The Barefoot Bride

by Paisley, Rebecca

  "And if she accuses us of provoking her," Thelma ventured, "we will act as innocent as newborn babies. No one will believe her. Society has known us longer that it has known her."

  "Besides that," Eleanor said, "most everyone has heard the gossip about her anyway. And as for those who have not, we can make sure they hear it tonight. Everyone will think about her past behavior, add it to what she does this evening, and that will be the end of her!"

  The matrons smiled at Araminta and gathered close to perfect the plan that would bring about the downfall of the Appalachian princess.

  Saxon, blithely unaware of the vicious scheming taking place mere yards from where he stood, was again searching for Chickadee. She'd mumbled something about a surprise for him, and before he'd understood what she meant, she'd disappeared into the crowd. He strode across the marble room, his anticipation and apprehension rising steadily.

  But when he finally found her, saw the new arrival she was escorting into the ballroom, his anxiety was replaced with astonishment. His legs might as well have turned to stone, for he could not move them. The other guests were in awe also, every pair of eyes in the room directed at Chickadee and the young woman she was embracing.

  The girl was beautiful, her loveliness rivaling that of any woman in the room. She wore a dazzling gown of violet silk that matched her eyes perfectly. Her ebony hair was arranged in tiny ringlets, some swept up to the top of her head to form a soft bed for her crown of flowers, the rest cascading to her alabaster shoulders.

  Desdemona.

  As his sister floated toward him, Saxon tried to swallow but discovered his throat was as paralyzed as his legs. Why had he never noticed Desdemona's elegance or her arresting features? Was this vision really the painfully shy and reclusive Desdemona?

  "Well, Saxon," Chickadee said, "what do you thank about this purty little surprise I had Candy brang fer you?"

  "I... Desdemona, I can't believe it's really you," Saxon stammered, his eyes widening when he saw his sister blush. Blushing, of all things! This girl who never spoke, who rarely showed emotion, was actually blushing!

  "Now go on, Desi," Chickadee prompted.

  Desdemona found the encouragement she sought in the mountain girl's sparkling eyes. Her own eyes fluttered closed briefly before she reached for Saxon's hand, squeezed it gently, and gave him a tremendous smile.

  Chickadee laughed at Saxon's disbelief. "Lord o' mercy, outlander, yore shet up tighter'n a mornin' glory! Ain't you gwine say nothin'?"

  "Does... does she talk too?"

  "We ain't got that fur yet, but we're a-workin' on it, ain't that right, Desi?"

  To Saxon's utter amazement, Desdemona nodded.

  "Keely, how did you do this?" he asked. "What have you been doing? How—"

  "Been a-spendin' ever' bit o' time I can with her, outlander. I talk and talk and talk to her. We near about finished that quilt we been a-makin', and I sang to her whilst we re a-sewin' on it. It don't really matter what all you do with her as long as you do it. She likes ever'thang." She patted Desdemona's cheek. "All right now Desi, what'd I tell you to do next?"

  Desdemona turned to look at the dance floor and trembled slightly before she walked toward it, pulling Saxon behind her. Then she looked back at Chickadee and grinned at what her sister-in-law was doing.

  Chickadee, in an effort to remind Desdemona of what she was supposed to do, was holding out her arms as if there were a man enfolded between them. She waltzed alone, oblivious to the snickers around her, and was intent on urging Desdemona to copy her actions.

  And Desdemona took the cue, slipping her arms around Saxon and moving her feet to the rhythm of the music. Her concentration was evident in her stiff body and in the way she bent her head to watch what her feet were doing.

  When he realized how hard she was trying, Saxon snapped out of his silence and lifted her chin. "Let me see your face, sweetheart. Just look at me and let me do all the work." His heart did a flip-flop when she nodded and, ever so slowly, slid her hand up his neck to rest it on his cheek.

  Immediately, he stopped dancing. "You remember," he whispered. "Your hand... on my cheek. You loved to put it there when you were a child."

  She smiled, her eyes bright with emotion.

  "Oh, Desdemona," was all he could manage to say. Holding her close, he swept her across the marble floor, his mind swirling with joy at this wonderful change in her.

  Chickadee watched them with the same joy. But her pleasure faded when Hester sidled up to her.

