish!”

 
“Go have fun with boys your own age, and forget about me,” Christopher said. “We spend entirely too much time together as it is.”

“I didn’t realize I was becoming such a nuisance,
Your Lordship
. I apologize!”

He was growing very tired of Laurel’s attitude. “I refuse to argue with you in public. You are so juvenile! If you had any sense at all, you would know better than to make a spectacle out of yourself over some stupid dance!”

Laurel slung her napkin on the table and rose to her feet. “Excuse me.”

Christopher made no move to stand, as was customary for a gentleman to do when a lady was leaving the table. It was a direct insult, and they both knew it. He was furious with her for making a scene. Women like her, who threw tantrums when they didn’t get their way, tried his patience. If
that
was how she was going to act, Miss Graham would not have the privilege of exasperating him any further.

“Childish!” Laurel yelled at her startled gray cat. “
He
called me childish! Why, he’s the most hard-headed man alive.”

She heated up a pot of water on her little stove. If Lord Christopher Brayles didn’t want to go to the dance, that was his prerogative. In fact, he would just ruin her good time anyway. Laurel had never heard him laugh, barely seen him smile – a person like that had no sense of humor, and probably wouldn’t know a good time if it jumped up and bit him!

“Well, I’ll show him.” She declared as she poured the steaming water into a small porcelain hipbath in the middle of her floor. “I’ll have
twice
as much fun just to spite him!”

A few more trips to the pump and Laurel had enough water for a bath. She stripped off her clothes, careful to lay them across her bed so as not to cause a single wrinkle. After she washed, she redressed. Dragging the tub full of water out the door to empty was trying, but Laurel managed to do it without soaking herself.

After a quick supper, she fed her cat, and headed off towards Mill Hill. The festival committee held a dinner and ball each year at the Mayor’s house, but no one Laurel knew had ever been invited. She imagined champagne, maybe oysters being served to guests in black formal clothes and elaborate gowns. There would be waltzing, too. She wondered if that was where Christopher would be spending his evening.

Christopher
had
been invited, but as usual, he declined the invitation. His plans were to relax in his room with a glass of whiskey, and he rang for a bellboy to bring him a bottle. When one never came, he took it upon himself to go downstairs and find one. Not even the desk clerk was working that evening, even though there were a few other guests staying overnight. He tried the kitchen, which was also deserted.

Finally, a trip around back found a group of young men smoking cigarettes and passing around a bottle. They were talking about the dance up on Mill Hill, and of which girl was sure to slip down to the creek with them later on. When one of them saw Christopher, they all jumped to their feet.

“Are
any
of you working?” he asked.

“No Sir. We’ve got the night off on account of the festival.”

That damned festival!
“Well, could one of you at least bring me up a bottle of whiskey before you leave?”

All of the boys looked at each other. “None of us have the key to the liquor cabinet, Your Lordship. The night manager took it when he went home.”

One brave lad held out the bottle in his hand. “If you want, you can have a swallow of this.”

Christopher snatched it from him and gave the clear liquid a sniff. “What is it?”

“Corn liquor, Sir,” the boy said. “Moonshine.”

He took a tentative swig and found the concoction harsh. Just for good measure, he took another, but the taste still did not improve. It was strong though, and he liked that.

“With all due respect, we thought you’d be down the street with the rest of ‘the quality’,” a young man explained. “And if you don’t mind, we’ve got a party to be getting to.”

“Out by the mill?”

“Yes Sir,” he said. “We wait for it all year.”

Christopher could not believe what he was about to do. “Would you mind if I came along?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Christopher was shocked to see the heavy metal doors to one of his empty cotton warehouses thrown open. People were coming and going from the building, and warm yellow light spilled out into the mill yard. He could hear music in the otherwise still night air, and wondered how his employees managed to get a copy of the keys.

It appeared that
he
was hosting this party, and never even knew it.

A few of his employees witnessed his arrival, and ran inside to warn the others. The last thing Christopher wanted to do was ruin everyone’s night, but it would have been pointless to try to tell them that. He stepped from the shadows and watched as everyone ducked and ran for cover. The music stopped abruptly. All that could be heard was the murmur of nervous voices and the clattering of folding chairs as people tripped over them in their haste to slip out the back door.

His eyes scanned the crowd, who stared back at him. One of the supervisors pushed Laurel forward, since it was decided that she had been the one to give them away.

“You know you’re trespassing,” Christopher explained to her.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then have us all arrested.”

A strangled laugh almost escaped from his throat. No matter how irritated he was with her, Miss Graham was surely twice as furious at him. “Actually, I came to join you…that is,
if
you will still have me.”

“Are you going to apologize for calling me childish?”

“No.”

Laurel decided to quit while she was still somewhat ahead. She grabbed his arm and led him over to a makeshift bench in the corner. The band struck up a lively tune, and the partygoers – satisfied that their night had not been ruined after all – jumped out on the dance floor. Someone handed them each a jar of homemade wine, which they sipped in silence.

After a few minutes, Laurel turned to him. “I am glad you came.”

Christopher shot her a bland smile. He was not glad that he decided to come, but it was better than spending a night in his hotel room without a drop to drink. His attention was drawn to the dancers in front of them, who were stomping and jumping in time to the music that poured out of the banjo player’s fingers and the fiddler’s bow. He had never seen anything like it in his life, and asked Laurel what it was they were doing.

“Buckdancing. Flat-footing. Some call it clogging, but we just call it dancing!”

“Can
you
do it?”

 
“Can I do it? Of course I can!”

His eyebrow cocked in an unspoken challenge. This, he had to see.

Laurel threw her head back and laughed. She accepted his challenge and handed him her jar of wine. Without the slightest hesitation, she ran to the dance floor and jumped right in. Her hands held her skirts, which she swished and swirled as she danced. In her own little circle, she tapped her heels and toes, hopping from one foot to another. Encouragement from the spectators made her smile, but it was the look of pure amazement of Christopher’s face that brought her the greatest happiness.

When the song was over, she flopped back down on the bench beside him, amid cheers and applause. “
Can I dance?
Why, I can dance the varnish right off that floor!” Laurel said with a laugh.

There was no doubt in his mind that she couldn’t. “Miss Graham, that was amazing!”

“Well, maybe someday you can teach me how to dance your way, and I’ll try to teach you how to dance mine!”

By the end of the night, Laurel danced until her feet were sore, and drank so much that she could hardly walk. Christopher found that he liked the wine as well, and mixed with the generous amount of questionably brewed whiskey passed around, he found his head spinning by the time he walked Miss Graham back to town.

They strolled arm in arm down the country road, with nothing but nature all around them. It was a beautiful autumn night, and the lonesome call of a whippoorwill could be heard in the distance. It sent a chill up Laurel’s spine, and she clung tighter to Christopher’s arm. If he minded the intimacy, he did nothing to discourage it.

“You must be very tired,” he said.

“Tired? No,” Laurel laughed in spite of herself. “A little drunk maybe…”

Christopher smiled and patted her small hand. London ladies often overindulged in champagne, but they never admitted to drunkenness. Her candor amused him – an honest woman was a novel concept in his eyes.