Spring fancy

by LaVyrle Spencer

  The priest paused just before asking Sandy and Mick to repeat the vows after him and asked all married couples present to join hands and silently renew their own wedding vows, and reaffirm their own acts of faith.

  For Winnifred and Joseph there were no spouses with whom to reaffirm vows. But their eyes locked and held, and bore no smiles, nor twinkles, nor hid the unquestionable fascination each held for the other. It was there. It had been born. And it flamed and burgeoned while the wedding vows were spoken. To love … to cherish … all the days of my life…

  * * *

  Everything was different when they reached the vestibule this time. It was joyous, celebratory and spontaneous. The bride and groom received a broadside of kisses from their closest relatives, while attendants, too, became swept up in congratulatory embraces. Winnie was fleetingly aware of being ensconced in Pete Schaeffer's arms and of receiving a tearful kiss on her cheek from Ann, another from Sandy and still another from Mick. But it was the inevitable full-length hug from Joseph she carried away in memory.

  In all the confusion she missed Paul somehow, but Joseph's arm contoured her shoulders nearly all the time, and momentarily he squeezed her waist and said, "I'll be right back for you."

  Then he disappeared along with the other groomsmen, while the wedding guests spilled through the open double doors onto the sunny steps of the church portal. Then Joseph reappeared at her side, grabbing her hand and pulling her out on the heels of Sandy and Mick, through a spray of rice and smiles and cheers to a waiting line of cars out front.

  Joseph ran, towing her along, but Winnie planted her feet and dragged on his arm at the sight that greeted her.

  "Wh-what's this?"

  Sandy and Mick were already packing her voluminous white skirts into the back seat of a square black automobile with a running board, bug-eye headlights and a rectangular rear window. Behind it there were three others, each at least fifty years old.

  "Vintage automobiles. Come on!" Joseph tugged on her hand, and before she could get more than a fleeting glimpse of gleaming maroon paint and a spare tire mounted on the cowl just behind the high curved crown fender, she found herself whisked toward the car. Her foot was directed not to a running board-nothing that modern-but to an individual metal foot plate. Inside, the roof was high, and there was ample space for her wide-brimmed hat, though the car was only a two-seater. As her door was slammed, she turned to find herself confronting a horizontally split windshield, its top half hinged to create a wind deflector when pushed outward.

  Joseph jogged around the hood with its distinguished ornament, then clambered up beside her, smiling and reaching to depress a button on the instrument panel, setting the engine to life.

  It was difficult to keep from giggling in delight. The steering wheel jutted up at a stern awkward angle, and Joseph looked tall and proper and straight as the engine rumbled beneath the pleated leather seat. Winnie couldn't swing her head around fast enough to take it all in. Her eyes shone with excitement as she turned to her escort.

  "Where in the world did you get this?"

  "In my grandma's and grandpa's chicken coop."

  "It's yours?"

  "Since my grandma died, it is. I belong to a classic-car club, and I talked a few of the other members into offering their jitneys for the wedding today, but as you can see, they all agreed with one stipulation: that they drive them themselves."

  The cars pulled away from the church, heading toward the main drag of Brooklyn Park, a wide four-lane commercial street named Brooklyn Boulevard. Winnie peered at the lead car. Through its rectangular rear window all she could see was Sandy 's and Mick's heads-they were kissing. Craning around, she noted they were being followed by another shining vehicle of estimable age and condition, a stranger at its wheel. With a broad smile and an excited voice Winnie touched the wedge-shaped rear quarter window that gave the car a rakish roadster profile. Out the front she studied the rounded hood, the cowl lights on either side of the windshield and the tips of the side-mounted spare tires. She looked up to find mohair upholstery overhead and reached up to caress it in reaffirmation.

  "Oh, this is absolutely beautiful! What is it?"

  "A 1923 Haynes Sport Coupelet."

  "I adore it! Why, it's perfect! I mean-" she shrugged expressively "-I feel as if we fit right in. I in my Gibson Girl hairdo and you in your elegant tuxedo. Straight out of The Great Gatsby or something. Except you really should have your dust coat and goggles."