  "He looks ridiculous out there," the woman said too softly for anyone but Chickadee to hear. "A waltz should be danced slowly. Saxon looks like he's dancing a jig. Ridiculous. Simply ridiculous." With that, Hester scurried away.

  Chickadee started after her but thought better of it. Saxon had warned her about keeping her temper, and that was exactly what she would try to do. Still, it was only with extreme effort that she managed to subdue her anger.

  "You've wrought a miracle in Desdemona," Bunny said as she joined Chickadee. "I never believed I'd see what I'm seeing now."

  "Desi don't differ from nobody else, Bunny," Chickadee said, still glaring at Hester's retreating back. "She jist needed love and a jag o' pushin' in the right direction."

  Bunny's eyes embraced her friend. "I don't imagine Desdemona will ever forget this night, nor will I. I admit I was flustered when you made Cynthia change seats with me, but thanks to you, Max and I got to know one another. We've much in common. We like the same writers, plays, and performers, and we both enjoy composing our own poetry!"

  Chickadee nodded in satisfaction. "He say anythang about a-wantin' to see you agin?"

  "Well, I told him you and I had been taking long, brisk walks together, and he wants to take one with me tomorrow in the Common! All thanks to you."

  "Bunny, I done tole you he jist needed to know you better!"

  As the song ended, Bunny went in search of Max, and Chickadee clapped wildly for Desdemona and Saxon.

  "You should pat your hands together lightly when applauding," Millicent said quietly over Chickadee's shoulder. "Didn't that imbecile you married teach you anything?"

  Chickadee gasped but bit back her hot retort as she watched Millicent melt into the crowd. When she turned around again, she saw Saxon and Desdemona coming toward her.

  "Did you see Desdemona out there, Keely? Oh, little one," Saxon whispered, bursting with the need to tell her of his love, "you've no idea how much I—"

  "Lord o' mercy, Desi!" Chickadee shouted, reaching out to steady the girl who'd become as white as the alabaster pillar beside her. "You this weared out after jist one dance? Hep me git her to a char, Saxon."

  As he led his trembling sister to the row of chairs, Saxon was reminded once again how very frail she was. She would undoubtedly take sick from all the excitement of tonight and have to swallow gallons of her medicines to be well again. Dammit, every time he wanted to tell Chickadee how he felt about her, something happened to stop him!

  Still, the night wasn't over yet, and she was behaving quite nicely, he reminded himself as he watched her fuss over Desdemona. His plan could still end in victory.

  "Desi's gwine be jist fine, Saxon. But she don't need to dance no more. You jist set right here and watch me and yore big brother, Desi, hear?" She patted Desdemona's shoulder and then grabbed Saxon's hand.

  She began to waltz before they'd reached the dance floor, and Saxon was hard-pressed to keep from jostling people as Chickadee swirled him into the midst of the other dancers. "Keely, you're supposed to let me lead."

  "Why do menfolks allus git to do ever'thang and women jist got to set by and let 'em? I can lead jist as good as you can."

  "But the man is the one—" Saxon laughed down at her and then pulled her closer. She wore no perfume, he noticed, but her scent was sweeter than any in the room.

  "Mr. Duke! Mr. Duke!" Chickadee yelled, her voice so loud it overwhelmed the music. "I ain't danced with the duke yet, Saxon." She left his ar
ms and rushed toward Lord Cavendish.

  Heads turned to stare at her. Saxon felt that lump in his throat again as he followed and promptly lost her.

  "Your gown is gorgeous, Chickadee," Eleanor said when Chickadee was near her.

  Chickadee stopped and looked at the woman.

  "Or it least it was," Eleanor added softly. "Now it's nothing more than a rag, soiled and scorched. Saxon was stupid not to take you home. I cannot imagine why he is allowing you to remain at the ball looking as you do. It is apparent to me he has lost what little wits he used to have before marrying you."

  Chickadee panted with outrage, then shuddered with her attempt to subdue it.

  "Did I hear you calling me, Mrs. Blackwell?" Lord Cavendish asked as the crowd parted to make way for him.

  Anger boiling inside her, Chickadee watched Eleanor escape. With a sigh, she turned her attention to Lord Cavendish. "Mr. Duke, you and me ain't danced yet. Saxon larnt me with a tablecloth, and I don't hardly never step on toes. Ain't that right, Saxon?" she asked her husband, who had finally caught up with her.

