The Bridal Veil (17 page)

~~*~*~*~~

Although the woodpecker rapped on the
wall a few more times after Luke left Emily’s room, the sound
receded to the back of her mind. All she could think of was the
thrill that had coursed through her when Luke had touched her. And
what Cora had apparently thought when she saw him come out of
Emily’s room—that they had spent the night together. It was a
wicked notion, but one that she couldn’t seem to banish to that
place where unladylike thoughts were supposed to be
dismissed.

It had been innocent enough, Luke’s
hands on her arms, nothing a lady could really object to. But her
heart had fluttered in her chest like a trapped bird, making her
breath short. Then for one horrible, wonderful instant, she’d
actually thought he might try to kiss her. Not that she had a lot
of experience in that regard. She didn’t know the “signs.” Oh, she
knew all the rituals and procedures of courtship—proper but
romantic love letters, carefully worded and mindful of spelling and
grammar, the giving of an appropriate gift such as a book of poetry
or a box of sweets, the language of flowers. But no man had ever
come calling or courted her.

This morning, though, an inborn
instinct that transcended experience or book-learned ritual had
hummed within her, as if it had awakened from a deep sleep. She
crossed her arms over her chest to put her hands where Luke’s had
been. It wasn’t the same. His hands were bigger, almost large
enough to encircle her arms. There had been the way he smelled—of
sleep and cotton sheeting. And the way he looked, almost as he had
in her shameful dream. Emily ambled around the room, lost in the
reverie. Nothing had ever felt like that, and she’d wanted the
moment to go on and on. But he’d pulled away suddenly, and she’d
almost been disappointed. As she passed the dressing table, she
caught a glimpse of herself in the square of mirror hanging above
it and dropped her hands to her sides. Of course, he’d pulled away.
He’d been married to a beautiful woman and he was a handsome man.
He had not wanted to marry dull-looking Emily, and had done so
simply to help Rose. He’d made no promises about love or affection.
In fact, he’d told her that there would be none of that between
them.

She turned from the mirror, feeling
more foolish for her old maid’s daydream than she did for mistaking
a woodpecker for a rattlesnake.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The morning sun was fully up and cast
a bright rectangle on Emily’s bedroom wall as she stood staring at
her black crepe dress spread out on her bed. Wearing her corset,
camisole, and drawers, she’d reached for the garment where she’d
hung it in the wardrobe last night, expecting to find a clean,
fresh garment.

Yesterday afternoon, she had carefully
scrubbed each spot with the cleaning cream she’d mixed, expecting
to wear the dress today. But her tried-and-true concoction of
ammonia and castile soap, which had worked so well in the past, had
not only removed the chicken spots, it had also lifted the dye out
of the fabric. Blotches of dark orange now streaked the skirt and
bodice. The dress was a ghastly ruin, reminding her of a tiger-skin
rug she’d once seen in one of her pupils’ homes. The girl’s mother
had invited her to tea, and on the floor of the parlor lay the big
cat’s striped hide. Its head laid at one end of the rug and the
mouth was wide open, frozen in a permanent snarl that revealed
enormous teeth. For the whole of her visit, Emily’s gaze had kept
straying to the tiger’s unseeing, green glass eyes, and oddly
enough, she had thought it seemed more creepy in this unnatural
state than it would have if the beast had crouched live before the
fireplace.

But the tiger had long been out of its
misery. She, on the other hand, had to deal with this striped
atrocity. Although she’d brought her entire limited wardrobe with
her, she had many weeks of mourning left, and now only one black
crepe dress that was whole. She couldn’t continue to wear it, the
same one, day after day. Still, years of reduced circumstances had
made her frugal and careful of expenditures, and now she found it
difficult to justify buying fabric for another black dress that,
God willing, she would wear for only a short time and then put
away.

Emily eyed the orange-spotted dress
with a sigh of frustration. The rules of etiquette were very
specific and rigid when it came to mourning. Maybe she could buy
black dye and try to cover the blotches. In any event, she would
have to continue to honor Alyssa’s memory with the clothes she had,
and that meant putting on this dress today.

