Pamela Morsi (7 page)

She was totally caught up in the solemnity of the ceremony. The expression upon her face was serene
and … and beautiful. There was no other word to describe it.

Was she daydreaming of her own wedding? Was she imagining Amos, tall and handsome, at her side? Rome would be in the crowd, naturally. As a partner in her company, he would be expected to attend. He would see her looking so serene, so beautiful, so totally and deservingly fulfilled. He would envy her happiness.

When that last thought went through his mind, he was startled by it What a very strange idea. He shook off the foolishness of it.

“Please join hands,” Reverend Holiday said to the young couple.

With the help of the bridesmaid and the best man, the bride and groom both shed the glove upon their respective left hand.

The vows were spoken, his with some stumbling and stuttering, hers with a breathless certainty that was almost inaudible.

Reverend Holiday pronounced the couple man and wife. Theirs was a chaste, sweet kiss. A symbol of their love, not a demonstration of it. The room was filled with delighted smiles. There was some circumspect, muted applause. It was over.

But not for Rome and Gussie. The social triumph of the Timmons family was to be their coming-out party.

They rose to their feet. They received several nods of acknowledgment. The Penderghasts, just in front of them, actually spoke to Rome.

“Good to see you, Akers.”

The fact that the man saw him regularly around town and once a week when he delivered ice to the house was notwithstanding.

They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries as if they had not conversed only hours previously.

Mrs. Penderghast was not as easily won over. She’d seen the couple holding hands and she was not likely to forget the shocking sight any time soon.

She did not seem, however, quite so reticent with Gussie. The old woman commented upon the flowers on the dais. Apparently the pretty arrangement was Gussie’s.

With great formality, Rome took the arm of the woman at his side. He was a little edgy again and made a special effort to be as well mannered and refined as any man present.

They made their way up the aisle toward the doorway. There was a crush of people and a lot of curious looks in their direction. Rome had known that they would be the subject of great speculation. He had not realized how conspicuous he was going to feel.

Madge Simpson sidled up next to them, her husband in tow.

“I swear, Gussie, that is exactly your color,” she said. “It does wonders for your complexion.”

The words were spoken to Miss Gussie, but the woman’s attention was focused completely upon Rome. It was a test, he realized.

“You are right, of course,” he told the woman. “A lovely woman always, Miss Gussie looks especially so tonight.” He leaned closer to Mrs. Simpson, as if to share a secret confidence. “But, ma’am, I would warn you of the dangers of swearing in church.”

The woman giggled as delightedly as a girl.

She took his other arm and, with some difficulty, they walked four abreast through the vestibule. Madge pointed out some pale, hothouse roses on a table. He remembered the comment from Mrs. Penderghast about the flowers that Gussie had brought.

“I know nothing of flowers, Mrs. Simpson,” he
admitted with exaggerated gravity. “These are very fine, I’m sure. But they don’t begin to compare with the magnificent, brightly colored ones I saw in the church.”

He could see immediately that he’d said the right thing. Madge Simpson was won over. No matter what others might say, she was on his side.

The wedding repast was to be held in the supper room of the Granger Hotel, across the street from the church. After the meal, there was to be dancing. It was, by Cottonwood standards, a grand social event. A banquet table was laid out with a huge side of roasted beef and dishes featuring every root and vegetable currently in season. There were bride’s loaves to be kept as remembrances for years. And a white-flour wedding cake baked in geranium leaves and decorated with bows and bells.

The supper room was not like anything that Rome had ever seen. Though he couldn’t truly say how unique it was, because he rarely attended any community events. He would most likely have missed the evening had he not been lured into Miss Gussie’s scheme.

It wasn’t that he disliked the very ladylike social affairs of the town. But they just always seemed something more suited to pairs. A lone man on his own should, more rationally, find relaxation and enjoyment in a smoky barroom or billiard parlor.

He and Joe, Madge’s husband, found a table for the ladies and saw them seated before going to the banquet table. Juggling two plates, Rome glanced back nervously several times in Gussie’s direction. A number of people had stopped by the table to talk. Rome wanted to be there to help her if things turned sticky.

