Harmony (49 page)

She hushed her friend. “Abbie . . . what do your aunt and uncle say? What do your parents say? My goodness, I knew you always wanted to be modern, but Abbie, this is
too
modern—even for you.”

“They don't say anything. How can they? Everything's perfectly legitimate.” Her gaze grew defensive. “I mean it's all legal.”

“I don't understand . . . your calling card. It read Miss Abigail Crane.”

Abbie waved her hand. “Oh, that. I just haven't had time to have new ones printed. Everything happened rather . . . suddenly.” Then with a vivid flush on her cheeks, she hotly said, “Why, you goose, you didn't think— Well, never in all my born days! Edwina Huntington. I would never have an affair with a man. What kind of a woman do you take me for? I have morals and principles. I may be a free thinker, but I do believe in the vows between a man and woman before they're . . . undressed in front of one another and doing loathsome things in a bedroom.”

Edwina grew horrified. She put trembling fingers to her lips and fought back tears. “I'm sorry . . .”

“As well you should be,” she said sternly.

“Then what are you and Ludie to one another?” Edwina whispered.

“Why, you goose, I thought for sure you would have guessed by now.” She held her left hand out and flashed the ruby ring for Edwina's close inspection. “We're married.”

19

E
dwina walked onto the veranda, Ludie behind her. She had managed to get through the dinner, but with few words. Abbie's news had stunned her into almost complete silence while Abbie monopolized the table talk. She said they were visiting Harmony on their way to the West Coast for a California honeymoon. They'd been married less than two weeks, and, according to Abbie, they were blissfully happy and madly in love.

Having finished her dinner obligation, Edwina had sought escape after the dessert plates had been cleared. Good-byes spoken, she went out the front door, eager to leave. The shock of hearing such things during the meal still hadn't worn off, and all Edwina wanted to do was go home, crawl into bed, and snuggle with her cat. Pets came in handy in times of woe. Loyal to the end, they loved their owners unconditionally and made good listeners, giving back never an unkind word or admonishment—just purrs and happy kitty sounds.

“Edwina,” Ludie called from behind.

Disconcerted she'd been followed, Edwina stopped at the porch post and laid a hand on it. “I said my thank-yous. I have to be going home now.”

“Edwina . . .” His scholarly fingers, with their well-groomed
nails, curled around her forearm, now covered by her coat. Her eyes lowered to the place he touched. She went still; her heart wedged against her ribs. “I wanted to tell you before Abigail did. That's why I came by the school this afternoon.”

“You didn't owe me anything.”

“Yes, I did.”

The smell of his cologne seemed too pungent—too citrusy. She didn't like it . . . not when compared to . . . another's.

“Edwina, look at me.”

She didn't want to, but unable to help herself, she did. “I don't love her. I married her only because my parents pressured me to wed. My father said my still living at home and not being settled in my own life didn't make for a good appearance. I've put in for dean, and being established can help me get the position. Abigail was convenient. But my heart, Edwina . . . it belongs to you.”

“I don't want to hear this,” she whispered. “I have to go home.”

“Wait.” His hand held her wrist so that she couldn't move. “Edwina, believe me when I say I love you. I never stopped. Abigail . . . she's not you. She's what my parents wanted for me.”

“But you're married to her,” Edwina snapped. “How can you talk about your wife in such a way?”

“How can you defend her?” Ludie's mustache hid his mouth and she couldn't tell whether he was smiling. She finally detected that he was, but the smile was not one of amusement. “The entire trip down here, she anticipated the moment when she could tell you of our marriage. She's jealous of you. I told her to write, but she said she wanted to see the look on your face when you found out. She said you betrayed her.”

Tears burned the backs of Edwina's eyelids. Now it was Edwina who felt betrayed. Pulling her hand away from Ludie's hold, she gained her composure and said, “You could have written me just as easily. Don't blame this entirely on your . . . wife.”

“Would you have read a letter from me, Edwina? The last time we spoke . . . on that night . . . you said you never wanted to speak to me again.”

“But here I am, doing just that.”

“Edwina . . .”

She backed away from him. “There's nothing more to say. You're married—to a woman your parents approve of. I always knew Abbie was better than me in that regard. She was affluent and she had a place in society.”

“But I don't care about that.”

“Well, you should. You're married to her, for better or for worse. You should commit yourself to the marriage. It's lifelong.”

“Lifelong hell,” he swore. “She's not like she used to be. Not when we three went out together. Back then, she was . . . whimsical and warm and a good time.” His brown eyes became resentful. “Now she's just like my mother, caring about her standing in the community, going to this charity function and that, turning herself into a copy of the matrons she's ensconced herself with.”

“There's nothing I can do about that. You've made up your mind. You did so the night you told me you couldn't marry me.”

“I was pressured to give you up. I shouldn't have.”

“But you did.” Edwina grew outraged. “How dare you talk to me about this? I don't want to hear it. Do you expect me to feel sorry for you? If you do, you're sadly mistaken.”

“Edwina . . . I love you.”

She shook her head. “Stop saying that.”

