Pamela Morsi (11 page)

He continued to stare at her. Then, as if just noticing the flower in his hand, he recovered himself and stepped forward.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the rose in her direction. “It’s one of your own. I didn’t think to bring you flowers, but if you wear this, everyone will think I did.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she answered.

She took it from him and stepped back into the house. Her sewing basket was in the front parlor and she fetched a pin from it and attached the small red bud to her throat.

Her hands were shaky and her heart was beating very rapidly, undoubtedly a further consequence of the tight lacing. She was almost breathless when she returned to his side.

“Very nice,” he said, commenting upon the flower. “It brings nice color to your cheeks.

“Thank you,” she said and gratefully took the arm that he offered.

He led her down the path, through the gate and into the street.

It was a beautiful afternoon for a band concert. The hot Texas sun was high in a sky of wispy white clouds and a gentle westerly breeze stirred the air.

“I’ve decided that working together with Amos on the Founder’s Day fireworks can be a good thing,” Rome said.

She looked up at him questioningly. “I thought you said it would be difficult to live a lie right in the man’s face.”

Rome nodded. “That part still won’t be easy,” he admitted. “But I’m thinking what an opportunity it will be to show him how totally unsuited I am to be your mate.”

She felt a little tremor go through her.

“You are not
totally unsuited,”
she insisted. “I wouldn’t have asked you to help me with this scheme if I’d thought for a moment that it would reflect poorly on either of us.”

“I’m not thinking to portray myself as a criminal or a bully,” Rome told her. “I just thought I’d sort of show myself to be the kind of fellow that wouldn’t really make a good husband.”

“But I’m sure you would make a wonderful husband,” she said. “You have such a thoughtful and generous nature and you’re hardworking and dependable. Any woman would be lucky to have you.”

He grinned at her. “Well, if I ever need a reference for my employer, I’ll know where to come.”

Gussie liked his teasing.

“I was just thinking that if what we’re doing now doesn’t work, that little push of seeing the worst in me might spur Amos to make his decision,” Rome explained.

Gussie nodded. “You’re probably right. Perhaps we should hold some serious back up plan like that in reserve. We don’t know how difficult it may be to make him come around.”

Rome patted her arm reassuringly.

“It’s not going to be all that difficult,” he assured her. “I’m thinking that just catching sight of you today in that dress might bring the man to his knees.”

Gussie felt the color rise to her cheeks, but it was a very pleasing and pleasant fluster. His words washed over her, soothing her hurts and her loneliness. It was wonderful to walk beside him. Although with her inability to catch a good breath, she found the pace a little strenuous. At her request, they slowed to a very leisurely stroll.

“This is a good idea,” Rome said.

“What?” she asked him.

“Lollygagging like this,” he said. “Taking way too much time just to get down the street.”

She considered explaining why she couldn’t walk faster, but dismissed the idea entirely. She certainly couldn’t confess to the man that her corset was laced too tight! Besides, it was fashionable, and there was just no explanation for fashion.

“It makes us look even more like a pair of lovebirds,” Rome insisted.

“Why do you think so?”

“A courting couple just don’t get that much time alone,” he pointed out. “They’d be sure to treasure the private moments together, even if they occurred on a public street.”

Gussie looked up into the handsome man’s eyes and wondered at the good fortune of any woman who would share private moments with him.

They arrived at the main square, where a significant-sized crowd had already gathered. The wide expanse of lawn and trees threaded through interlocking walkways, evidence of the thousands of happy, carefree feet that had trod here for generations. Cultivated beds of colorful flowers, hardy enough to withstand the worst of Texas summer, brightened the path in every direction. Near the center of the square was a large open-air gazebo heavily shaded by a couple of towering oaks. Horns tooted and strings whined as the city band was tuning up for an afternoon concert.

The park also boasted a memorial to the War Dead of Both Sides and a small cannon said to be a relic of the Alamo. There was a precious little rose garden tucked away in the far east corner. Gussie had heard it to be a special secret hideaway for young lovers. She had no knowledge of that herself. No man, young or
otherwise, had ever attempted to lead her off anywhere alone.