  He laughed-a deep rumble as smooth as the engine beneath them. "Oh, shoot, sugar pie, I forgot them at home. Next time."

  "Where are we going?"

  "Up and down Brooklyn Boulevard to toot and wave."

  "Are we really?" Her voice rose excitedly.

  "What's a wedding without a noisy procession?"

  Just at that moment the lead car sounded a horn. It bleated out a raucous a-oooga before Joseph touched something on the dash that added to the blaring announcement of their coming. They passed Park Center High School, fast-food shops and gas stations and the city bank, while from the parking lots of McDonald's and Burger King teenagers turned from their prized vans and pin-striped Trans Ams to gawk in admiration at the procession of high-riding relics that paraded past.

  They made an eye-arresting sight, chugging along with the sun gleaming off their vented side panels and spoke wheels: a 1932 Model B Ford in gleaming black; Joseph's own glistening '23 Haynes-55, whose original color he called "burgundy wine maroon"; a 1936 Plymouth in deep dark blue; a shiny black '22 Essex Coach with turtleback luggage compartment and drum headlights.

  Laughter bubbled up in Winnie's throat as she saw heads snap around and mouths drop open all up and down Brooklyn Boulevard. She couldn't resist waving a hand at an awestruck teenager who was pointing a finger at them.

  Turning, she beamed at Jo-Jo Duggan. "I suppose this was your idea."

  "Mick's and mine. We decided to surprise you all."

  "Oh, what fun! I've never ridden in anything like this before."

  His eyes left the street for a moment to scan her lacy straw hat that threw dapples across her cheeks. "You look as classic as my car, Winnifred Gardner. Please wave some more to draw attention to the fact that I've drawn the prettiest girl in the wedding party."

  It was uncanny, this wellspring of reaction his compliments unearthed. Perhaps it was the festive tenor of the day that made her respond so heartily with gay laughter and a tilt of her hat brim. Perhaps it was a release from the building tension surrounding her own wedding plans. Whatever it was, Winnie felt free and ebullient as they spent the next half hour riding proudly above the mundane modern vehicles going about their Saturday afternoon pursuits, looking too refined, too sleek and too powerful next to the charming '23 Haynes and its three contemporaries.

  Winnie found herself totally relaxed as the minutes slipped by. She studied Joseph's profile as he told her stories about his grandfather, who had owned an auto dealership and had accepted this car as a trade-in during his early years but had never really driven it. Instead he had locked it in his chicken coop and allowed it to become his private obsession, coveted and polished, but never used. Only after the death of Joseph's grandmother three years ago had the car come out of mothballs-and then only on very special occasions and certainly never when the winter streets were spread with destructive salt.

  The sun had turned warm. The sense of expanding familiarity and burgeoning acquaintanceship spun an ethereal web about the handsome man in his ruffles and tux and the dazzling young woman at his side.

  Laughter came readily, and a certain amount of cavalier flirtation was inevitable. She found herself turning to glimpse his strong blunt fingers on the wheel with new interest, his jaw and mouth with forbidden curiosity.

  "Isn't it odd that we've never met before?"

  He turned, studied her silently, then nonchalantly returned his gaze to the open field beyond the city offices and the library on the outskirts of the suburb where it joined the cor
n and potato and gladiola fields at the edge of Hennepin County. The procession had broken up now, and the Haynes was purring along on its own.

  "Yes, considering how long we've been friends with the bride and groom. I've known Mick since we were in elementary school, but then he went to the U and I went to Vo-Tech."

  "And I've known Sandy since high school."

  His eyes wandered back to her for a brief glittering second, then he looked away again. "Well, now that we've met, Winnifred Gardner, there's nothing we can do about it, is there?"

  It was a startling question and raised a shiver of apprehension up her arms. Yet she could not be tempted to indulge in spring fancy regarding this man. "I think it's time we headed for the reception. It'll be starting in-do you have a watch?"

