The Bridegrooms (35 page)

“I’ll take care of this,” Vada said. This time, she threw open the door, exposing Mr. Barth LaRoche to the wrath of the Allenhouse clan, but he seemed nonplussed by their presence.

He breezed right past her, walked straight to Hazel, and said, “At last!” before picking her up in his arms, lifting her high over his head, and spinning in one slow complete circle. Once he set her down and had assured himself she could stand steady, he dropped to one knee and took her hand in his.

“My darlin’. I could not wait another day to know your answer. I must know now, will you consent to be my wife?”

Vada looked past them to the family still assembled in the hall, where everybody stood with looks of shock and amazement on their faces. Again, the thick silence until Hazel made that tiny sound once more, only this time it carried with it joy, and later it transformed into, “Yes.”

He rose to his feet and kissed her gently first on one cheek, then the other. “Now then, my heart, perhaps I should meet your father.”

“Come, girls,” Molly gathered them like so many chicks, “come to the kitchen and I’ll finish your hair while they talk.”

The atmosphere in the kitchen was vastly different than it had been before the knock at the door. Althea had gone upstairs to dress, but Lisette asked question after question, chastising Hazel for keeping such a secret for so long.

“Here I was feeling sorry for you, old maid, and you were sending love letters across the country for months.”

“They weren’t all love letters,” Hazel said, wincing as Molly pulled out the bits of rag from her hair. “We wrote about all kinds of things.”

“But mostly love?”

Hazel smiled at her youngest sister. “Yes, Lissy, I guess mostly love.”

“Oh, and he’s a handsome thing, isn’t he girls?” Molly said. “Looks just like a paintin’ come to life.”

“Or like a statue,” Lisette added. “He’s so tall! And strong. Goodness, he picked you up like you were—”

“Careful,” Hazel warned.

“Like you were a feather,” Vada said. “You should feel very happy.”

“Oh, I do. I do.” Hazel cocked her head sideways, easing Molly’s task. “Are you sure I should even go to the concert? It just seems like, since he’s here…”

Vada thought about Hazel’s dress hanging on the back of the door, a sage-colored silk gown appliquéd with thin black velvet ribbon sewn into a swirling design across the bodice, narrowing at the waist, and cascading down the front of the skirt. Already her jet-bead earrings flickered through the curls Molly arranged around her face. “Of course you should go. If only so Barth has a chance to see you in that dress.”

“Do you think…is there any chance he could come with us? I’ve never had an escort to anything before. Are there tickets available?”

“Oh yes,” Vada said, picturing the ledger. “Plenty available. But I don’t know that you’ll be able to sit with us.”

“Well, that’s good,” Lisette said, “since nobody would be able to see over his head. But do you think he has anything to wear?”

“Go fetch the iron, Lissy, and put it on the stove. When I’m done with you girls, I’ll have your father send him in and I’ll give that suit a pressin’.”

Althea made a subdued entrance into the room, wearing a pale blue gown trimmed with a white satin ruffle that crossed her bust at an angle,
giving the appearance that the gown was wrapped about her. A length of the same material wrapped around her waist and fell down the top of her skirt. She’d fashioned a corsage from the roses Garrison sent and had it fastened at her waist, weaving the stems through the knot.

“Oh, and doesn’t my quiet one look lovely? And cheer up, girl. Your young man needs his rest.”

Unconvinced, Althea held out the corsage she’d created from Vada’s roses. Four of them were arranged on a bed of pink satin and lace threaded with a thin, wine-colored velvet ribbon. She held up her hand and indicated that it was intended to be worn on the wrist, which best suited Vada’s gown.

“Thank you,” Vada said, wondering how she’d ever bear the weight of it. “If you like, why don’t you sit upstairs with Eli until it’s time for us to leave? We still have an hour, at least.”

With a grateful expression, Althea stood, took a sandwich, then another, and bounced out of the kitchen.

“Oooh,” Lisette said, admiring Vada’s corsage. “That gives me an idea. Are you finished with Hazel?”