“I can't stop telling you the truth. I need to know . . . Would you take me back if I wasn't married?” He attempted to bring her into an embrace, but she sidestepped him. “I could get a divorce—”

“Don't. You've made your choice. You have to live with it.”

“Living without you isn't living.”

“You have a wife now. Love her.”

“I can't.”

Edwina mindlessly headed down the porch steps, thankful the patchy ice had melted under the afternoon sun. Extreme upset roiled inside her. She wanted to go home, to get away.

“Edwina! Don't go yet.” Ludlow had to keep his voice clipped and not shout her name or the entire house would have heard.

She made no reply. Her fast walk turned into a run after she exited the gate. She didn't look back. If she had, she would have seen a slender woman's silhouette in the parlor window, a trembling hand on the side frame, then the lace curtains dropping back in place.

•  •  •

Tom went inside Plunkett's Mercantile, his coat collar turned up to his neck to ward off the softly falling snow that had been coming down since dawn. The store was warm and fragrant, the scent of cloth dye and spices and leather goods giving the place a homey feel. Aisles were always neat and orderly; merchandise was always stocked well and the service was top-notch. Plunkett ran a nice outfit, which was good—he had the only mercantile in town.

Beside the cracker barrel, cups of hot cider in their hands and the pot-bellied stove at their backs, stood Roger Elward, Pike Faragher, and Moses Zipp. They guffawed in unison about something Tom didn't catch. He acknowledged them with a tip of his hat, then continued toward the counter.

“Mr. Wolcott,” Plunkett said, a feather duster in hand. “What can I do for you?” He wasn't of the same proportions as his wife; as a matter of fact, quite the opposite. Hy Plunkett was as thin as a broom handle.

“Two packs of Richmonds.” Tom dug into his back pocket for his billfold and laid money on the counter. Behind him, the laughter rose again. This time he was able to make out their words.

“So she says to me,” Deputy Faragher embellished with a chuckle, “you've got to buy one of these elbow supporters if you want to hold your rifle steady.”

Snickering.

Then Moses Zipp spoke. “I said, ‘I don't even rifle hunt.' She goes and stretches the elastic and says, ‘Why not try it for fishing, then—it'll improve your cast.' ”

More hilarity.

Tom gazed at his right hand, noticing the veins on top were straining as he slid the packs of cigarettes toward him, putting one in his coat breast pocket and unwrapping the other. “Obliged, Plunkett.”

Turning, he struck a match and lit his smoke while walking to the men at the cracker barrel. He waved the flame out while Elward proceeded to say, “Did you get a look at how she had one on?”

Choking laughter.

“Good night, sister!” Faragher snorted. “I had to keep a straight face, but as soon as me and Algie left the store, we just busted our bladders from laughing so hard.”

“You wouldn't happen to be talking about Miss Huntington?” Tom asked in a voice level and emotionless.

With watery eyes, Faragher blew his nose into a handkerchief then stuffed it back into his trousers pocket. “Yes, Wolcott, as a matter of fact, we were. What in the hell possessed you to let her operate your store? A woman doesn't know squat about hunting gear.”

“Yep.” Roger grinned. “Sold us jockey straps as elbow supporters.”

Zipp rolled the toothpick in his mouth to the corner. “If it wasn't so damned funny, I'd be mad as a hornet I spent forty-two cents on something I didn't need for supporting my ‘elbow.' ”

Pokes in the ribs. Pats on the backs.

Tom felt every muscle in his body go hard and taut and coiled. He wanted to hit something, somebody—
somebodies.
He checked himself, then he kept his voice down as low as he could manage and still be heard. “You're mistaken about those Spaldings. They
are
elbow supporters. Miss Huntington was right. And she wore one correctly, too.”

Wide eyes stared at him.

“Any one of you who says different is a liar. I will call you out and make it my personal business to set you straight. For your sakes, I hope like hell I don't ever hear you—or anyone else who bought an elbow supporter—discussing this again. Because if I do, whoever is joking about Miss Huntington's sales effort is offending me. And in a town where there's only one sporting goods store to cater to your year-round needs, I'd suggest you remember that.” Then he put fingers to the brim of his hat and barely nodded. “The spring fishing season will be getting underway in a couple of months. Now's the time to get your tackle boxes in order.”

Tom left the stone-silent store and stepped onto the boardwalk. He tugged his hat band low over his brow and inhaled deeply on his cigarette before letting the smoke be caught on the light breeze. Walking to the opposite side of town, he made his mind go blank. But he could do so only for seconds before Edwina filled his head.

This morning, she hadn't held classes at the finishing school. That boxy lady who worked for her had come by and met the girls, telling them that Miss Edwina wasn't feeling well enough to lead classes. She'd sent them all home, giving him a sideways glance when he'd popped his head out his store's door just as she locked up the school; then she'd gone on her way.

Tom hadn't had any plans for speaking with Edwina—going through the storeroom or any other way. With Ludlow Rutledge in town, she had to come to terms with her past and then come to him. He had his pride, dammit. He'd gone to her last night, only to find she was with the professor and Miss Crane—Abbie—at Minister Stoll's. Having her old college chum in town along with the man who'd left Edwina in the lurch was enough for her to contend with. Tom wasn't going to put any more emotional pressures on her.