by ID Johnson
“Grownups are having a party tomorrow,” Kelly corrected. “Little girls are having a sleep over at Mrs. Wagner’s house down the hall from our place.”
“Awww!” Ruth moaned, her shoulders falling.
“When you’re a bit bigger, you can come,” Meg reminded her, kissing her on the top of her head and setting her down on the ground.
Carrie was back. “Mr. Bix is ready when you are, Mrs. O’Connell.”
Kelly looked around. “Is my mother-in-law in the room?” she sniggered. “I’m not used to bein’ Mrs. O’Connell.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Meg said, but as she turned to go, Carrie chimed in.
“Actually, miss, Mrs. Buckner says they are ready to measure you, if you’d like to return to the parlor.”
“Oh,” Meg said with a sigh.
“I’ll happily walk your guests out,” Carrie added, and Meg noticed she was careful not to use Kelly’s surname again, as if she was embarrassed by Kelly’s comments.
“Very well then,” Meg said. Turning to Kelly, she said, “I will see you tomorrow.” Her voice was as threatening as she could muster; she couldn’t attend this lavish event without her best friend by her side.
“I’ll be here. In my best dress.” She glanced down. “This is it!”
Meg couldn’t help but laugh. “I will make sure you have an appropriate gown.” She hugged Kelly and kissed her cheek, careful not to squish Lizzie, who also got a kiss. “Goodbye, Ruthie, darling,” she said, stooping to kiss her favorite little girl.
“Goodbye, Aunty Meg. I want to see you and Uncle Charlie again soon, too.”
“You shall,” Charlie assured her, pulling her into his arms before he hauled himself slowly to his feet and kissed Kelly and Lizzie goodbye. He walked with them as far as the library door, and then Carrie escorted them out.
Once they were gone, Meg let go a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “It really didn’t go well, then, did it?” Charlie asked.
“Let’s just say, if your sister hated me before, she hates me even more now--if that’s even possible.”
He managed a crooked smile. “She doesn’t hate you.”
“Loathe. Despise. Detest.”
Charlie laughed. “Possibly.”
Meg sighed, and he wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t suppose I can blame her.”
“Oh, no, you can,” he said into her hair. “She has no reason to do so.”
“Doesn’t she, though? Wouldn’t you if you were in her position? She honestly doesn’t have enough information to forgive me the way that you have.”
Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know. But the fact that I love you should be enough to make her stop this nonsense.”
“I don’t even want to go back in there,” Meg admitted.
“Come along. I’ll go with you,” Charlie replied, taking her by the arm.
“Oh, no, I can’t ask you to do that,” Meg said, but he was already headed in the appropriate direction, and Meg went along, having little choice.
“My sister decided she didn’t like you way back when you didn’t even know I was writing to you,” he explained. “She had a few friends she thought would make perfect sisters-in-law. And when I didn’t see things the same way, she decided to hold it against you.”
“I can hardly blame her for being overly protective of her younger brother. If I had a little brother, I’m sure I’d feel the same way.” The parlor door loomed ahead, and Meg’s stomach became a clenched fist.
“This has much more to do with her getting her way than it has to do with her feelings for me, I assure you,” he replied. “In fact, I would wager she’ll try to send me out of the room so that she can better control something as simple as a dressmaker taking your measurements.”
Meg swallowed hard, not particularly excited about the idea that some strange man she did not know would be measuring her or Grace’s potential attempt to throw Charlie out of his own parlor.
“It’ll be fine, I promise,” Charlie said, standing in front of the parlor door. “Meg, as long as we are together, we can get through anything. Surely, you know that by now.”
She gave him a small smile. There were not too many things in this world she was sure of, but the fact that his words were the gospel truth was one of them. With a deep breath, she went back into the frying pan, hoping things would go more smoothly now that Charlie was with her. Perhaps, compared to this, the actual party would be a piece of cake.
“Cake, my lady?”