Molly stepped around to observe her handiwork and declared that yes, she was.

“Then come on!” She grabbed Hazel’s hand and dragged her away.

“That’s how it’s to be then.” Molly returned the curling iron to the stove. “One after the other just flyin’ out.”

“We should take a photograph.”

Molly snapped her fingers. “The very thing! They say that’s the time to sit for a photograph, when you’re sittin’ on the brink of life changin’. I’ll make an appointment tomorrow.”

“Sounds marvelous,” Vada said, trying to sound brave.

She took her place in Molly’s chair, imagining an evening one year hence with just the three of them—the spinster, the Irish maid, and
Doc—sitting around the table, perhaps playing cards. The infuriating aspect of that picture was its inevitability. No matter if she ended her relationship with Garrison or not, she was guaranteed to be a free woman long after her sisters settled down with the men of their dreams.

May this night be the night of our dreams…

“What are you scowlin’ about? You’re goin’ to ruin your face etchin’ in all those lines.”

“Nothing.” She grabbed a sandwich and sunk her teeth into the soft bread and cheese.

“Feelin’ sorry for yourself, are you, that you don’t have some dashin’ young man in here sweepin’ you off your feet?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I ain’t bein’ silly, and don’t think I don’t know about the sweepin’ that’s been happenin’ with you of late. That Lissy’d tell a secret to a stone just for the joy of speakin’ it.”

“Oh, Molly. I’ve ruined everything.”

“I doubt it’s as bad as all that.” She pulled the brush through Vada’s hair, the feeling oddly familiar and comforting. “You’re a good girl, after all. I’m sure nothin’s been…undone.”

The weight of Molly’s statement hit home. “Of course not! I just feel like my affection has been… It’s just not the same. Just not as strong.”

“Nonsense.” She gave Vada’s hair a painful tug, eliciting a yelp. “Sorry, had a bit of a knot. It’s just as much as it’s ever been. What you’re feelin’ is sorry for yourself after you had a little taste of somethin’ new.”

“It’s not that…well, not
only
that. I just worry that Garrison doesn’t love me. Not really. Because if he does, why won’t he marry me?”

“He will, lass. In his time. And o’course he loves you, much as any man ever loved any woman. Some fires burn slower, is all. Doesn’t mean they don’t burn as hot.”

Thirty minutes later, at precisely quarter past six, Vada was the last Allenhouse sister to descend the staircase fully dressed for the evening. Her gown was a pale pink chiffon, falling in four tiers, with a bodice trimmed in burgundy velvet. The neckline wrapped around the tops of her arms, with narrow jeweled straps over her shoulders.

Where most young women would carry an elegant silk clutch, she clutched the handle of her violin case. She wished she had the spirit to carry the regal nature of the gown, but not even the admiring gazes of her family puddled at the foot of the stairs could lift them. Not even Doc, who took her hand as she descended the final steps and gave it the most gallant kiss.

“Planning on joining them onstage?” he asked.

“Hardly. Just makes me feel better.”

“Then it’s the music world’s loss.”

She ran the backs of her fingers over the new smoothness of his face, still not accustomed to this visage. In many ways it seemed the past few days had brought a new man into this role, and part of her longed to forget about the evening that lay ahead and fulfill her destiny of long, cozy nights at home.

“Thanks, Doc.”

“I’ve ordered the carriage for you.” He led her to the door. “Pete’s waiting outside, already paid and tipped, so you all just enjoy your evening.”

Sure enough, parked in front, the Allenhouse carriage waited, with young Pete Darvin himself gussied up for the evening with a black jacket and top hat.

“Good evening ladies,” he said from his perch. “Gentlemen.”

He made no move to come down from his seat, so one by one, Barth and Doc handed the girls up, before Barth settled into the place beside Pete. The springs groaned under his weight, and for a moment Vada worried Pete might be sent catapulting over the roof of the house. From the look on his face, Pete seemed to have the same concern.

