The Gamble (I) (59 page)

“I think it’s the prettiest one we ever made.
Tt-tt.”
She held the gown while Agatha slipped it on, then secured the twenty-two covered buttons up the back. It was made of rich sleek silk the exact hue of a waxy magnolia flower, with high neck, form-fitting torso, and caterpillar sleeves ruched from shoulder to wrist. Its skirt was sleek at the front, flowing at the rear, with deep trailing scallops.

Violet joined her hands and sucked in a breath, pleased. “My, don’t you look lovely.”

They stood in the master bedroom before the cheval glass that had been brought up from downstairs. It reflected a bride with thick burnished hair twined high on her head, narrow shoulders, trim waist, and pale, dark-lashed eyes. Her air of total happiness gave her an almost ethereal glow.

“I
feel
lovely,” Agatha admitted.

“Absolutely perfect, if I do say so myself.”

Agatha turned to press her cheek to Violet’s. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I am, too, though I must admit, I’m a tad jealous. Still, if I can’t be the one marrying that handsome Mr. Gandy, I’m glad it’s you. But I’ve told him...”—she shook her finger at the bride—“... if it doesn’t work out he only has to crook his little finger and I’ll come running.
Tt-tt.”

Agatha held Violet’s cheeks and laughed. “Oh, Violet, you’re priceless.”

“I know. Now I must go pick the magnolias. I’ll send Willy up with them.”

When she was gone Agatha moved to the front window. The lane was lined with carriages, and blue awnings ornamented the great lawns. Below, the guests were entering, the food was being prepared, the minister had arrived, and the wedding alcove was flanked with bouquets of yellow day lilies and English ivy.

Agatha pressed a hand to her fast-tripping heart. It was still difficult for her to believe it was all happening, that she was standing in Waverley’s master bedroom, where tonight she would share the high rosewood bed with the man she loved; that her clothing lay beside his in the bureau and hung beside his in the closet, where the scent of his tobacco mingled with that of her sachet; that it would be so for the rest of their lives. And there, outside, the carriages continued to roll in, bringing guests to honor the occasion.

It was as she looked down at them that she heard the sound behind her—the soft plaintive weeping of a child.

She turned. No one was there but the sound continued. Agatha remained remarkably calm, almost as if she’d been expecting the visitor on this auspicious day.

“Justine, is it you?” she asked.

Immediately, the weeping ceased.

“Justine?” She looked in a full circle but found herself alone in the room.

It began again, softer this time, but unmistakably real and distressed. Agatha reached out a hand.

“I’m here, Justine, and I’ll help you if I can.” The sound softened but continued. “Please don’t cry. It’s much too happy a day for tears.”

The room grew silent, but as Agatha proffered her hand she felt a presence as clearly as if it were visible.

“Is it because I’m going to marry your father? Is that it?” She paused, looked around. “But you must believe that I’m not trying to take your mother’s place in his heart. What she was to him will remain precious forever. You must believe that, Justine.”

Agatha hushed, and all remained silent.

“I know you’ve met Willy already, and you’ve accepted him. I hope you’ll accept me in the same way.”

The change could not have been more evident had thunder suddenly ceased. The tension eased; peace settled over the room. Nothing touched Agatha’s hand except a soft sighing wind, tinged with the scent of flowers. But as she dropped that hand to her side, she experienced a great sense of tranquillity.

Then Willy burst in with two magnolias.

“Here, Gussie, Vy-let and me picked the best ones we could find.”

She leaned down to kiss him. “Thank you, Willy.” When she straightened, she glanced around the room, but the manifestation had vanished completely.

“Hey, you smell good!”

“Do I?” She laughed and accepted the flower.

“And you look so pretty! Wait’ll Scotty sees you!”

Agatha cupped his cheeks and kissed his nose. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

He giggled and scampered to the window. “Did you see all the carriages?”

“I did.” As her thoughts turned back to the wedding, her exhilaration mounted. “Where did they all come from?”

“Columbus. Scotty knows everybody there.”

Agatha turned to the mirror and secured one of the magnolia blossoms in the back of her hair.

“Vy-let says to tell you it’s time now.”