Having seen Amos at the church, he was fairly certain that the man was in attendance, although Rome
had yet to spot him in the supper room. He had no idea how the land might lie there. It was certainly possible that Amos might make a scene. Rome intended to be by Gussie’s side if he did.

The noise in the room was growing boisterous. It was a cheerful, happy mood and Rome found himself going along with it, despite the number of speculative glances directed his way.

He and Simpson eventually made it back to the table bearing heaping plates of food. The ladies had been joined by Constance and Perry Wilhelm. The women seemed to have some sort of private joke about the flowers and they laughed together so charmingly, it was a pleasure for a man to watch.

Joe and Rome mostly listened to the feminine chatter while Perry went to procure victuals for himself and his wife. When he returned to the table, a more gentlemanly conversation commenced over the prospects of the new bridegroom. And the need for Cottonwood to become a more diversified community, not solely dependent upon farming and ranching.

Rome was pleased when Gussie joined in the discussion. He knew from long experience that she had a very bright head upon her shoulders. He was glad that she did not see the necessity of pretending a frail feminine ignorance while in public.

After much celebrating, the bride and groom cut the fancy cake with much fanfare. Reverend Holiday, speaking very loudly and looking extremely disapproving, interrupted any ribald suggestions and offered a prayer for the couple, pointing out that
grace
for the meal had not been spoken.

As the band struck up a waltz and the newlyweds took to the dance floor, the guests, more subdued and sheepish, sampled the cake.

Rome took a bite and his eyes widened in surprise.

“Mmmmmm,” he murmured in appreciation. It was the lightest, sweetest treat he had ever tasted.

“It’s very good, isn’t it?” Gussie said beside him.

“It is delicious,” he agreed.

“Oh, the man likes sweets,” Madge said, her tone teasing. “I think that means, Gussie, that you will have to learn to bake.”

There were titters of laughter at that statement. Joe gave his wife a half-reproachful look and the humor faded to an uncomfortable silence.

“I did mean—” Madge began.

Perry interrupted her. “This is like ignoring a bull in the front parlor,” he said. “I’m sure not going to act like I don’t notice.”

Rome said nothing. He had no idea what to say.

“So you two have decided to expand your business dealings to a more personal side,” Perry continued finally.

Rome shot a quick glance in Gussie’s direction. Two bright spots of color shone in her cheeks. He didn’t know if she was embarrassed because she was with him, or simply from lying to her friends.

He cleared his throat. “Miss Gussie has graciously consented to walk out with me,” Rome said. “It was a tremendous concession on her part and I would appreciate it if my
friends”
—he emphasized the word—”if my friends said nothing to point out the foolishness of her generosity.”

It was, luckily, the right thing to say and just the right tone to say it. The mood at the table immediately turned more carefree and Perry even slapped him upon the back.

“Well, for myself,” he announced, “I think it’s a
long time coming and not a minute too soon. You two have always seemed a likely pair to me.”

The incredulity of that suggestion was so much that Rome’s jaw dropped open in shock and he had to quickly cover his action with a faked cough in an embroidered linen napkin.

Rome was completely at a loss as to what to do next He turned to the woman at his side.

“Would you care to dance, Miss Gussie?” he asked her.

She seemed surprised. “Oh, I … I don’t dance very much, Mr. Akers,” she admitted.

“Me neither, but surely we can manage a one-step,” he said.

She rose to her feet and Rome escorted her onto the dance floor. Every eye in the building was on them.

He grasped her right palm in his own and placed his left hand against her waist The tempo was upbeat and the required step simple. Despite both their claims of ineptitude, it was a special bonus that the two turned out to be quite compatible on the dance floor. Neither was a particularly skilled partner, but they were so well matched that they executed their simple steps in perfect unison.

They rocked along the edges of the polished oak floor. He made a deliberate attempt to keep them in full view of everyone in the supper room.

“Have you seen
him
?” Rome asked her quietly as he leaned toward her in a gesture that would undoubtedly be construed as suggestively familiar.

