Tomorrow morning, after breakfast, Jeremy and I would leave on the first lap of our journey back to New Orleans. He had purchased horses and a sturdy wagon, and it was waiting in the carriage yard, already loaded with food and supplies. I had seen very little of him this past week. Four days ago he had come to stay at the rancho with Randolph and the other men, while Em and I remained at the inn. We had dined together once in the taproom before he left, his manner polite and deferential, my own subdued. The conversation had been desultory, the evening leaving me even more indecisive than before. There was so much unsaid, and that left unexpressed seemed to widen the gulf between us. I didn’t look forward to our long journey alone together.
There was a knock at the door. I turned as Gabriella entered, a vision of youthful loveliness in pale pink tulle. Not yet eighteen, the girl had a creamy tan complexion, warm, gentle brown eyes and gleaming blue-black hair worn now in long ringlets that framed her face. A smile curved on her soft pink lips. Shy, virginal, sheltered by her doting father and her stern, sharp-eyed duenna, she exuded an aura of touching, childlike innocence.
“How lovely you look,” she said in her low, musical voice. “Your gown must have come from Paris.”
“It did,” I admitted.
“I suppose I shall have Paris gowns, too, once we reach Madrid. I look forward to it, but it’s sad to be leaving all my friends here. Papa wants to find me a wealthy, aristocratic husband.”
“I’m sure the gentlemen of Madrid will be mad for you, Gabriella.”
The girl shrugged, clearly finding the idea highly improbable. Her pink tulle skirt belled out, awash with pink tulle ruffles that seemed to float as she moved across the room. Her handsome, silver-haired father had great expectations for her, and I felt certain they would be fulfilled. Gabriella was going to have the noble Spanish grandees in a stir.
“It’s so lovely of you and your father to have gone to so much trouble and expense for my friends,” I said.
“Papa wanted to do it, and it is for us as well. We will be saying goodbye to our friends. It is almost time to go down, Miss Danver, and Miss Em—” She hesitated, a delicate frown creasing her brow. “I think you had better go to her.”
I was vaguely alarmed. “Is everything all right?”
“She won’t move,” Gabriella said. “She sits in her chair and stares into space and refuses to speak. I brought her a lovely white lace veil, as fine as cobweb, a gift for her to wear. She refused to look at it.”
“I imagine it’s merely nerves, Gabriella.”
Gabriella sighed, unable to comprehend such conduct. “I will be downstairs in the salon with my papa,” she said. “If you need anything, please ask one of the servants.”
She left, and it was my turn to sigh. Em had grown more and more nervous as her wedding day approached, bouts of wild, non-stop chatter alternating with bouts of moody silence. She had flatly refused to come to the rancho this morning, and it had taken me half an hour of frantic persuasion to get her to budge. It was going to take even more to get her downstairs, it seemed. I picked up a flat white leather box from the dressing table, left the room and went down the hall to the master bedroom.
Em sat in a chair upholstered in blue velvet. She didn’t look up as I entered. She was wearing the gorgeous white silk gown she had brought from the island. It was embroidered all over with flowers in a deeper white silk, and the full puffed sleeves left her shoulders bare. Her chestnut hair was pulled sleekly from her face and worn in a tight bun in back, a semi-circle of creamy white magnolias fastened to the side of her head. Her mouth was set in a stubborn line, her expression that of a recalcitrant child.
I set the box down and sighed once more.
“It’s no use trying to reason with me,” she said flatly. “I’m not going through with it, and that’s that.”
I didn’t argue with her but, instead, stepped over to the bed to admire the lace veil Gabriella had mentioned. It was indeed as fine as cobweb, delicate flower patterns spun together in translucent patterns.
“I’ve got a plan, luv,” Em said.
“Oh?”
“Your wagon’s all loaded, right? The two of us will slip down the back way and hitch up the horses and make a quick getaway. We’ll drive back to the inn, and Jeremy can join us there tomorrow.”
“We’re really not dressed for it,” I observed.
“We’ll be on our way back to New Orleans, and all this will be behind us and I can breathe again.”
“What about Randolph?”
“He gets to keep the rancho.”
“I suppose we could drive back to the inn in these clothes,” I said casually. “I rather looked forward to showing off this gown, but it doesn’t really matter. What do you want me to tell Señor Lopez?”