  Lord Cavendish chuckled. "Mr. Blackwell, will you do me the honor of allowing me to dance with your wife?"

  "I will indeed, your grace. There is no greater honor I could do you." After giving Chickadee a silent look of warning, he bowed and left the floor.

  "Yore a right common man, Mr. Duke," Chickadee told Lord Cavendish as he whirled her away. "I know yore somebody important back thar acrost the ocean-sea whar you come from, but you shore don't put on the dog about nothin'."

  "Put on the dog," the duke repeated thoughtfully and then winced when she stepped on his foot. "Am I correct in assuming that expression means I don't put on airs?"

  "Call it whatever strikes yore fancy, but yore a real nice man, and I'm God-proud to know you."

  "As I am to know you. You are exactly what I thought all Americans were like, and you've brought zest to an affair I would otherwise have found boring and tedious."

  "You don't like these ball-parties?"

  "I detest them."

  "It's this slow music, ain't it? Don't got much of a beat to it like the fiddle music my neighbor George Franklin plays at home in the Blue Ridge. You ever hear good fiddle music, Mr. Duke? Do you-uns play it over thar in Angland?"

  He smiled at the way she pronounced the name of his country. "I've heard violin music like what these musicians here are playing, but I seriously doubt it's anything like what your George Franklin plays. It's a real shame he's not here to play for us. I would have enjoyed that immensely."

  Chickadee looked at the musicians, for the first time noticing their violins did indeed resemble George Franklin's fiddles. But could they be made to sound like fiddles too?

  There was only way she knew of to find but.

  "You want to hear fiddle music, I'll make shore you hear it, Mr. Duke. Them violins them musicianers is a-playin' ain't nothin' but fancified fiddles, the way I see it. Go grab yoresef a woman and git set to hear the toe-tappin'est music you ever did hear!" With that, she left the duke and walked quickly toward the orchestra.

  "Yes, I agree with you, Thelma," Millicent said when Chickadee was within hearing distance. Swiftly, she moved away from the other guests, closer to Chickadee. "Saxon was quite the fool to believe he could make that hill person into a lady."

  "Well, he was always a fool, Millicent," Thelma agreed quietly. "That yokel he married simply made him more of one!"

  Wrath rumbled through Chickadee. She turned toward the two women behind her, only to discover they'd vanished. Her gaze swept the ballroom in search of them, but it found Lord Cavendish instead. The sight of him reminded her of what she'd told him she'd do, and she waved her arms in front of the musicians, gesturing for them to cease playing.

  Lord Cavendish went to Eugenia Preston and whispered into her ear. She laughed into her hands. "Ladies and gentlemen," she called loudly. "Chickadee Blackwell is going to entertain us with the music she enjoys in her mountains. Please select a dance partner!"

  Many guests shook their heads at Eugenia's unseemly behavior. Nevertheless, there was soon a large crowd of couples on the dance floor. It would never do to disobey their hostess, even if it appeared she had tossed her wits to the wind.

  Araminta and her cronies were delighted their scheme had begun so smoothly and that Chickadee herself was unknowingly helping them with it. Imagine a guest taking over the orchestra! they exclaimed to each other. Surely this was but the start of the mountain girl's ill-mannered antics!

  Saxon, as he watched Chickadee take a violin from one of the musicians, pulled at his suddenly strangling collar. "During all the long hours I tutored her, he murmured to Desdemona, "I... well, I never thought to tell her not to rob the orchestra of its job!"

  Eugenia came up behind him in time to hear his words. "I think it's perfectly delightful, Saxon."

  He clasped her hand warmly. "Would you care to dance, Mrs. Preston?"

  "Why, I would adore it! But I will have to wait for the next song, my dear. I hate to miss a single note of Chickadee's music, but one of my maids just informed me that poor Sarah Bancroft is completely beside herself. I'm on my way upstairs to bring her a whiskey. She does drink whiskey, you know. On the sly, of course."

  Saxon laughed as she hurried away, but his grin became a scowl when Araminta joined him. "You married a moron, Saxon. Look at her up there with the musicians!"

