The Bracelet (38 page)

L
ONG SHADOWS FELL ACROSS THE SQUARE AS
S
UTTON DREW
up at the gate. Leaving her book on her chair, Celia met him at the door. Without waiting to remove his coat and gloves, he folded her into his arms.

“Sorry to be so late. Mr. Lawton caught me after church with a thousand questions about the
Celia B
, and of course that made me late for Mother’s Christmas luncheon.” He released her and unbuttoned his coat. “How is your—hello, Maxwell.”

The puppy had heard the door and now raced along the gallery, barking.

Celia whirled around. “Quiet, Maxwell!” The dog sat, and she turned back to Sutton. “Papa’s doing as well as expected. He slept for most of the afternoon.”

Sutton hung his coat and hat, and they went into the library.

“Sutton!” Papa rose unsteadily to shake his hand. “Happy Christmas, my boy.”

“Thank you, sir. Did we wake you?”

Papa shook his head. “Not really. I was dozing, but I heard your rig coming along the street. I’ve been inside all day. Tell me, what kind of weather have we today?”

Sutton warmed his hands before the fire. “It’s chilly, but I don’t
mind. The cold weather makes it seem more like Christmas, don’t you think?”

“I do. I love the climate here in Savannah, but I wouldn’t mind a good snowfall now and then.” Papa dropped heavily into his chair. “Celia and I have been talking about your upcoming trip to Liverpool. I’m glad you and Mr. Rutledge are thinking ahead to the time when a blockade-runner might just save the South.”

“I hope it won’t come to that, but I’m ready to serve Georgia in whatever way becomes necessary.” Sutton glanced at Celia. “However, last night Celia and I decided to postpone the Liverpool trip for a while. Griffin Rutledge knows the plan nearly as well as I do. And there is plenty to do here, getting Mackay Shipping back on its—”

Sutton paused as Papa took a deep breath and winced, eyes rounded in surprise. “What’s the matter, Mr. Browning? Are you all right?”

“I’m . . . not quite sure. Celia, would you bring a glass of water?”

“Of course. You’re in pain, Papa. You need the laudanum.”

Celia ran up to his room for the medicine and a glass of water and returned to the library. She measured the tincture into the glass and handed it to her father.

“Not just yet. Once I take it, I’ll fall asleep and miss everything.”

Sutton frowned. “Perhaps you should lie down, sir.”

“In a little while. I want to hear the rest of your plans.”

“I was saying that Griff Rutledge can stand in for me in Liverpool. As soon as the Atlantic cable is repaired, I can keep informed of things from here. And Celia and I will be here to look after you.”

Papa frowned. “Who knows when that cable will be fully restored? Besides, Mrs. Maguire will see to me.”

“I’m not leaving you, Papa,” Celia said. “That’s final.”

He closed his eyes, his face contorted, and took a few shallow breaths. “What day is this?”

“Saturday, Papa. Christmas Day, remember?”

“Do you suppose there’s a . . . rule against holding a wedding on Christmas?”

“A—what do you mean?”

Papa reached for her hand. “Something has shifted inside me. I felt it just now. I can’t explain how I know, but I have a feeling that my time has grown shorter than I thought. And I don’t want to go and miss your wedding.”

Celia’s mind spun wildly. The wedding was set for late January. Mrs. Hemphill had been engaged to bake a cake for the reception they’d planned. Invitations were due back from the engravers next week. Her trousseau was not nearly complete. She and Sutton had not even discussed where they would live. “But—”

“We have all we need,” Papa said. “A beautiful bride, a willing groom, and the rector of St. John’s just down the street.”

Celia looked at Sutton, a hundred questions in her eyes.

“If Celia is willing, I’m ready,” Sutton said. “I would like to change my clothes and collect my parents. And Grandmother. She has been looking forward to the wedding more than anyone. Except me.”

Celia knelt beside her father’s chair. “If it will make you happy, Papa, of course I’m willing.”

Sutton rose. “I’ll get my family and send for the rector.”

Celia walked with him to the door. “This isn’t at all what we planned, but it feels like the right thing to do.”

“Yes.” He kissed her forehead. “I won’t be long.”

Celia returned to the library and peeked in. Papa, hands folded across his middle, was already asleep before the fire. The clock chimed as she ascended the stairs to her room, a hundred emotions roiling in her chest.

She loved Sutton with all her heart. And she did want Papa to witness her marriage vows, but everything was happening too fast. The most important day of her life was being compressed into something that, years from now, she would have trouble remembering.