“Tell him—I don’t know—tell him I just couldn’t—” Em cut herself short, exasperated. “You’re not being very helpful, luv.”
“And you’re not being very sensible.”
“I can’t help it. I’m scared to death!”
“That’s perfectly natural.”
Em stood up and stomped over to the full-length mirror. She plucked irritably at the full puffed sleeves, her hazel eyes flashing a bright green-brown. Her mouth curled wryly.
“The whole custom’s barbaric!” she snapped. “Tying yourself to one man, standing in front of a priest and mouthing silly words. Wearing white! Jesus, talk about hypocrisy. The red silk would be far more appropriate. I should never have given it away.”
“Are you about finished?” I inquired.
“Jesus, luv, I feel so—”
“I know how you feel,” I said gently. “You’ll get over it. Try to calm down. We haven’t got much time.”
Em seemed to droop. “I’m such a coward,” she said lamely.
I picked up the veil and moved over to the mirror, standing behind her and meeting her eyes in the glass. She was on the verge of tears now. Carefully, tenderly, I placed the veil over her head and draped it about her shoulders. Em didn’t protest. She stood very still, gazing into the mirror with eyes welling. The tears glistened on her lashes.
“You’re beautiful,” I said. “Breathtakingly beautiful.”
“Every bride’s beautiful,” she retorted, brushing at the tears. “You ever see one who looked frumpy?”
“You’re going to be very happy, Em.”
She frowned and reached up to adjust the veil. “I’ll go through with it,” she said, “but if that sonofabitch thinks he is going to own me he’s sadly mistaken. He gets smart with me once, just once, and I take the first wagon back to New Orleans. Do you really think I look nice?”
“I really do.”
Em sighed and turned away from the mirror. “You’ll have to forgive me, luv. I’m not my usual scintillating self today.”
I studied her with a critical eye. “The gown’s lovely,” I remarked, “and the veil is just right, but—” I paused, tilting my head, “something is lacking.”
“Lacking?”
“All that white—you need a touch of color.”
“You think I could persuade Juanita to give me the dress back?”
I ignored her, concentrating, thinking, and then I snapped my fingers. “I have just the thing!” I declared.
I stepped over to the table where I had placed the box when I entered the room. I opened it and took out the shimmering diamond and emerald necklace it contained, the necklace Nicholas had given me when he returned to the island. The emeralds flashed, alive with dancing green fire, and the diamonds surrounding each square-cut emerald seemed to leap with dazzling light.
“This should do it,” I said.
“Jesus, luv!”
“Put it on, Em.”
“I couldn’t. Why—why it’s worth more than all the loot I brought back put together. It’s worth a bloody fortune!”
“It’s my wedding gift to you. I have nothing else to give you, and there are plenty more jewels left in my pouch. Here, put it on, dar
ling. I want you to have it.”
“I’m going to start crying again. I just know it.”
“Don’t you dare,” I said sternly.
Em put the necklace around her neck and fastened it, and her eyes sparkled almost as brightly as the emeralds. Her full, belling skirt swayed and rustled as she came across the room to hug me tightly, so tightly I gasped, and then we both almost burst into tears. Em stepped back, sighed, and adjusted the veil which had gone askew.
“I guess we might as well go on down now, luv. I’d rather face a firing squad, I don’t mind telling you, but I brought this all on myself. I should have told the big oaf to get lost, and I still might do it if he gets too uppity. Take my hand, luv. Hold on tight. I don’t want to go tumbling down the stairs head first. Is there time for a quick drink?”
“I’m afraid not, Em.”
“Hell, I could use a nice healthy slug of whiskey. Well, here goes, luv. I still think I’ve taken leave of my senses.”
Despite her words she was as cool as could be as we moved down the broad, winding spiral staircase with its carved mahogany banister, and as we stepped into the grand salon to join Señor Lopez and Gabriella, she was the picture of serene composure, a demure smile on her lips. The nervous histrionics might never have occurred. Gabriella handed us our bouquets, Em’s identical to mine but twice as large. She held it as a madonna might hold a child, but I had the feeling she longed to chuck it across the room and make a mad dash. Gabriella kissed her cheek and hurried outside in a flurry of pink tulle.