As she pulled the dreadful garment
over her head and settled its heavy folds into place, she allowed
herself to remember, just for the briefest instant, the dream of
wearing only her gossamer bridal veil and seeing the proof of her
new beauty reflected in her lover’s eyes.

~~*~*~*~~

“
Miss Emily, what happened
to your dress?” Rose stared at Emily with wonderment as she sat
down for breakfast.

“
Now Rose, remember it’s not
proper to ask questions like that,” Cora said, thumping down a big
platter of fried eggs and potatoes in the center of the kitchen
table. “Maybe black and orange dresses are the latest fashion from
Chicago.” The tinge of mockery in her voice was
unmistakable.

The low fire that had begun burning
days ago in Emily flared in her chest, just as smoldering flames
jumped to life when a flue was opened. She made a herculean effort
to stifle a sharp reply, both for Rose’s sake and because a remnant
of civility remained in her heart for Cora. But she refused to be
the butt of the woman’s sarcasm.

“
Mrs. Hayward, I would
appreciate it if you confined your remarks to—”

Before Emily could finish, Luke came
in the back door. A big, craggy male in the midst of females, he
seemed to fill the room with his presence. He wore a work shirt
with blue and white pinstripes and the dungarees she’d seen
earlier. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and Emily found
herself wishing she could see the rest of his arms again. He
studied both women, obviously realizing that he’d walked in on a
strained moment.

“
I was hoping to get the
plowing finished while this good weather holds,” he said to no one
in particular. He snagged a blue enameled tin cup from a shelf and
poured himself some coffee from the pot on the stove. “But that
damned hip strap on the harness broke again. I mended it but it’s
not likely to hold much longer. I’ll have to go into town and order
a new one.”

He flopped into his chair and reached
for the platter of eggs and potatoes, scraping half of each onto
his own plate with a knife. As he put the dish down again, he
looked across the table at Emily. His dark gaze swept over her
dress, and without thinking, she busied herself with buttering a
piece of toast, feeling as ugly as she ever had in her life. First
thing this morning, he’d seen her at her worst, with her in just a
nightgown and shawl, her hair sleep-mussed and undone. Now this.
When she took a bite of bread, she had to force herself to swallow
Cora’s rancid-tasting butter.

“
Is this the dress that got
ruined in the henhouse?”

Emily’s head came up, but Luke wasn’t
talking to her. He was looking at Cora.

His mother-in-law touched her thick,
work-reddened fingers to her chest and wore a haughty expression of
the wrongly accused. “You’re asking me? How should I know? Ask Mrs.
Becker. I don’t know why I’m always the whipping post around
here—if something is wrong, it must be Cora’s fault. Cora did this
wrong, Cora did that wrong.”

Luke seemed ready to say more but a
glance at Rose’s wide eyes must have stopped him. Thank heavens
he’d taken Emily’s words to heart. Like a sea sponge, the girl was
absorbing the tension in this house.

Instead, he poured a long drizzle of
cream into his coffee and took a big drink. He followed that with a
forkful of eggs and potatoes, all mixed together. Swallowing, he
said to her, “Rose, since I’m going into town, you can hop a ride
to school, if you want.”

Rose, who’d finished eating, shrugged
and nodded.

“
Go get your
books.”

She pushed herself away from the table
and went upstairs.

Luke sighed, and the rest of the meal
was finished in silence, and not a moment too soon for
Emily.

As she helped clear the table and put
the dishes in the sink, she occasionally peered out the kitchen
window, watching for Luke to bring the wagon around. She had a
favor to ask of him.

“
Rose, let’s get going!” he
called.

Emily wadded up the dishtowel she held
and hurried outside to the porch. There Luke waited on the high
wagon seat.

He grinned at her and the sight of his
smile nearly made her forget what she meant to ask. Why did he have
to be so handsome? she wondered, annoyed. His good looks only
underscored her own sense of self-doubt. “Emily” he greeted. “I
meant to ask—did your snake finally leave?”