Every woman dreamed of the receptions and parties, the happy anticipation leading up to the ceremony itself, and the dinner afterward where there would be toasts and laughter and a few tears too. If she was totally honest, she had to admit she’d also counted on the wedding as a test of whether Leo Channing’s newspaper stories had done any permanent damage to the Browning name.

In her room, she removed her dress and took her wedding gown from the clothespress. She arranged the skirt and the lace veil across her bed, wishing her mother could be here to share her happiness, to whisper the kind of last-minute advice that only a mother could give. She closed her eyes and tried to summon Francesca’s face. But so many years had passed that even the few memories she’d tried to hold onto had faded. All she had now were stories. Where would she and Sutton spend their first night as husband and wife? Here? At the Mackays’? Perhaps it was better to be prepared for anything. She packed a few things from her incomplete trousseau—a deep purple day dress, a new dressing gown, her stockings and corset and delicate embroidered underthings.

By the time she was finished it was past four o’clock. She sat at the dressing table and gathered her hair into a fall of curls anchored in place with two jet combs. She dabbed perfume onto each wrist, added a bit of rice powder to her nose and some clear pomade to her lips.

“Celia?”

She opened the door to find Mrs. Manigault standing there, her eyes bright with tears. “Oh, my dear, may I come in?”

Celia stepped aside and fell into the older woman’s powder-scented embrace.

“There now, it’s all right.” Mrs. Manigault patted Celia’s shoulder. “I don’t blame you for those tears, but you don’t want to go downstairs with your eyes all swollen.”

Celia pulled away and gulped air. “No, I suppose not.”

Mrs. Manigault crossed the room, poured water into the basin, and handed Celia a wet cloth. “Here. Bathe your eyes, and then we’ll see about getting you buttoned into that gown.”

Celia pressed the cool compress to her eyes and a few minutes later stepped into the gown. The older woman’s fingers were surprisingly nimble at the buttons. Soon Celia was dressed and standing before the cheval glass adjusting her mother’s veil.

Mrs. Manigault smiled into the mirror. “Sutton will never forget the way you look just now. Even when you are my age, in his eyes you will look just the same.”

“A lovely thought anyway.” Celia turned from the mirror to place a kiss on the woman’s cheek. “Thank you for helping me to dress. I was wondering how I’d manage all those buttons.”

“Mrs. Maguire arrived just after we did and offered to come up, but I asked for the honor for myself.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“This hurried-up wedding is not what you wanted. But just now this house is filled with those who love you most and long only for your happiness. And isn’t that the purpose of a ceremony anyway? To send two people off on a new life together, surrounded by love?”

“Of course. But you know Savannah. As soon as word of this gets out, people will start speculating on the reasons behind it.”

“True. Some will be unable to refrain from questioning the timing. But one thing I’ve learned in my long life is that people are not nearly as interested in others as they are in themselves.
Soon enough they will return to their own little dramas. And you and my handsome grandson will be the brightest young couple in town.” Mrs. Manigault patted Celia’s hand. “Now you wait here, and I’ll go see whether your father is ready.”

“Has the rector arrived yet?”

“Sutton reports that Mr. Clark is away for the rest of the day visiting his family, but his assistant, Mr. Soames, is here.”

Celia suppressed a sigh. She had known the rector ever since his arrival at St. John’s. He had dined in her home on occasion. He and Papa were friends. Mr. Soames was new. A stranger.

“Now don’t fret,” Mrs. Manigault said. “Mr. Soames is just as qualified as Mr. Clark to read the marriage ceremony, and he is the very soul of kindness.”

Celia nodded. “Please be careful on the stairs.”

“Sutton is stationed in the foyer, waiting to assist me on the way down.” Mrs. Manigault kissed Celia’s cheek. “Be happy, Celia. Be kind to my grandson. He loves you so.”

Celia swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “I will do my best.”

“Mrs. Maguire will let you know when to come down.”

Waiting for her cue, Celia closed her eyes and prayed for peace. For her father. For her future with Sutton. “Make me a worthy wife, pleasing to you and to Sutton.”

“Miss Celia?” Mrs. Maguire bustled in, her face pink, eyes bright. “If this turn of events don’t take the rag right off the bush, I’m sure I don’t know what would! Gettin’ married on Christmas!”

“I’m just as surprised as you, but it’s what Papa wants.”