She shook her head. “Perhaps he didn’t come,” she said.

“I saw him at the church.”

“Me too. And he undoubtedly saw us,” she pointed out. “So maybe he chose not to come.”

Rome nodded, actually feeling sorry for the man. The sight of them together probably felt like he’d taken a punch to the gut. But it was the fellow’s own fault. And Rome salved his conscience with the knowledge that it would all turn out for the best for each of them.

“So while your future bridegroom is out nursing his broken heart,” Rome said with a determined smile and a deliberately cheerful tone, “we are free to simply enjoy ourselves.”

“Yes,” she answered. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“I am bored,” Pansy Richardson said aloud.

She sat alone in her parlor, perfectly groomed and gowned for dinner. It was easy, she believed, when a woman lived alone and rarely saw a soul, to fall into careless appearance and sloth. She had no intention of allowing such a fate to visit her. She made efforts to be presentable, though she rarely saw a soul. And she kept busy, though there was not really so much to do.

Tonight she had sufficient leisure to read or listen to the graphaphone or embroider pillowcases. Of course, she had already read every book in her husband’s library. She had played all the music cylinders until they were scratchy and she had enough decoratively stitched pillowcases for every sleepy head in Cottonwood.

So she was looking at the Seven Wonders of the World through the stereoscope. She gazed at dusty Sphinx in a landscape of sand, three pointed pyramids in the distances. She sighed. She, of course, had seen all these pictures many times before.

She should go to visit these places in person, she thought. A woman should see Paris. She should stand
for herself in the Coliseum. She should view the Taj Mahal at sunset.

Pansy was restless tonight. Restless and lonely. A bad combination for a woman under the best of circumstances. And her circumstances here in Cottonwood were far from ideal.

“I should go,” she announced.

She had long since taken up the habit of talking to herself. She decided that a person living a life of enforced solitude should talk to herself, if only to fulfill the need to hear a human voice.

Indeed, she should go. There was no reason not to. She had the time and the money. There was nothing for her here in Cottonwood, Texas. Nothing but the misery of loneliness and the shame of being an outcast.

“I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of my leaving,” she stated and determinedly concentrated upon the image in the viewer.

She and Grover had talked of traveling. They had joked and dreamed about wandering through Europe together. Now she knew that without him by her side, she would never see it. It was all right. She didn’t really care so much. She would content her restlessness by gazing at faraway places through the lens of the stereoscope.

Usually the pictures held her interest, but tonight nothing would.

It wasn’t because Rome was not there. Rome was rarely with her. He was her lover. Her only lover. The only man in her life, despite what her former friends and present neighbors might suggest. But they were so discreet about their affair, it made their meetings infrequent. Perhaps once a week, occasionally twice, he would sneak down the alley and into her back door after dark. It was always risky, because her neighbors
were always watching. She was glad when he came, but rarely disappointed when he did not.

Tonight, however, was different. Tonight he was with another woman. He was smiling and flirting and offering his arm to another woman. That bothered her. It bothered her more than she cared to admit.

Of course, she understood that it wasn’t real. He’d explained that. As always, he tried to be completely honest with her.

“She just wants to make the fellow jealous,” he’d said as he gazed at her across the kitchen table. Her bare foot was in his lap and he was rubbing her instep with deep, strong strokes.

“She wants to make him jealous, so she got you to do it.”

He was ill at ease. Pansy knew he didn’t much like having to explain himself to her or to anyone. But he was the kind of man who felt duty-bound to do it.

“It’s … well, it’s a business arrangement,” he assured her. “It’s just a job that she’s hired me to do.”

“And she’s paying you with a partnership in the business?” Pansy was incredulous. “It would have been a lot cheaper if she’d just cast eyes at some stranger and let nature do the rest.”

He shook his head with certainty.

“Miss Gussie is not the type of woman to lead some other man on like that. Though I doubt she would even know how to go about it if she did. Giving some other fellow false hope, well, it’s dishonest. And Miss Gussie is never dishonest.”