  He lifted a hand from the wide thick steering wheel and pushed up a ruffled cuff to reveal a winking gold watch. The gesture was at once commonplace, yet captivating. It scared her, her gut reaction to such a simple movement.

  "It's nearly four-fifteen."

  "We have to be at the reception hall by five, and I've left my street clothes in the changing room at the church."

  "We'd better head back, then."

  He pulled into a side road and wheeled into the start of a U-turn. She watched his neck as he craned to check the stretch of road behind them. When he turned suddenly and caught her studying him, she shifted her attention to view the rank and file of dried ivory cornstalks marching across an unplowed field to their right.

  One car whisked past, then another. It grew silent, and she turned to see what was holding them up. But Joseph was no longer checking behind him for traffic. He was staring at her.

  "We've lost the others," she announced unnecessarily.

  "Just as well." His hand fell to the shifting lever between their knees, and he nudged it into neutral. "Because there's something I've been wanting to do all afternoon." Her heart and blood sounded the alarm, but with a smooth commanding movement he slipped one arm around her shoulders, the other to her ribs, and pulled her close. He dipped his head to avoid the wide brim of her straw hat, still it all happened so fast she hadn't a thought of resisting until it was over.

  He kissed her with a soft exploratory pressure that was rife with inquisitive speculation. His lips were hard, warm, and remained closed for the most part. The compelling contact lasted perhaps ten seconds, and during the last five her hand pressed his lapel more in surprise than resistance. Just before he pulled back, his lips parted to bestow a swift wet stroke of his tongue across her mouth, encountering the seam of her lips and the ivory texture of sleek teeth within. Her lips dropped open, but too late to encourage or to allow the kiss to become more intimate or lengthy.

  His dark sparkling eyes were very close. His lashes caught chips of sun and threw them into her eyes. The brim of her hat touched his curls.

  "Joseph…" she whispered upon the wings of surprise. "You mustn't do that." She treated him once again to that unconscious one-eyed blink that made him believe her the most charming creature he'd ever laid eyes upon.

  "No one ever calls me Joseph. To my friends I'm Jo-Jo. To my brothers, Joey, and to most people, Joe. But I love the way you say it-Joseph."

  Inanely she repeated her words of a moment ago, struggling for composure and a return of calm heart. "Joseph, you mustn't…" Pressing his chest, she felt his heart thudding.

  "I know. But you mustn't move your lips along with the wedding vows when they're being pronounced and stare at a man with those irresistible blue eyes, either."

  "I didn't…" Again she blinked, a slow-motion flutter of a single eyelid that captivated him. But she tipped her head aside slightly as a newborn smile began to play upon her lips. "Did I?"

  He dipped out from under the brim of her hat but kept one arm around her shoulders, his other hand gripping her upper arm, keeping her turned partially his way. The shadows from the wide-brimmed bonnet flickered beguilingly across her nose and forehead. A strand of hair rested in a gentle coil against her temple. He inserted his finger into the lazy curl, and it gripped him like the clinging finger of an infant. "And who were you thinking of as you whispered the words?"

  Her lips parted, and the tip of her tongue peeked out to wet the full upper one, but she remained silent, staring up at him.

  "Paul Hildegard?" he prompted.

  "Hildebrandt," she corrected in a rather dazed breathless voice.

  "Hildebrandt, then."

  "No, not Paul Hildebrandt."

  He touched the end of her nose with a fingertip. "How naughty of you, Miss Gardner, and only three months before your wedding to the man."

  She pressed her palm firmly against his lapel and eased away. Though he released her, his shoulder still curved in her direction. "Who?" he insisted quietly.

  She dropped her eyes to the flower basket on her lap. "I wasn't thinking of anyone. I was concentrating on the words. They're very beautiful."

  His left hand moved. Its forefinger curled, then pressed lightly beneath her chin until she was forced to tip it up. For a moment his eyes danced merrily into hers, then he accused, "Why, you little liar."

  "There are times, kind sir, when lying is the wisest choice."