“And no worry thinkin’ you need to be home by midnight!” Molly waved vigorously from the porch. “I believe our Pete would do just fine drivin’ a pumpkin!”

The sisters laughed, remembering their favorite fairy tale. It was the one Molly used to tell them, leaving off with the moral: ’tis better not to have a stepmother at all than one who treats you wicked. As little girls, it was an odd comfort to be found at the end of a long, sad day.

With the first few turns of the wheels, a voice cried, “Althea!” and Vada looked up to see Eli leaning through the second-story window. “You’ll tell me all about it when you get home?”

Althea blew him a kiss, which he feigned to catch in his outstretched hand.

The lobby was a teeming mass of beautiful people. Or at least, people beautiful for that evening.

The hems and trains of pastel gowns graced the carpet, making Vada glad she’d taken the time to give it an extra sweeping. The cloakroom did some bustling business, though many of the women chose to keep their wraps—colorfully embossed velvet shawls and light wool capes.

Interspersed within the colorful sea, men in black evening suits and tuxedos dotted the crowd, filling the air with the smoke from thin cigars and lending a low, steady rumble to the sound of countless conversations.

Vada made her way through, smiling and greeting all those she knew, and even a few she didn’t. Hazel and Barth peeled away the moment they entered the lobby, as Barth claimed he’d never seen so many people gathered in one place. Sheep, maybe, but sheep knew enough to walk in one direction. All this milling made him nervous. Because of this, Vada recommended the two of them take a seat toward the back—last row, if possible—so they could be the first ones out when the concert was over.

Althea, too, expressed discomfort at being a part of the multitude, and Vada offered to escort her to her seat—fifth row, marked with one of the pretty “reserved” flags—but Althea mentioned that she could find it on her own and disappeared through the middle set of doors.

Lisette leaned close to Vada’s ear. “Where’s Garrison?”

“Backstage, I imagine.”

“Shouldn’t you go find him? Wish him good luck, or break a finger, or whatever?”

“I’ll stay with you until your escort arrives. As pretty as you look, you need a chaperone.”

It was true. Lisette had drawn more than one interested eye. Only Vada’s protective glare served to keep them at bay.

“I’m afraid I’ll miss him.” Lisette craned her neck and looked around. “He’s so short.”

But then Vada spotted him, making his way purposefully through the crowd. What a difference a jar of pomade and a three-hundred dollar tuxedo made on a man.

She caught his eye and sent him a wide, approving smile; he held a finger to his lips and continued walking, right up behind Lisette. He stood to her left and tapped her right shoulder, drawing her to look over it, only to see no one.

Meanwhile, he moved in front of her, so when she turned around, Vada had a full view of her delight. Although she looked quite the woman with her piled hair and sophisticated gown, Lisette’s face took on the expression of an enchanted child.

“You look beautiful, Lisette,” he said before kissing her offered cheek.

“So do you, Kenneth. You’re sure your manager doesn’t mind that you aren’t taking the train tonight?”

He took her hand and tucked it up into his arm. “It doesn’t leave until nine, but I told him I’d take the next available tomorrow. They’ll get along fine without me for one more game.”

The two stood, drinking each other in, until Lisette, in a surprising display of etiquette, cleared her pretty throat and said, “Kenneth? My sister?”

“Of course.” He looked truly embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. Good evening, Miss Allenhouse.”

“Please, it’s time you called me Vada. And good evening to you.”

“And our victim? Mr. Eli? He is still doing well?” Already, with the change of clothes and a beautiful girl at his side, Kenny Cupid transformed into Kenneth Chentworth, speaking in mature, clipped tones. There was a certain swagger about him, not at all unpleasant, that endowed both the height and the years he lacked.

“He is well, indeed. Just at our home resting.”

“And is Dr. Allenhouse here?”

“I’m sorry, no. He’s home with our patient, keeping a careful watch.”

A shadow of disappointment crossed Kenny’s face. “I had hoped to see him here. My parents were unable to attend this evening—”

“Oh, I didn’t realize your parents lived here in town,” Vada said, proud of her ruse.