Pieces of Dreams (4 page)

It was impossible.

She was not quite that good at pretending.

Chapter Three

The trees shading Good Hope's Main Street made islands of coolness on either side of its arrow-straight length that stretched from the church at one end to the riverboat landing at the other. Great oaks and elms had been left standing when the town was laid out soon after being established by French trappers and traders. The searing heat of the last two days had made their leaves droop, sucking the moisture from them so they rustled in the warm wind.

It was not a particularly good evening for a box social at the church. But that didn't matter much, since it was also too hot for anything else.

The basket Melly carried was heavy. A large part of the weight was Aunt Dora's fault; she kept offering additions, such as a jar of pickled peaches to go with the pound cake and yeast rolls that accompanied Melly's basic fried chicken and potato salad. But Melly had added things as well, as she intended to feed two men instead of one.

The idea was silly beyond words, of course. Conrad was perfectly capable of finding another young woman to feed him. In any case, she wasn't sure her future husband would be there tonight, much less his brother.

Across the street, Biddy and Lydia emerged from the mercantile and started toward the church. They waved and called, then began to pick their way across the dusty street to join her. Like her, each had a basket on her arm. Lydia's, done in bronze straw, was a nice match for the flamboyance of her iridescent bronze-green twill. Biddy’s basket, like her widow’s clothing, was perfectly simple, being of woven white oak covered by a black-and-white checked cloth.

“Your mother and father aren't coming?” Melly said to Lydia as the two women gained the sidewalk.

“Mother will be along as soon as she decides what to wear. Daddy isn't feeling well this evening, so he won't be able to make it.”

Melly made sympathetic noises, though she was not at all surprised. It was understood that any excuse of ill health on the part of Mr. McDougall was to be taken as an indication that he had been drinking. As for Lydia's mother, that fading, dithery lady was always late, being congenitally unable to make up her mind about anything until the last possible second. Though the polite fiction was that the older couple ran the mercantile store that bore the McDougall name, it was Lydia who kept the place going.

“Where's Caleb?” Biddy asked, glancing toward the boarding house then back down the street behind them in the direction of the livery stable.

“I'm not too sure he's going to make it, either,” Melly said with a wry grimace.

“I thought I saw him heading out early this morning in a wagon.”

Melly nodded. “He drove out to the Bedgood estate sale. He said he might run late, especially if they parcel out the house furnishings before they get to the tools and animals.”

“You should have gone with him,” Lydia put in from Melly's other side.

“I did suggest it,” Melly answered with an unhappy shrug. “But Caleb thought it might cause talk if we were caught on the road together after dark.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Lydia answered.

Biddy, however, did not look convinced, nor was Melly herself. It was sweet of Caleb to be concerned for her good name, but she would have enjoyed the outing, not to mention the opportunity to search out some of the many things she would need to set up housekeeping.

It might also have been more flattering if he had been less insistent on avoiding gossip. As a bridegroom, he was supposed to be anxious to be alone with her, wasn't he?

No, she told herself, she must not think that way. It was not that Caleb didn’t want her with him, or that he didn't desire her. He just always knew the right thing to do and did it no matter the cost to himself.

Melly gazed down the street toward the river. She could see the front of the livery stable at street’s end, near the landing, with the house this side of it where Caleb and Conrad had been brought up. There was no sign of Caleb's wagon, no movement anywhere in the vicinity if you didn't count the hound scratching its fleas near the stable door.

Nor was there any sign of Conrad.

On the other side of the street, a couple of men sat shooting the bull, balancing on straight chairs that were rocked back against the wall of the steamboat office. Just back this way, the milliner, Miss Tate, was pulling down the blinds on the front windows of her shop next door to the mercantile. Further along, past the turning for Hickory Street, the elderly doctor came out of the frame building that served as his office, hospital and home. He waited until his wife joined him, and then escorted her in the direction of the church with a hand in the middle of her wide back. As the two passed, they called a pleasant good evening across the street.

The three young women returned the greeting, then turned by common consent and followed after the older couple.

The church that marked the opposite end of Main Street was of white clapboard with windows of stained glass and a steeple surmounted by a lightning rod. The young bachelor preacher, who had taken the place of their previous pastor back in the spring, stood greeting his parishioners on the steps. He could not be considered particularly handsome, having craggy features and the stooped shoulders of a scholar, but was so kind and possessed such dry, self-deprecating humor that he was universally well-liked. Some of the congregation would have preferred more threats of eternal damnation in his sermons, but Melly enjoyed his erudite expositions on good and evil followed by polite benedictions.

As they paused near the steps to allow elderly Mrs. Pollack, who had a crooked back, to mount slowly ahead of them, Lydia leaned to whisper, “Did you know Esther has been walking out with the reverend?”

Melly gave a quick nod. “I saw them strolling along the river levee last Sunday afternoon. Isn't it lovely?”

“Oh, do you think so?”

“Don't you? It was what I was hoping for when she started teaching Sunday school after her mother died. She would make a grand pastor's wife.”

“Well, she adores children,” Biddy said, frowning, “but don't you think she's had enough drabness in her life?”

Melly bit the inside of her bottom lip as she considered that point. It was true that Esther had never had much fun. Her father had stepped out for a mug of beer when she was a child, and never come back. Her mother had taken to her bed, becoming an invalid. Esther had cared for the older woman for years while her own youth slipped away.