  His eyes darkened thoughtfully. He stroked the hollow beneath her lower lip with his thumb-slightly rough on her fine skin-then his hand fell away, and he turned to put the car into gear. The road was clear, and he headed back toward town.

  "You're right, of course. So will you lie to him about what just happened?"

  "I… there'll be no reason. He'd have no reason to ask."

  "Was he there this afternoon?"

  "Yes."

  "And he'll be at the reception?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I'd better be careful around you, hadn't I?"

  She didn't know what to reply or what to make of him. He was utterly direct. She'd never encountered a person as straightforward as he before. It seemed impossible to combat the barrage of reactions he could unleash by such blatant innuendos as his last. Even though such words rolled from his tongue as glibly as quicksilver and sounded like the practiced lines of an actor, he was devastating, this best man with whom she'd been paired for the day. And Winnie knew, she, too, had best watch her step.

  "You'll be pleased to know Paul isn't the jealous type."

  "What type is he?"

  She mused while they cruised southward on Zane Avenue. "He's logical. Computer nuts tend to be that way. If he can't feed the facts into his terminal and come up with a black or white answer-either yes, there's reason to be jealous, or no, there's none-he'll take the logical sensible route and not be."

  "God, he sounds like a bore."

  "I should resent that, Joseph Duggan."

  "And do you?" He turned to chart her expression as she answered.

  It rattled Winnifred to realize she'd had to think for a minute before deciding. "Yes. Yes, I do!"

  "Wonderful! That's the first sign of a healthy relationship between you and your fiance that I've seen yet."

  "Don't make assumptions. You don't know anything about our relationship since you've never even met him or seen us together."

  "But I will on both counts before the day is over, won't I? What do you say we pick up this conversation at the end of it and see where we stand on the subject?"

  "I'll be with him at the end of it, so don't wait around for me when the dance is over."

  "In that case, remind me to steal a kiss sometime in the middle of the evening when he's not looking. The one I just got wasn't nearly good enough."

  Her jaw dropped, and she smacked him on the arm. "Why, you arrogant, assuming… rake!"

  His head dropped back, and he laughed with full-throated amusement. "Rake? God, I haven't heard that word since I saw my last Errol Flynn movie." With characteristic aplomb he captured her left hand and pressed it possessively to his thigh while she tried to yank it free. "Come on, don't get skittish. You look pretty enough for this rake to want to-what's the word-
ravish? But I can hardly try it in the middle of a busy four-lane street in broad daylight, so let me console myself with your hand."

  "That hand, Mr. Duggan, is wearing another man's engagement ring."

  "And I'll turn you over to him as soon as we get to the reception. But in the meantime, quit pulling away."

  She stopped resisting and let him hold her gloved hand palm down on his right thigh. His leg was firm and warm, and she knew she should withdraw, but it felt very pleasant, if very naughty, experiencing the flesh of a different man beneath her touch. He was much, much harder than Paul, and his thigh was larger in circumference, yet shorter in length. Realizing she'd been measuring the difference was unsettling. She tried to free her hand, but to no avail. He held it firm.

  "Does he dance?" Joseph's eyes never left the road.

  "Divinely."

  "That won't work."

  "What won't work?"

  "I was thinking about stopping in there and catching a quick dancing lesson so I'd be one up on him in that department, anyway." He nodded toward a sign for the Gloria Allen Dance Studio as they passed it, then asked abruptly, "Does he smoke?"

  "No."

  "Mmm… we're even on that score. Is he rich?"

  "He will be someday."

  "Shot down again!" He eyed her askance. "Just how handsome is he?"

  She growled suggestively, and he muttered a curse.

  "Is he a good kisser?"

  "Mmm… the best." She applied a slight pressure to his thigh for good measure.

  "And how is he at-" His hand slipped from hers to clasp her thigh.

  "Joseph Duggan, you cut that out!" She returned his hand to his own thigh, ignoring the pleasant tingle his teasing touch had brought.

  They arrived at the church parking lot then. The other three cars were already there as Joseph pulled to a halt and killed the engine. He hooked an elbow through the steering wheel and turned to her.