Being on Rome’s arm made her feel conspicuous. It also made her feel strangely proud. That was rather silly. Why on earth should she feel any sort of pride just for being escorted through the park by a man who was her employee? Gussie raised her chin even higher and reminded herself how triumphant she would be when Amos Dewey walked at her side, and when her name was Mrs. Amos Dewey.

Feeling a little as if she had run all the way from her house, Gussie hoped that Rome would direct her to one of the dozens of gleaming white benches that made up the seating around the gazebo. Instead he correctly continued to promenade with her upon the busiest paths. The reason to be there was to be seen, and a lot more people would see them walking than merely sitting.

As they strolled along, Rome tipped his hat for every lady and spoke or nodded to every gentleman. No one stopped to talk, but everyone returned his greeting.

There were old folks with walking canes, and younger ones pushing baby carriages. Some were very finely dressed. As well as those whose Sunday best was looking a bit shabby.

Becky Timmons was walking out for the first time with Matt Purdy’s son, Matthew. Neither seemed particularly pleased about it. Their stony faces seemed cheerful when compared to Pete and Loralene Davies, who looked more eager to break into fisticuffs than spend a pleasant afternoon together.

The beauty of the spring day was cheerful, uplifting. Gussie felt almost light-headed. Rome entertained her from time to time with little casual comments. He
talked about the Monday Merchants, the upcoming Founder’s Day; he even repeated the recent discussion on bricking up the well-worn park paths that they sauntered down as they dodged the occasional mud puddle. It was all very ordinary conversation. But when he spoke to her, Rome leaned his head close to hers as if they were engaged in a private, intimate discussion. It was effectively staged and Gussie was certain that anyone watching would believe he was whispering soft, sweet words in her ear.

The close proximity was exhilarating. His face was so close to her own that she could feel the words upon her temples. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh, but she thought it most likely another result of the laced-too-tight corset.

Gussie was certainly having some difficulty catching her breath and there was a certain giddiness that settled upon her.

When they met up with Joe and Madge Simpson, the other couple seemed delighted to see them.

“What a beautiful day for a concert,” Madge said.

“And don’t you look fine today, Miss Gussie,” Joe said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so pretty.”

Gussie blushed, again grateful for Miss Ima’s new dress.

“Look at the color in her cheeks, Mr. Simpson,” Madge said, ostensibly to her husband. “There is nothing quite like a handsome man to bring out the beauty in a woman’s countenance.”

This was said with a telling look toward Rome.

Gussie glanced in his direction and saw that he was blushing as well.

Perhaps it was his own embarrassment that caused Rome to quicken the pace as they parted company from their friends. They were hurrying along a bit too
rapidly for Gussie’s good health and she had just opened her mouth to call a halt when Rome squeezed her hand meaningfully.

She followed the direction of his gaze. Walking up the pathway toward them was none other than the purpose of their deception, Amos Dewey.

“Courage,” Rome whispered. “And smile.”

She felt the former in sufficient quantity and tried to do plenty of the latter. However, she was quite breathless and there was an unreal quality about the moment. Sparkly little stars glittered at the edge of her vision and the earth seemed a bit unsteady beneath her feet.

Amos looked especially handsome this morning, Gussie thought. His long, lean body was perfectly suited to the blue-striped cotton coat. And unlike most gentlemen of his age, the Panama hat was not needed to hide a receding hairline, so he doffed it completely as he stopped directly in front of them. His bow was courtly, formal, stiff.

“Good morning, Miss Gussie, Rome.”

The man beside her returned the greeting. Gussie said nothing. She felt strangely disconnected from the moment. As if she were very far away and observing another woman with two handsome gentlemen.

The conversation between the two men seemed cordial, if somewhat reserved. Gussie knew that she should be paying full attention to what was being said, but somehow she couldn’t quite focus upon it.

She looked over at Amos. Tall, dark, handsome Amos, the object of all her fondest hopes and dreams. He was the man she was determined to marry.