Meg turned to find a servant she did not recognize offering her a dainty pastry barely the size of a postage stamp, and she wondered how it could possibly be described as cake. She shook her head and mumbled a polite, “No, thank you,” watching him scuttle off to the next crowd of people.
The rules had certainly changed over the years. Meg remembered when she first started attending social events how she had to wait for a gentleman to offer to escort her to the refreshment table, and then she’d been scoffed at for actually eating. Though this wasn’t a ball exactly, as that had been, times had certainly changed, and she marveled at the young ladies who crossed the room without an escort, wondering how it had ever been a travesty before.
“You look lovely.”
She spun around to see Charlie had somehow managed to sneak up on her. She’d seen him only briefly when the party had first begun, and after that, he’d been swept away by one guest or another. While it was customary for couples not to spend too much time with each other at a ball, she kept reminding herself this was something else altogether, and she was happy to see him.
“You said that already. Earlier.” She couldn’t help but smile at him. He was wearing a full tuxedo with tails, much like he wore the night she’d attended dinner in the First Class dining hall with him, and she bit her bottom lip in an attempt to fight back the urge to kiss him right there in front of the hundred or so guests Grace had eventually whittled the list down to.
“It isn’t so bad, is it?” he asked, stepping close to her so that his breath was in her ear.
“Not so far,” she admitted. Kelly had been by her side for much of the event, though now she was across the room with Daniel speaking to a couple Meg had met but couldn’t remember. She’d been introduced to so many people that night, it wouldn’t be possible for her to keep them all straight.
“Maurice certainly did lovely work completing that gown so quickly.”
Meg glanced down at the rose colored dress she wore. Grace had insisted the gown be the same color as the flowers and the rest of the décor, though she had no idea why she’d insisted on pink, which seemed more like a color for an announcement of a new baby than an engagement. “I think so. It is a bit tighter than I’d like.”
“That’s what happens when your soon-to-be sister-in-law insists you don’t breathe while you’re being measured,” he reminded her.
She could only shake her head. If Charlie hadn’t been there, the dress would likely be even tighter. “Have you any idea why we are all to gather in the garden after dinner?”
“I haven’t the foggiest why they picked the garden, but I believe that is where I am to formally ask you to be my wife,” he explained. “I am glad that the photographs will be taken inside at least.”
“Well, assuming it’s quite dark outside, I suppose they’d have to be. It’s not as if they have a way of sufficiently lighting a photograph at night. Flash bulbs can only do so much.”
“Wouldn’t it be extraordinary if they could?”
She knew she’d lost him for a moment as he pondered an impossibility, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Is there anything you don’t want to invent?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Anything you can think of, I shall make it happen.”
“Hmmm,” she accepted the challenge, “what about a telephone that allowed you to actually see the person you were talking to? You could just peer into it and see into their home? Wouldn’t that be something?”
“Can you
even imagine?” Charlie asked, shaking his head. “Or books that moved like nickelodeons that you could hold in your hand?”
“What’s this now? Are you imagining the future in your head again, old boy?”
Meg looked up to see a tall, handsome man with blond hair she was fairly certain she’d not yet met. A woman with short, curly, brown hair stood behind him, a slightly annoyed, half amused look on her face.
“Quincy Cartwright!” Charlie exclaimed, embracing the man and clapping him on the back several times. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since the wedding.” With those words, he glanced back at the woman standing behind Mr. Cartwright, and Meg noticed a shift in Charlie’s expression. She didn’t know what it was, but she didn’t like it. It was gone almost as quickly as it came. “Stella. How are you?”
Charlie hadn’t stepped in her direction, but the woman threw one arm around his neck; the other held a drink, which she thrust out in an attempt not to spill and almost hit Meg in the face with it. “Charlie, darling! It’s lovely to see you.” She had an audacious look about her, and Meg instantly knew she did not like this person.