Agatha stepped back and pressed a hand to her heart.
It’s time now. Time to step out and meet your groom and walk with him to the wedding alcove and join your life with his and never be alone again.
The realization put a serene radiance on Agatha’s face. Willy came to stand beside her,
looking up, his hair combed and oiled with Macassar into the familiar peak over his brow, undoubtedly done by Scott. She remembered clearly the first time Scott had combed it that way, after the two of them had taken baths, when Scott brought Willy back to her millinery shop wearing the new clothes she’d made for him. Looking at the boy both she and her future husband loved immensely, she felt infinitely blessed, certain that the fates had brought the three of them together with this in mind. Carrying a single magnolia—her bridal bouquet—she extended her free hand.

“Let’s go.”

He smiled and they walked to the door. Just before he opened it she smoothed his collar and asked, “Now, you remember what to do, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He opened the door a crack and peeked out. “Come on. He’s waitin’.”

Agatha caught and held a deep, steadying breath, closed her eyes a moment, and listened to Ivory’s piano music drifting up from below. But neither deep breaths nor music did anything to calm the nerves trembling within her stomach.

She stepped to the doorway and her eyes met those of her espoused.

He was indeed waiting, standing diagonally across the balcony, just outside the children’s room door, dressed in unbroken ivory, waiting for the first glimpse of his bride. Their gazes locked across thirty feet of open space surrounded by nothing but spooled railings and a sense of heart-lifting anticipation. Below them their guests lifted anxious eyes, but in that first moment, bride and groom were conscious of nothing but each other.

She was radiant, in waxy white, with her dress trailing and the simple flower in her hair.

He was breathtaking, in a swallowtail jacket and tapered trousers that dramatically set off his black hair and moustache.

They stared at each other with hastened pulses and fluttering stomachs, compressing this moment to carry within their hearts always, until at last the murmur of voices from below intruded upon their absorption and
Agatha smiled. Gandy’s smile answered. Then it flashed to Willy, who cupped his fingers and gave a tiny, secret wave. Scotty answered with a broad wink. Then Willy gave his elbow to Gussie and escorted her to the head of the west stairway, while Scotty stepped to the head of the east.

Their descent would be talked about for years—bride and groom, resplendent in matching ivory, watching each other with dazzling smiles as the twin stairways led them down, down to where the stairwells curved toward each other like the interrupted arches of a heart; how they reached the bottom and met in the center of the rotunda floor, as if completing the heart’s pattern; how the black minister, Reverend Oliver, from the tiny Baptist church up the road, was waiting there with the question, “Who gives this woman,” and how Willy answered, “I do,” then, with all due gravity, gave his future mother over to his future father, receiving a kiss from each of them; how the groom took the bride’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, and escorted her across the grand rotunda to the wide parlor doors and a wedding alcove adorned with baskets of fragrant yellow day lilies and English ivy.

The room was crowded with guests but Agatha scarcely realized it as she dropped Scott’s arm and stood formally beside him.

“Dearly beloved...”

Reverend Oliver offered a meaningful discourse on what it took to make a marriage thrive, on the importance of giving of oneself; the value of forgiving, the rewards of constancy, the virtue and scope of love. He spoke of the children with which this union might be blessed and Agatha felt Scott’s elbow press firmly against hers. She glanced up from the corner of her eye to find his gaze fixed steadily on her face and thought about having his children and knew a burst of hope so profound it rocked her. His crossed hands parted, and in the folds of ivory satin at Agatha’s hip he found her hand and squeezed it hard, doubling her joy.

Jube sang “Wondrous Love” in her faultless, crystal voice and the words filled Agatha’s heart as richly as the scent of lilies filled her nostrils. And all the while Scott secretly held her hand, rubbing his thumb firmly along hers.

Then she was facing him and they were holding hands for all to see, and his cheeks were flushed, his palms damp, and she realized that she wasn’t the only one shaken.

“I, LeMaster Scott Gandy, take thee, Agatha Downin’...” His voice, deeper than usual and carrying a slight tremor, betrayed a depth of emotion. But his dark, intense eyes never wavered from hers as he spoke his vows gravely.