More stars veiled her vision and she turned to Rome, so familiar and dependable, beside her. He glanced in her direction. His brow furrowed.

“Miss Gussie?”

She heard her name on his lips as if from a far distance. Then the ground swept up and captured her close, warm and so very safe.

Rome had only an instant of time as he realized that she was fainting. But it was long enough for the flash of insight that said,
Let Amos catch her
. That made sense. They were trying to lure the man out of his complacency and what better way than to literally have a woman drop into your arms. It was the reason he was in on this charade. It was the smart thing to do. But as she began to crumple to the ground, instinct overrode the conscious mind and he reached out for her.

It was only when she was safe in his arms that he saw that Amos too had reached out to catch her. He had been an instant too late and Rome now held her braced against one knee, the other upon the ground. “Is she all right?”

“She’s fainted,” Rome told him.

“Gussie?” Amos sounded incredulous. “She’s not a swoony type of woman.”

“Well, you tell me, then, what does it look like?” Rome asked overly patiently. “Do you think she’s joking with us?”

Amos looked stunned.

“Go borrow some smelling salts,” Rome said.

As the man hurried off, Rome wondered for a moment if Gussie was play-acting, trying to get Dewey’s attention.

“Gussie,” he whispered gently. “Miss Gussie, are you all right?”

She stirred a little, but didn’t open her eyes.

Rome put one arm behind her knees and pressed her more closely against his chest and managed to rise to
his feet. The woman was no delicate feather in his arms, but he was strongly muscled from the burdens of his job and carried her easily up the path toward the benches surrounding the gazebo.

If they had been trying to capture attention, they surely had it now. All other motion in the park had ceased and every eye in the place was focused upon them.

Rome stopped beside the first empty bench and lay her out upon it as gracefully as he could. He knelt beside her. She was stirring again. She opened her eyes briefly and looked at him, but it was obvious that she saw nothing and knew nothing.

An instant later, Amos hurried up, clutching a small brown bottle.

“It belongs to Mrs. Penderghast,” he said.

Rome didn’t care; he grabbed it out of the man’s hand and pulled out the stopper, waving it momentarily under Gussie’s nose. One good whiff of the aromatic and her eyes opened, she pushed the stopper away.

“Miss Gussie?” he asked. “Are you all right, Miss Gussie?”

Her answer came out in a whisper. He had to lean closely to hear.

“I can’t breathe,” she told him. “My laces, my laces are too tight.”

Being a man of action and the kind of fellow who goes to the source of the problem, it was Rome’s first instinct to try to help. He raised her up slightly, seeking the buttons at the back of her dress. One hand quickly released the top one.

He hesitated. It wasn’t good sense, propriety or any other reasonable consideration that stayed his hand. It was a sudden, overwhelming, all-consuming awareness of Augusta Mudd, his employer, his fellow
schemer, his business partner, as a woman, a desirable woman, a woman in his arms.

“Get out of my way,” he heard over his shoulder.

He glanced up to find himself being surrounded by a gaggle of anxious, hurrying females.

“What’s wrong with her?” Mrs. Penderghast asked.

“She’s fainted dead away,” Loralene Davies commented.

“Did you two gentlemen have words?” Anna Purdy’s question sounded more like an accusation.

Suddenly Madge Simpson was beside him, obviously concerned, but looking calm and efficient.

“Gussie? Are you all right? What happened?”

“She said her laces are too tight,” Rome whispered as discreetly as possible.

Madge’s eyes widened, clearly scandalized by his words. It was not a thing that a gentleman should be aware of. But her hesitation was only momentary.

“Scat!” she said to him, as if he were a strange cat that had wandered unwelcome upon her back porch. “Both of you men, go tend to your own business. You’re not needed here.”

Rome felt a certain reluctance to leave, but realized that it was his presence that kept Miss Gussie from the opportunity to draw a good breath. He quickly got to his feet and stepped away. He saw Amos looking unsure and he went over to the man.

“We’ll leave her to their care,” he said, encouraging him to turn his back as they moved a decent distance away.

“What happened?” Amos asked, his voice full of genuine concern.