Vows (17 page)

 
Emily laughed nervously. "Well, gracious, Charles, you act as if you don't recognize me."

 
"Emily?" Astonished and pleased, he let out the single word while moving slowly toward her, as if permission might possibly be required. "What have you done to yourself?"

 
She glanced down and plucked at her voluminous skirts, making them rustle like dry leaves. "Fannie did it."

 
He took her hands and held her at arm's length, turning them both in a half-circle. "Aren't I the lucky one? The prettiest girl in town."

 
"Oh, Charles, I'm not either, so stop your fibbing."

 
"That dress … and your hair … I never saw your hair so pretty before."

 
She felt herself blushing profusely.

 
Holding her hands, Charles let his eyes drift down over her floured chest and her corseted waist. She grew even more uneasy under his obviously delighted regard. "Oh, Emily, you look beautiful," he said softly, dipping his head as if to kiss her.

 
She feinted neatly aside. "Fannie colored my lips with crepe paper, but it comes off easily. I wouldn't want you looking marked." Though Charles politely straightened, he continued holding her hands and studying her with ardent eyes the way other men often studied Tarsy. Again Emily felt a pant of guilt. After all, it was fifteen minutes before their engagement party, and her fiancé wanted nothing more than an innocent stolen kiss. Yet she put him off, more concerned about keeping her lip coloring intact so she could make an impression on Tom Jeffcoat. She assuaged her guilt by telling herself that when she was married to Charles she would kiss him any time he wanted, and would make up for all the times she'd coyly withdrawn.

 
The guests began arriving, and Charles and Emily went to join the family in the parlor, where Mama had insisted upon having a receiving line. Edwin had carried and seated Josephine in the bay window, where he stood between her and Fannie, introducing the latter to each new arrival, and announcing Charley and Emily's engagement with great alacrity. The house filled fast with businessmen and their wives, neighbors, fellow church members, owners of outlying ranches, Reverend Vasseler, Earl Rausch and his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Loucks. There were young people, too, all acquaintances of Emily's and Charles's—Jerome Berryman, Patrick Haberkorn, Mick Stubbs; and girls who'd come with their parents—Ardis Corbeil, Mary Ess, Lybee Ryker, Tilda Awk.

 
When Tarsy arrived she left her parents at the door and rushed directly to Emily. "Oh, Emily, you look stunning, is he here yet?"

 
"Thank you and no, he's not."

 
"Does my hair look all right? Do you think I should have worn my lavender dress? I didn't think my mother and father would ever get ready! I almost wore a hole in the rug, waiting for them. Poke me if you see him come in when I'm not looking. Fannie says there's going to be dancing later on. Oh, I hope he'll ask me!"

 
Emily found herself aggravated by Tarsy's gushing over the wonders of the mighty Jeffcoat, and further annoyed by the realization that she herself was unable to stop her own fixation with the front door. By 8:30 he still had not walked through it. Her lips felt stiff from smiling without rubbing them together. Though she was thirsty and tense, and though Charles had brought her a cup of punch, she would not touch the cup to her lips. Her ribs itched from the corset Fannie had forced her into, but she was afraid to scratch for fear he'd walk in and catch her at it.

 
That swine was thirty minutes late!

 
So help me, Jeffcoat, if you don't come after all this I'll make you suffer just like I'm suffering!

 
He arrived at 8:45.

 
Emily had intended to have Charles at her side, and a line of guests moving past them. She'd intended to give Tom Jeffcoat the full two seconds' worth of attention he deserved before scattering her courtesy to the others waiting in line. She'd intended to show him how little he mattered, so little that she need not even be caustic with him any longer.

 
But as it turned out, by 8:45 the receiving line had already broken up, Charles was in the dining room with his back to her, the guests were mingling, and she stood in the middle of the room alone. Tom Jeffcoat's eyes found her immediately.

 
For several uncomfortable seconds they took measure of one another, then he began moving across the room toward her. She felt an unwelcome panic and the absurd pounding of her heart—hard enough, she feared, to shake the flour off her chest.
Please, God, don't let it fall off!

 
She watched him approach, feeling trapped and frantic, tricked by some unkind fortune who'd painted him more attractive than she wanted him to be, who'd given him a preference for clean-shavenness and blessed him with beautiful black hair, startlingly handsome blue eyes, a full, attractive mouth, and an easy saunter. She damned Tarsy for pointing it all out, and Charles for abandoning her when she needed him, and her own stupid heart, which refused to stop knocking in her chest. She noted, as if distanced from herself, that his suit was faintly wrinkled, his boots by contrast shiny and new, and that Tarsy had appeared in the dining room archway and was staring at him like a drooling basset hound. But his eyes remained riveted upon Emily as he crossed the room.

 
By the time he reached her, she felt as if she were choking. He stopped before her, so tall she had to raise her chin to meet his eyes.

 
"Good evening. Miss Walcott," he said in a painfully polite voice.

 
"Good evening, Mr. Jeffcoat."

 
He let his eyes whisk down and up once, without lingering anywhere, but when they returned to hers he wore a faint grin, which she longed to slap from his face.

 
"Thank you for inviting me." But they both knew she hadn't invited him; Charles had. "I understand congratulations are in order. Charles told me about your engagement."

 
"Yes," she replied, glancing away from his eyes, which, though holding a surface politeness, seemed to be laughing at her. "We've known each other forever. It was only a matter of time before we named a date."

 
"So Charles tells me. A year from now, is it?"

 
"Give or take a month or two." She was, after all, no good at guile; her responses came out brusque and cool.

 
"A pleasant time of year for a wedding," he observed conversationally, proving himself much better than she at observing the amenities. Her tongue seemed to be bonded to the top of her mouth as she stared at anything in the room but Tom Jeffcoat. After several beats of silence, he added, "Charles is … ecstatic."