She didn’t like being teased. In her
experience, teasing was just a thinly-disguised form of ridicule
that made her feel inadequate or foolish. How many times had she
been asked about the air “up there”? Her own stepfather had been
unsparing with his little jokes and backhanded
compliments.

We don’t know where Emily
got her height. Maybe an ostrich brought her instead of the stork,
eh, Emily?

Your dance card will never
be filled, my dear, but your looks contrast so nicely with
Alyssa’s.

But she saw kindness in Luke’s eyes
realized that there was no malice in his tone. Only humor. She
ducked her chin a moment and smiled back. “Yes, he did. I’m sorry I
bothered you about it.”

“
That all right. It’s not
often that I get asked to help a damsel in distress.”

She felt herself flush. This was the
kind of polite, flirting banter that she’d heard often enough from
her seat along the wall at musicales and dances. Not that it had
ever been directed at her. Oh, well, once it had been, when she’d
gotten her bracelet caught on the caned side of a chair. Alyssa’s
dancing partner had very gallantly disentangled her, then swept her
sister off across the ballroom. She had remained behind, for that
dance and all the rest, feeling clumsy and graceless.

But there was no one else
here now, and Luke was bantering with
her
. She clutched the dishtowel more
tightly in her hands. “Mr. Becker, I was wondering if you could do
a favor for me.”

“
Don’t you think it’s time
you started calling me Luke?”

“
Oh! Well, I
didn’t . . . I don’t
know . . . ”

“
After all, I’ve seen you in
your nightgown.” There was that teasing tone again, but this time
she felt herself blush to the roots of her hair. “And we
are
married.”

She could barely force herself to look
him in the face. Her own cheeks felt so hot she thought her head
might pop. She twisted the towel in her fingers, hating the fact
that no words seemed to form in her head. She didn’t know what to
say. If she tried to respond, she was certain that nonsense would
be the best she could do.

Lord, what had gotten into
him? Luke asked himself. He was actually flirting with Emily, and
embarrassing her to the point that he felt sorry for her. She wrung
that dishcloth as if it were a chicken’s neck and her shoulders
were rounded. He shifted on the wagon seat and the horses stamped
restively. More and more often, he caught himself thinking about
her, and now, since he
had
seen her in her nightgown, he couldn’t get the
image out of his head. It wasn’t as if she’d been wearing some
filmy little scrap of underwear, the kind of thing he’d once seen
on a French postcard his brother had gotten. Emily had been covered
by a spinster’s high-necked, long-sleeved nightie and a shawl.
Still, even in her dishevelment and wielding an umbrella, she’d
carried a curious combination of dignity and allure that he’d never
seen in a woman. Or anyone, for that matter. Not even Belinda. His
automatic reaction to this last thought was familiar, one that he
hauled with him day after day, like dog dragging around a grubby
piece of salt pork. That reaction was guilt. But as much as he’d
loved Belinda, she was gone and nothing would bring her
back.

“
What was it you wanted to
ask me?” he said, returning the conversation to less personal
territory.

She gestured at that lousy-looking
dress she wore. “As you can see, my efforts to clean off the dirt
were more successful than I’d hoped. I was wondering if you could
get me a package of black dye when you’re in town.” She went on to
explain the torturous rituals of proper mourning for her sister. He
thought she was overdoing it—after all, no one here was watching
the calendar, ready to condemn her for not wearing black dresses
for six full months. But he felt vaguely responsible for the ruin
of her clothes. Cora lived under his roof, and if his mother-in-law
hadn’t sent Emily out to that coop, none of this would have
happened.

He interrupted her explanation. “Black
dye. I’ll get it.”

Just then Rose emerged from the house,
carrying her school books.

Emily smiled at her and searched her
apron pocket. She pulled out a piece of hard candy, which she
handed to Rose. “You may eat this after lunch, but not before. All
right?”