“Yes, but Esther is firm in her faith,” Melly said. “She's really a good person, much better than I am.”

“Oh, don't say that!” Lydia exclaimed. “We all know you're as good as gold.”

“No, I'm only saying I don't think it would be a sacrifice for her to marry Reverend Milken if she loved him.”

“But she might marry him just to have somebody—or else to keep from hurting his feelings,” Biddy said with a shake of her head.

Melly saw what she meant. Neither the need for companionship nor compassion seemed likely to lead to a happy wedded life. It seemed some stronger emotion was necessary to make marriage worth the risk, some greater heat required to fuse a lasting union.

“Ladies,” the Reverend Milken said politely as they climbed the steps. “I see Miss Esther and Miss Sarah aren't with you. I trust they will be along presently?”

“Oh, I'm sure of it,” Melly said, carefully avoiding looking at Lydia or Biddy. “You needn't worry.”

“I wasn't worried, only the five of you have been so much together of late that I never see one without looking around for the others.”

Melly felt her lips twitch as she suppressed a smile over the reverend's grave demeanor. “Indeed we have, with all the preparation for the wedding.” She leaned a little closer, adding in low tones, “But if you'd like a little time alone with Esther, you might remember her basket has an apple-green bow.”

“Does it truly?” he murmured with a twinkle in his eyes. “I'll bear that in mind.”

Melly and the others moved on into the church where they were joined shortly by Esther and Sarah, carrying their baskets. The five of them circled the church's meeting room with its gay paper decorations and table piled high with baskets, exchanging greetings, stopping now and then to talk, separating and coming together again. There were any number of questions about Caleb's whereabouts, of course; everyone had watched their courtship and was looking forward to attending their wedding. Unwilling to keep constantly explaining and making excuses, Melly only smiled and said she expected him to be along eventually.

Conrad's activities in the last day or two were also a subject of interest; somehow they all seemed to think Melly must know the latest. Actually, she had barely seen him, and was happy to learn of his various visits to old friends and neighbors.

The purpose of the box social was to bring in the money for new hymnals. The baskets brought by the unmarried ladies would be put up for bids. The gentleman who was top bidder for each would be privileged to eat its contents, in company with the lady who had prepared it. It would be a blind auction; no names would be announced. A large part of the fun was watching the shenanigans as some of the young men tried to gain inside information about the offerings of the prettiest belles. The ladies, of course, were not above swapping baskets and trims with their friends to add to the confusion.

Melly had not bothered with such elaborate precautions. The unattached men in town would most likely leave her basket for Caleb's bid out of common courtesy. If he did not appear in time, she would simply take her chances, since it was for a good cause.

The oldest of the deacons, a bent fellow with a tobacco-stained white beard halfway down his chest, wielded the auction hammer. Melly and the other girls smiled their excitement as they waited to see what their fate would be.

Esther's basket was among the first to be presented. She turned pink with pleasure as the reverend placed the winning bid. There was much good-natured kidding from all sides, which he and Esther took in good part, as he picked up his prize and came to claim his lady.

Biddy's basket went next, claimed by the bashful but handsome young giant who worked as printer's devil at the newspaper office. She seemed pleased enough as she went off with him.

Mr. Seymour Prine, to no one's surprise, carried off Aunt Dora's basket and meekly presented himself to his vexed partner. A few moments later, Sarah's basket was bought by Sheriff Telford, a tall, dark-haired man with wide shoulders and a swagger in his walk.

One by one, then, the baskets of the young unmarried women vanished from the table where they were on display. There were still a few left, however, Lydia's among them, when Melly's basket was brought forward.

She looked around one last time for Caleb, but there was no sign of him. Nor had Conrad put in an appearance. From the advantage of her greater height, Lydia peered over the crowd as well, then grimaced and shrugged. Melly gave a resigned sigh.

The elderly deacon made a show of staggering about with her basket, joking about its weight. Melly flushed, but joined in the general laughter. Bids were slow in getting started, however, as people glanced around for some sign of her intended. Finally the sheriff’s deputy, Leamon Stotts, a nervous, gangling man with a thatch of red hair and only a vague acquaintance with soap and water, yelled out, “Five dollars!”

Lydia giggled behind her hand. Melly gave her a quelling look in spite of her dismay.

“A hundred dollars!”

That firm call came from the back of the room. A murmur of amazement spread around the crowd. Five dollars was a fair sum for a basket, ten was generous indeed, and twenty wildly extravagant. People craned their necks to see who was crazy enough to throw away so much hard-earned gold on a single supper.

The deacon also squinted in the direction of the bidder. Abruptly, he gave a crack of laughter and brought his hammer down with a solid thump. “Sold!”

“Oh, it was Caleb!” Lydia cried, standing on tiptoe to catch sight of the winner. “What a sneak, hiding away like that to make you think he wasn't coming. You'll have to make him pay for that.”

“I think he already has,” Melly said dryly as she began to move forward.

She saw his golden head as he threaded through the crowd to collect his prize. He moved with such confidence, exchanging greetings, shaking the offered hand here and there, fending off the comments that came his way with laughing ease. An odd feeling shivered down the back of her neck. She slowed her footsteps as suspicion brushed her.