 
His pause injected the remark with dubious undertones, and she felt herself coloring. "Help yourself to punch and sandwiches anytime you want, Mr. Jeffcoat. I'd best talk to some of the other guests." But when she moved he caught her lightly by an arm.

 
"Are you forgetting? I haven't met your mother yet."

 
He hadn't said a word about her appearance.
Not one word!
And damn him for making her lose her composure. She dropped her glance to the hand that sent an unwarranted sizzle up her arm, then pierced him with a haughty look. "You're wrinkling my sleeve, Mr. Jeffcoat."

 
"I apologize." He dropped her elbow immediately, and ordered, "Introduce me to your mother, Miss Walcott."

 
"Certainly." She spun to find that her mother had been watching them all the while, and for a heartbeat she froze. When Jeffcoat touched her politely on the back she shot forward. "Mother, this is Charles's friend, Tom Jeffcoat. You remember, Papa was talking about him during supper the other night?"

 
"Mr. Jeffcoat…" Queenlike, Josephine presented her frail hand. "Edwin's competitor."

 
He bowed over it graciously. "Fellow businessman, I hope. If I didn't think there was enough business in Sheridan for both of us I'd have settled someplace else."

 
"Let us hope you're right. Of course, any friend of Charles's and Emily's is welcome in our home."

 
"Thank you, Mrs. Walcott. It's a beautiful house." He glanced around. "I can't wait to have my own."

 
"Charles and Edwin built it, of course."

 
"Charles will be building mine, too, as soon as the barn is done."

 
"What's this we hear about a turntable in your barn?"

 
He laughed. "Oh, Charles has been talking?"

 
"Mostly Frankie."

 
"Ah, Frankie, our young apprentice…" He chuckled fondly. "The turntable is a whim, Mrs. Walcott, nothing more than a whim."

 
Fannie sailed up on the tail end of the comment. "What's a whim? Hello, Tom."

 
He turned and let his hands be captured. "Hello, Fannie."

 
"You two have met?" inquired Emily, surprised.

 
"Yes, this morning." Fannie slipped her arm through Tom's as if they were old friends while he smiled down at her upraised face.

 
"She was out for a bicycle ride and stopped by my place to introduce herself."

 
"I'm so glad you've come. Have you talked to Charles yet?"

 
"No, I was just heading over."

 
"Oh, and here's Tarsy. Tarsy, you've met Tom already, haven't you?" Tarsy's hand shot out fast enough to create a draft. He bowed over it gallantly.

 
"Miss Fields, how nice to see you again. You're looking lovely tonight."

 
"Why don't you take him over and see that he gets a cup of punch?" Fannie suggested to the blonde.

 
Tarsy appropriated Tom's arm and gave him a 150-candlepower smile while leading him away, chiding, "Shame on you for being late. I was about to give up hope."

 
Emily steamed, watching them move off toward Charles.
Miss Fields, you're looking lovely tonight!
Wasn't he just
oozing
charm?

 
She watched all night while men and women alike succumbed to it. He moved among the houseful of guests with singular effortlessness, comfortable meeting strangers, quick to pick up conversational threads, to win slaps on the back from the men and charming smiles from the ladies.

 
Reverend Vasseler shook his hand heartily and thanked him for getting the young boys to help at the church. The young boys themselves followed him, avid-eyed, and asked when his turntable would be ready. The mothers with unmarried daughters invited him to dinner. The ranchers with stock for sale invited him to look over their horseflesh. Fannie made plans to teach him how to ride her bicycle. Charles spent more time with him than with his bride-to-be. And Tarsy clung to his arm like a barnacle.

 
Meanwhile, Emily had one of the most miserable evenings of her life.

 
When the punch bowl was half-empty and the first wave of socializing past, Fannie called upon Edwin to make a betrothal toast. He filled Josephine's glass and his own, handed drinks to Charles and Emily, and stood in the bay window with his arm around his daughter.

 
"Before the evening gets away from us," he addressed his guests, "Emily's mother and I want you all to know how happy we are over the announcement of Emily's engagement. We've known Charles here since…" He turned to glance affectionately at his future son-in-law. "How long has it been, Charles?" He turned back to his guests. "Well, since he was wiping his nose on his shirtsleeve, anyway." Everyone laughed.

 
"For those of you who may not know it, his parents were our dear friends back in Philadelphia, friends we still miss, and we wish they could be here with us tonight." He cleared his throat and went on. "Well, for years Charles and Emily have been running in and out of our house together. I think we've fed him as many meals as we've fed our own two. I seem to recall back around the time they were waist-high or so she stole his pet frog and left it in a cricket box until it was flat and hard as a silver dollar, and Charles—if memory serves—beat her up and gave her a black eye."

 
After another ripple of mirth Edwin continued: "But they worked it all out and, believe it or not, Charles came to me when he was just about eye level to my chin and announced very seriously…" Edwin paused to study the contents of his wineglass. "'Mr. Walcott.'" He lifted his face like an orator. "'I want you to know that I'm going to marry Emily as soon as we're old enough.' I remember trying hard not to laugh." Edwin turned toward Charles with a rubicund glow on his cheeks. "Good heavens, Charles, do you realize your voice hadn't decided yet at that point whether it wanted to be bass or soprano?" After more laughter Edwin grew serious.

 
"Well, it was good news then and it's good news now. Sometimes it's hard to believe our little Emily is all grown up. But Emily, honey…" He squeezed her shoulders and gazed adoringly into her face. "A year from now when we make a toast to the bride and groom, you know you'll have your mother's and my blessings. We already think of Charles as our son." Edwin raised his glass, inviting his guests to follow suit. "To Charles and Emily … and their future happiness."