“It’s nice to see you, too, Stella,” he remarked. He placed his hand on her back, but Meg noticed it seemed as if he were touching something fragile, like spun sugar, and he didn’t seem to want to apply any pressure lest she break. Either that or he simply didn’t want to touch her at all.
Once the woman, who was wearing an elegant black gown and a ring on her finger with a stone larger than the ones in Meg’s earrings, stepped back, Charlie said, “Quincy, Stella, this is Meg.”
“It’s lovely to finally meet you,” Quincy said, taking the hand Meg offered and pressing it to his lips.
“Thank you,” Meg said with a polite nod.
“Yes, it is lovely to finally meet you,” Stella agreed, taking a sip from her glass. “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure this day would ever come.”
Meg laughed nervously, not sure what to say since she had no idea who these people were or what she may be implying.
“It’s been a tumultuous journey, but I assure you, Meg and I are together for the long haul now,” Charlie spoke up.
“This fellow used to smile for weeks after getting a letter from you,” Quincy offered, punching Charlie lightly in the arm.
“Is that so?” Meg asked, smiling at the playfulness.
“When he got a letter from you.” Stella’s mumble was just barely audible, but Meg caught it.
“We went to Cambridge together,” Charlie explained. “And Stella’s brother, Ralph, and I went to high school together. Where is Ralph? Is he here?” Charlie looked around the room as if he might have overlooked him.
“No, he’s out of town on business,” Stella explained. “I believe it’s London this week.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Charlie said.
“So you’ve known each other since high school?” Meg asked, still trying to figure out what she was missing.
“Charlie and I know each other very well,” Stella said, looking Meg directly in the eye.
Meg glanced at Charlie and could see he looked quite uncomfortable. Quincy leaned in toward Stella’s ear and whispered, “Darling, please, take it easy on the gin and tonics, won’t you?” He looked back at Meg and laughed nervously, and she could sense the tension between the couple.
“How long have you been married?” Meg asked, trying to make conversation.
“It will be two years next week,” Quincy said through gritted teeth.
“Is that so?” Charlie asked. “I don’t suppose I realized it had been that long.”
“One year, eleven months, three weeks, and five days, to be precise,” Stella said, and Meg could see for certain in the way she turned to face Charlie that she had already drank too much.
“Stella always was good with numbers,” Charlie laughed, clearly trying to clear the tension between them. “She studied chemistry at Cambridge.”
“You don’t say?” Meg asked, turning back to Stella for one more try at cordiality. “That’s quite impressive.”
“Yes, I was one of the first women to graduate with a degree from Cambridge,” she nodded. “And now I live in a fancy house on Twelfth Street, spending my days making sure my husband’s home is in order and spending my nights fulfilling his every need.”
“You’ll have to excuse my wife,” Quincy said, putting his arm around Stella and pulling her back away from Meg a bit. “I’m afraid she’s had a bit too much to drink this evening.”
“You don’t need to apologize for me, Quincy. I’m not drunk,” Stella said, her jaw set tightly.
“I believe you might be,” Quincy said, a fake smile still plastered on his handsome face. Meg took a step toward Charlie, who put his arm around her in reassurance.
“No, I’m not,” Stella insisted. “You know, Mary Margaret,” she continued, stepping around her husband, “if I had been a wagering woman, Charlie would be even richer today. I would’ve bet anything you’d never have shown up. In fact, I’m still not completely convinced you’ll actually get married.”
“Stella….”
“No, let me finish, Quincy. Do you have any idea what you did to this man for so many years? It really is a shame.” Her voice was low, despite her accusations, but a few people standing nearby turned to look.
“Stella, I think it might be best if you go outside with Quincy and get some fresh air,” Charlie recommended.
“Wait,” Stella insisted, pulling away from her husband, who was tugging on her arm.
“It’s all right,” Meg said quietly. “Let her finish. She’s certainly got a valid point.”
Stella’s eyes widened. “You think so?” she asked, as if she was surprised to hear Meg’s admonition.