Señor Lopez beamed. Tall, distinguished, with silver-gray hair and a profile that looked as though it belonged on an ancient coin, he wore a black brocade suit with short, Spanish jacket and an emerald-green satin cummerbund. He took Em’s hand and lifted it to his lips.
“I’ve got a terrific idea,” she said. “Why don’t we forget all this nonsense and run off together? I never could resist a man with silver hair. Why couldn’t I have met you first, luv?”
Señor Lopez smiled, flattered. The guitars began to twang, and Em gave me a look of panic and rested her arm on Señor Lopez’. They moved slowly out the wide French doors onto the patio. I moved in step behind them as the crowd parted, creating an aisle toward the flower-bedecked altar where Randolph stood, the padre in front of him, Jeremy beside him. The crowd smiled and whispered, full of admiration for the radiant, gorgeously attired bride and the handsome older man who held her arm in his. As we drew nearer the altar I observed that Randolph was as nervous as Em had been, shifting uneasily from foot to foot and looking as though he wanted to make a mad dash.
Señor Lopez deposited Em beside the groom and stepped back into the crowd. I took my place at her side. Randolph looked inordinately handsome in his dark charcoal Spanish vaquero suit and maroon cummerbund. His golden brown hair was brushed sleekly, gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight, and his eyes were full of panic. Jeremy stood at his side, his blue eyes expressionless, a rich brown wave spilling over his brow. The guitars continued to twang in a low, romantic melody throughout the ceremony, which the padre conducted in Latin. Em and Randolph were both confused. The padre had to whisper his instructions over again in English.
Jeremy handed Randolph the ancient, polished gold band Señor Lopez had provided. Randolph grabbed Em’s hand and jammed the ring onto her wedding finger. Em winced and gave him a furious look. The padre completed the ceremony, blessed both of them and told Randolph he could kiss the bride. Randolph seized her in a rough bear hug and slammed his mouth over hers with such nervous force that her head snapped back and she almost lost her veil. The crowd cheered as he bent her at the waist and swung her around. Em pounded on his back and broke free, eyes flashing angrily as she straightened up and adjusted her veil.
“That’s all you’re getting right now,” she hissed, “so just keep your distance. You almost broke my bloody finger when you jammed the ring on it!”
Randolph grinned. “I meant it to stay.”
“I didn’t understand a word he said. Are you sure we’re married?”
“We’re married, Mrs. Randolph.”
“Jesus,” Em groaned. “I’m going to rue this day. I just know it!”
Randolph kissed her again, and Em melted against him. The guests roared their approval. Señor Lopez beamed. Marshall and Hurley tossed their hats into the air. Em turned to smile at the guests, her eyes shining, and then she threw her bridal bouquet. Gabriella seemed startled when it landed in her arms. There was another loud cheer. The guitars twanged loudly. Champagne corks popped with the sound of firecrackers. The bride and groom were swept up into the crowd and besieged with noisy congratulations. Festive mayhem prevailed. I put my bouquet down on the altar. Someone handed me a glass of champagne.
The crowd shifted, moving constantly, a bright kaleidoscope of color, everyone babbling merrily, drinking. I caught glimpses of Em and Randolph, Em radiant with cheeks a bright pink and eyes sparkling, Randolph already a bit tipsy as he downed glass after glass of champagne. Marshall pounded him on the back, and Randolph stumbled, grinning foolishly. I finished my champagne, smiling and responding to people who spoke to me but feeling strangely apart. The twanging guitars, the popping corks, the boisterous voices merely intensified this feeling.
I saw Juanita across the patio, plump and jolly in the red silk gown Em had given her. A new pair of earrings dangled from her ears, and she was talking to a tall, good-looking Spanish youth who seemed thoroughly smitten as she chattered and smiled and toyed with her black lace fan. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear. Juanita rapped him sharply on the shoulder with her fan, giggling as she did so. I accepted another glass of champagne from a servant and drank it much too quickly. Jeremy seemed to have disappeared. I hadn’t spoken to him all day. I wondered if he was deliberately avoiding me. It didn’t matter. Not at all.