  He forced himself to face her malevolent glare, the one that had always frightened him as a boy and still brought back the horrible memory of those years. "Grandmother," he seethed, his hands aching to choke her withered neck, "one more word, and—"

  "Saxon!" Cynthia exclaimed, slipping her arm around his waist when she arrived at his side.

  Saxon's eyes widened at the strong odor coming from her. It wasn't champagne, he knew. It was bourbon. She smelled as if she'd bathed in the stuff.

  "You haven't danced with me at all, you devil!" she admonished him. "Come, let's join the others. This dance, I imagine, will be most interesting." She pulled him toward the dance floor. Saxon did not object, knowing if he didn't leave Araminta, he would soon be arrested for murder.

  From the platform, Chickadee observed the way Cynthia was pressing herself against Saxon, but his obvious irritation told her he wasn't enjoying Cynthia hanging all over him. She smiled at her audience, brought the bow to the violin, tapped her foot three times, and began to play.

  She closed her eyes and let her music fill her. She remembered George Franklin instructing her to feel the music, to let her emotions and instincts play rather than her fingers. The violin seemed to come alive in her hands, the Scotch-Irish melody she played twisting and changing in rhythm. It sang slowly, sweetly, and hauntingly, and then switched to a sound so happy, so overwhelmingly joyful, Max and Bunny began to clap their hands.

  Cynthia's hands, however, were otherwise occupied. When Chickadee opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was Cynthia's cloud-white fingers curling into Saxon's black hair. Instantly, she stopped playing. The guests looked at her, baffled by her angry expression, then followed her line of vision to Cynthia.

  Cynthia shrank back as Chickadee bolted from the platform and stormed toward her. "Saxon, for God's sake, don't let her touch me! Look at her! She's going to—"

  "I been a-watchin' you tonight, Cynthia," Chickadee hissed, all memory of proper etiquette disappearing beneath the weight of her tremendous fury.

  "You commenced with Max, and when you couldn't git him, you went to ever' other man here. You been on more laps than a napkin, and now yore a-tryin' to git Saxon! You better git them twitchy breeches o' yores away—"

  "Keely," Saxon intervened gently. "Please—"

  "I ain't afeared o' you, Cynthia. You touch Saxon one more time, and I'll meller you so bad, you'll look like you been a-chawin' bakker and a-spittin' in the wind!"

  Cynthia angrily looked to Araminta and the other influential matrons for support but saw only slow-spreading smi
les on their powdered faces. Why, the bitches were actually enjoying her embarrassing predicament! No longer able to control her hatred and jealousy of Chickadee, and bolstered by the strong liquor still flowing through her, she lunged toward her rival.

  But the mountain girl, who could have easily subdued Cynthia, merely stepped aside, grabbing the top of Cynthia's elaborate hairdo. To Cynthia's utter horror, her hairpiece came off in Chickadee's hand. Cynthia covered the sparse, mousy-brown strings of hair that straggled around her scarlet face as best she could and raced from the room, stumbling over her own feet in her haste to disappear.

  When she was gone, Chickadee looked at the wig in her hand and then glanced up at Saxon. "I swear I didn't mean to snatch her bald, outlander."

  "I know, Keely," he said quietly.

  The sadness in his voice almost killed her. She'd made a terrible mistake. She shouldn't have gotten so riled at Cynthia. It was just that when it came to anything concerning Saxon, she could barely control her temper.

  The duke, who had been resisting the urge to laugh, clapped to break the tense silence. "An unfortunate occurrence, but what's done is done, is it not? Please, Mrs. Blackwell, let us continue with the dancing, shall we?" He took the wig from her and deposited it in the hands of a passing waiter.

  She regarded him with grateful eyes. "Why don't you commence a-callin' me Chickadee?"

  "I'd be honored."

  "And what's yore first name?"

  The duke entertained an expression of surprise. No one other than old acquaintances had ever presumed they could call him by his first name. "My name is Gilford."

  Chickadee's lips twitched merrily. "Gilford? Gilly fits you better. Is Gilly all right with you?"

  Araminta smiled when she heard the gasp that rose from the multitude of guests. She watched the men shuffle uneasily, the women fan themselves frantically. She saw Saxon loosen his neckcloth, and knew everyone, most especially her grandson, was dreading the duke's reaction.