“Yes, of course,” Meg agreed. “I absolutely treated Charlie terribly before I met him in person. I will certainly acknowledge that.”
“Meg, really, that’s not necessary.” Charlie looked more uncomfortable now than he had the entire time they’d been home.
“Good.” Stella nodded her head and finished her drink. “Good. I’m glad you admit that. And… you’d better be sure it doesn’t happen again. He has friends you know, lots of them, and we’ll take up for him.”
“I see that,” Meg nodded. “I’m glad to have the opportunity to meet the people Charlie holds so dear.”
Stella laughed, loudly, which drew more eyes. “You haven’t any idea.” She was shaking her head, her brown curls dancing about. “You haven’t any idea.”
“Stella!” Quincy had her by the arm again and this time he was pulling hard enough that she had no choice but to retreat.
Before she disappeared into the crowd, she shouted, “I’ll see you soon, Charlie,” and winked at him in a way Meg couldn’t quite decipher.
“What in the world?” Meg asked, looking to Charlie for some answers.
He opened his mouth as if he might explain, but just then there was the loud clank of metal on glass, and they both jumped. The Master of Ceremonies, a gentleman Meg had met earlier by the name of Mr. Hill, was calling for everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have Mr. Ashton’s immediate family and Miss Westmoreland to the library, please, the photographers have assembled there. The rest of you, please make your way outside to the garden, and we shall join you shortly.”
While in theory it seemed a good idea to have the guests begin to make their way outside as the family prepared to be photographed, doing so caused Meg and Charlie to have to cross through a throng of people who were crowding through the exit. Most people were willing to let them pass if they were paying attention, but it seemed Stella wasn’t the only one who may have had too much to drink, and Charlie kept Meg close behind him as he threaded his way through, an attempt to keep her from colliding with anyone or having a drink spilled upon her new dress. Eventually, they arrived in the library.
There were several photographers assembled here, their cameras set up pointing at the fireplace. Meg i
mmediately felt her stomach tighten. She’d been under the impression it would be one photographer from one newspaper. Once Grace entered the room, she explained, “I could hardly show favoritism to one paper over the others.”
Meg disagreed, but she said nothing. Mr. Hill situated the family just how he wanted them, with Charlie and Meg in the middle, his parents on his left side, his sister and Peter on Meg’s right. She refused to note the fact that she had absolutely no family in the world she’d want to be in the photograph even if they’d been on the same continent, and she forced herself to smile her best fake smile for the camera, thinking of Charlie and nothing else in order to muster as much happiness as she could.
A barrage of flashing lights began to go off, and the photographers shouted at them to stay still, and then to move closer together, or further apart, and Meg did her best not to lose herself in the flashing lights, her head growing dizzy with each explosion from the flashes, the smoke burning her nose. After what seemed like forever, Mr. Hill shouted, “All right then. Last one!” Most of the photographers complied, and as they took their last shots, the older gentleman ushered them from the room, and Meg hoped, from the building. A few shouted questions at them as they went, but neither she nor Charlie answered.
“Well, that was certainly an experience,” Mr. Ashton joked, rubbing his eyes.
“I do think it would’ve been better if we’d had it in the daytime,” Grace mused, “so that they didn’t need to use those terrible flashbulbs.”
“I concur,” Pamela agreed. She was wearing a lovely gown only a shade or two darker than Meg’s and Meg couldn’t help but hope she would look just as pretty when she was Pamela’s age.
“Shall we head out back then and get on with it?” Charlie asked, absently checking the pocket inside of his jacket.
“Yes, let’s do,” Grace agreed, and since she still seemed to be the one in charge of this affair, they began to follow her out, Mr. Hill leading the way.
Meg had Charlie’s arm, and she slowed so that everyone else went around them. Leaning in so that only he could hear, she teased, “If that rock in your pocket is even half as large as the one on Stella’s finger, I’d think you needn’t check to see if it’s still there. You’d feel it thumping against your chest with each step.”