I drank the champagne and smiled and talked, and the melancholy feeling grew stronger. I felt trapped amidst all this festivity and desperately longed to escape. Em and Randolph had already left the patio. People were beginning to move through the gardens toward the tables set up on the lawn. Chris came over to me, grave and handsome in a pale tan vaquero outfit he had borrowed from one of the men. The sides of the narrow breeches were stitched with brown patterns, as was the short, form-fitting jacket. The shirt beneath was yellow silk, the identical shade of his neatly brushed hair.
“Enjoying yourself?” he inquired.
“I’m trying, Chris.”
“Me, too,” he replied. “It’s not easy.”
“I understand you’re staying here with Em and Randolph.”
Chris nodded, eyes lowered. “I like it here,” he said quietly. “There’s a lot of room to wander around in, lots of work to keep a man occupied, keep his mind off—things.”
I touched his arm lightly. “You’re going to do fine, Chris.”
“I’ll never forget her, Miss Danver. I loved her, and she loved me. I’ll always remember.”
“She would want you to remember, Chris, and she would want you to be happy. You must try to be happy for her sake.”
Chris didn’t reply. He was very young, I thought, and although he would always remember Corrie, he would, in time, get over his grief and meet a young woman who would appreciate his special qualities. The light was beginning to fade. The patio was almost deserted. I saw Jeremy strolling through the gardens with a very attractive Spanish señorita in a violet silk gown. There was a magnolia in her hair, and she looked up at him with dark, admiring eyes. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.
“Everyone’s eating,” Chris said. “Shall we join them?”
“I think not, Chris. I’m afraid all this excitement has given me a headache. I think I’ll just—be alone for a while.”
“Can I bring you a plate?” he asked. “Perhaps something cool to drink?”
I shook my head. “You go ahead, Chris,” I said. “Perhaps I’ll join you later.”
Chris nodded gravely and started to
ward the lawn. I stood on the patio for a moment, listening to the merry noise coming through the trees. Servants began to clean up the litter and light the colored lanterns as the light faded even more, and others dismantled the altar and carried the flowers away. I left the patio, strolling under the cottonwood trees in the opposite direction, strolling aimlessly away from the house, the music, the oppressive festivity. The land was rolling and green, cottonwoods and pecan trees casting long shadows as the sun went down. I could hear the river ahead. A horse whinnied, galloping across a pasture.
The sky was a pale turquoise blue, gradually fading to gray and streaked with spectacular tangerine- and apricot-colored banners that blazed and melted into golden mist while, above, banks of clouds burned a fiery red-orange. I stood very still, watching the incredibly gorgeous sunset, the most beautiful I had ever seen. Flaming orange and red and gold blazed with majestic splendor as though the sky itself was on fire. The color faded by degrees to a bright rose pink that darkened to maroon, finally bleaching to a pale, pale pink that grew dimmer and dimmer until there was just a faint blush against the gray. That, too, faded as I continued to stroll.
By the time I reached the river everything was gray and black, long velvety shadows lengthening. The moon rose slowly, thin and pale, providing very little light, and the stars were dim, tiny pinpoints of silver that glimmered faintly, barely visible. I could hear music in the distance, the sound soft and muted, a lively Spanish tune not nearly as loud as the rushing swoosh of water. I should go back. I knew that. For Em’s sake I should return to the fiesta and dance under the swaying lanterns and pretend an elation I didn’t feel. The melancholy I had felt earlier swelled inside.
A deep yearning accompanied it, a curious yearning I couldn’t fully define. I felt alone, and lost, and the future loomed ahead a bleak expanse of days with nothing to alleviate the bleakness. I had no one to turn to and nothing to look forward to, and the desire for revenge that had enabled me to go on after Derek’s death had deserted me entirely. It had never been an admirable desire, had been, in reality, a foolish pipe dream. Roger Hawke would have his comeuppance, but I would have nothing to do with it. My plan to bury myself at Hawkehouse and devote the rest of my life to Derek’s memory was foolish, too. I was alive, alive with every fiber of my being and full of emotions that struggled for release, yet they remained locked up inside, tightly contained for much too long a time. The need, the yearning that plagued me like a physical ache was actually quite easily defined, but I was too proud and too stubborn to acknowledge the truth.
Love Me, Marietta Page 48