Her heart swelled with love so intense it created a sweet hurt in her breast.
Scott, before you there was nothing, and now I have everything... everything. A lifetime hasn’t enough days in which to lavish you with the love I feel.

“... till death do us part.”

And then it was her turn.

“I, Agatha Noreen Downing, take thee, LeMaster Scott Gandy...” As Scott held Agatha’s hand and listened to her soft, quavering voice, he realized she was very close to tears. He saw them glimmer on her eyelids and was touched in the secretmost corner of his heart. He squeezed her delicate fingers, thinking it a miracle that a woman like her had come into his listless life just when he needed her to make it whole and give it meaning again.

Gussie,
he thought,
I intend t’ keep these vows, t’ spend the rest of my life thankin’ you for what you’ve made of me.

“... till death do us part.”

“The ring,” said the minister in an undertone. Scott removed the glittering diamond from his little finger and slipped it onto Gussie’s hand.

She watched it sliding over her knuckle with a sense of wonder, realizing it truly bound them forever. Then their gazes locked over their joined hands, and within their hearts the vow was sealed.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

Scott’s dark head bent over Gussie’s burnished one, and their lips touched fleetingly. The kiss ended and he lifted only enough to look into her luminous green eyes while their breath mingled and the import of the moment settled within their souls. Husband and wife. Evermore.

He straightened, then squeezed her knuckles tightly, and his face broke into a flashing smile accompanied by deep
dimples. Her glad smile blossomed in response, releasing the guests from the thrall in which they’d been held, many of the females misty-eyed.

The groom tucked the bride’s hand into the crook of his arm and the two of them moved to a polished table where the family Bible lay open. There on a page already bearing many entries, Scott wrote:

July 15, 1881,

LeMaster Scott Gandy

married to

Agatha Noreen Downing

Then he kissed her again, this time hard, abrupt and exuberant, then wrapped his arms around her and dropped his lips to her ear.

“I love y’,” he whispered.

“I love you, too!” She had to shout, for the piano had burst forth with a spate of exultant music and the murmur of their guests’ voices rose to a considerable volume. Then Willy was there, demanding kisses again, as happy as the bride and groom.

In minutes they were separated by the congratulatory crowd and, strangely enough, saw each other only fleetingly during the remainder of the day. There were so many guests for Agatha to meet for the first time, so many old acquaintances for Scott to renew. A wedding feast was served buffet style and people scattered onto the lawns, wandered the gardens, or visited in the house. Some sat upon the rotunda steps, others on the bois d’arc benches. The heat was oppressive and champagne punch was served as a cooler. Children chased the peacocks and fed iced cakes to the horses. Dancing began in the rotunda and Scott captured Agatha briefly, beside one of the curving stairways, looped her arms around his neck, and lifted her free of the floor, then took her softly turning in his arms with their bodies pressed intimately close, their lips brushing. But they were discovered and separated by guests and the realization that they had more host and hostess duties to perform.

An hour later they bumped into each other in the doorway of the front parlor and scarcely had time to exchange a fond glance before they were interrupted by Mae Ellen Bayles and her daughter, Leta, and A.J., who by now had become Willy’s fast friend. Mae Ellen commanded Agatha’s attention and when next she saw Scott he was standing under one of the blue awnings, smoking a cheroot, visiting with a thin man in a striped suit and another with great hairy ears. But a pair of young ladies of marriageable age came to
ooh!
and
ah!
over Agatha’s diamond and ask questions about her wedding gown and she had to do the polite thing.

The day moved on toward evening and the heat intensified, the breeze stilled. Agatha grew hot and weary. Scott grew impatient. Violet drank too much champagne punch and flirted outrageously with a portly merchant named Monroe Hixby. Willy came tattling that he’d found the pair kissing in the grape arbor. Agatha wished she, too, could escape to the grape arbor for some stolen kisses and time alone with her groom. While visiting with one of Waverley’s current paying guests, a Mr. Northgood from Boston, she restrained a sigh and searched furtively for Scott. She saw him across the lawn, tipping his head toward Mrs. Northgood. As if he felt Agatha’s gaze, he looked up and this time when their eyes met they exchanged no smiles.