“I know it. And judgin’ from the way he looks just now, I’d say you made the wise decision. I just wish I’d had some warning, so I could have made a decent wedding supper.”

“There are only us and the Mackays. And Mr. Soames, if he wants to stay. Whatever we have will be all right.”

“But Mrs. Hemphill was so excited about baking that fancy wedding cake we ordered.”

“We’ll serve it at a reception later on, if Papa is up to it.”

Mrs. Maguire sniffed, and the tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks. “Oh, my Celia. I’ve looked after you all your life. Made plenty o’ mistakes with you, I am sure. But I’ve done my best by you. And now, in the twinkling o’ my eye, ’tis all over.”

“I’ve no complaints, Mrs. Maguire.” Celia regarded the housekeeper with deep affection. “Or very few anyway.”

Mrs. Maguire turned away and tightened the straps on Celia’s small leather trunk. “At least you’re already packed.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure where we’re to go after the ceremony.”

“The Pulaski Hotel, Mr. Mackay says. I’m surprised there was a vacancy, it bein’ Christmas.” Mrs. Maguire patted Celia’s hand. “’Tis a fine place for settin’ sail on the seas o’ matrimony.”

Remembering the waiter’s snub when she and Mrs. Mackay had stopped there for lunch last fall, Celia hoped that tonight she might find a warmer welcome.

“Your da is waitin’ for you at the bottom o’ the stairs. Let me go first so’s I don’t spoil your big entrance.”

Celia reached out to embrace the housekeeper, but Mrs. Maguire shook her head and pulled away. “If I don’t get out o’ here this very minute, I’ll be floodin’ the whole place wi’ tears.”

Celia waited five minutes, opened the door, and stepped into the hall. Her mother’s veil fluttered as she passed the Butler and Browning portraits lining the gallery. Below, Papa stood, shoulders back, beaming up at her, and she felt tears welling in her eyes. She lifted the hem of her heavy gown and started down the stairs.

“My dear.” Papa’s voice when she reached him was barely a whisper. “For a moment it was as if I was seeing your mother again. You are beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m the one who should thank you, for changing your plans for me.”

He clasped her hands. She felt faint, overcome with love for him and with sorrow for all that would never be. There could be no Christmases with grandchildren on his knee, no summer outings to Isle of Hope, nor a hundred other memories that might have been made if not for his illness. This moment, fragile as a moth’s wing, would have to sustain her in the long years ahead. There was so much she wanted to say, but emotion stopped her words. She embraced him, her head resting on his shoulder. A sob caught in her throat. “I love you, Papa.”

“I have never doubted that for a single moment. You have been the joy of all my days.” He straightened and offered his arm. “Shall we go?”

She took his arm and felt it tremble. They crossed the foyer and entered the library. Mr. Soames was already in place, his back to the fireplace, the prayer book in his hands. Sutton, resplendent in a new gray wool suit, white shirt, and light-blue cravat, stood next to the minister. He caught sight of her, and his face opened with a delight so palpable that she felt a rush of warmth to her face.

Mrs. Mackay and Mrs. Manigault occupied the settee. Mrs. Maguire stood behind them, her careworn hands clasped tightly at her waist. Mr. Mackay and Papa took the two chairs opposite.

Celia noticed that Mrs. Maguire had set out even more candles. Their light reflected in the bowls of oranges and cinnamon decorating the end tables, the flames burning as steadily as her love for the man she was about to marry.

She caught the housekeeper’s eye and whispered, “Where’s Maxwell?”

“Safe in the garden with a ham bone to bury. Didn’t want him whining to go outside in the middle of the I-dos.”

“Miss Browning. Mr. Mackay.” The young minister began the
marriage service, his voice as solemn as the expression on his face. “Is it your wish, entered into freely and in the spirit of love, to be married?”

“It is.” Celia and Sutton spoke as one.

“Then let us begin.”

The rest of it happened as in a dream. Celia heard her own voice and Sutton’s repeating the timeless vows, but everything seemed far away. As they knelt for the final blessing, she turned her head to look at her father, who was weeping openly, a handkerchief pressed to his eyes.

Then the Mackays surrounded her and Sutton, each of them pressing kisses on her cheek. Mrs. Maguire hurried to the kitchen and soon announced a light supper. Mr. Soames offered his congratulations but made his excuses and left. After the makeshift meal, they returned to the library for coffee, the Mackays keeping up Papa’s spirits with memories of the old days and with reports of the goings-on down on Commerce Row.