Perfect Wedding

by Duncan, Alice

  The singing on-stage had stopped, Marjorie realized. Turning, she saw the entire cast of pirates staring at her and Ginger. And then, to her utter astonishment, all the Major General’s daughters who were clustered began applauding enthusiastically. Her.

  Ginger burst into tears and ran away, and ten women gathered around Marjorie to congratulate her for finally doing what they’d wanted to do for ages.

  # # #

  “It was terribly embarrassing,” she told Loretta later that night. She’d managed to avoid Jason, though, which was the most important aspect of her evening.

  They were in the nursery. Loretta was feeding Oliver, and Marjorie held Olivia, who had recently been bathed. She smelled as sweet as a spring morning, and her skin was like velvet. She never wanted to leave these children—at least, not unless it was for children of her own.

  And there was a snowball’s chance in hell of that ever happening.

  “You did a noble thing, dear,” said Loretta, laughing. “And it’s something the other women had been wanting to do for a long time, evidently.”

  “Evidently,” Marjorie agreed, still surprised about that.

  It was an odd thing, too. She tried so very, very hard not to lose her temper, because she’d always held subordinate positions, and people didn’t appreciate their servants displaying fits of temper. But when she occasionally did allow herself to blow up, nothing bad ever seemed to happen to her. Perhaps there was a lesson to be learned there somewhere. For a second or two, she even wished she could discuss the matter with Dr. Hagendorf.

  Good Lord, she was truly mad.

  “What about Jason?”

  Marjorie’s head snapped up. “Jason? What about him?”

  “You can’t keep avoiding him forever, Marjorie. What happened between the two of you, anyway?”

  Because she’d prefer to be roasted over hot coals than admit to her foolish lapse with Jason Abernathy, Marjorie said, “Nothing.”

  “Fiddlesticks.”

  “Aye. It is.” And she still couldn’t bear to face him. Perhaps in ten or twelve years, she’d be able to hold a civil conversation with him—without breaking down and sobbing her heart out for her lost dreams and hopes.

  Perhaps not.

  # # #

  The weather on opening night of the Pirates of Penzance was as crisp and clean as San Francisco seldom got. From the butterflies in Marjorie’s stomach, she’d have thought it was spring had she not looked out upon fall leaves blowing around. Her butterflies fluttered not unlike those fallen leaves as she and Loretta and Captain Quarles climbed into the cab that would take them to the Columbus Avenue Presbyterian Church.

  Loretta patted Marjorie’s hand. “Are you nervous, Marjorie?”

  “Aye.” Marjorie sighed. She wasn’t looking forward to this. Mr. Kettering had proved to be a competent and energetic Frederic, and he’d learned his lines and the lyrics very quickly, but she still faced the prospect of avoiding Jason all night—and for several more performances to come. She’d been doing so six evenings a week for two solid weeks now, and it was becoming quite tiresome.

  He wouldn’t leave her alone. Every time there had been a lull in rehearsal, he’d sidle up to her and try to talk. Marjorie was sick to death of sidling in the other direction. He’d humiliated her, hurt her feelings, and . . . and . . . not loved her as she loved him. It was a most lowering experience; perhaps the worst in a life that hadn’t exactly been brim-full of delightful happenings.

  She sighed heavily, and Loretta patted her hand again. “You’ll do a wonderful job, Marjorie. You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard, and you look simply smashing in your Mabel costumes.”

  “Do I?” Marjorie eyed her employer with scant interest. She couldn’t seem to drum up much interest in anything these days. Except in avoiding Jason. She still had energy enough for that.

  “Yes,” said Loretta firmly.

  Captain Quarles nodded. “They’re fetching outfits,” he rumbled, evoking mild surprise in Marjorie. The captain wasn’t one to notice much, especially as regarded feminine trappings.

  “Thank you.”

  Her heart felt heavier and heavier the nearer they got to the church. She imagined Jason would escalate his attempts to approach her, since they were only giving six performances of Pirates, and he didn’t have much time left. After the production concluded, she’d never have to see him again. She supposed it would be something of a miracle if she didn’t have to speak to him again during those six performances, but, in her considered opinion, she was overdue for a miracle or two.

  A crowd had already gathered around the church. Happy play-goers chatted with one another outside the building, and more were gathered on the church porch and steps. Loretta, being Loretta, stuck her head out the window to see if she could spot anyone she knew. Since she commenced waving madly, Marjorie presumed she had done so.

  As for Marjorie, she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything. She didn’t mind singing Mabel. She could do that in her sleep. In fact, she’d prefer doing it in her sleep. This being-awake nonsense was for the birds.

  Loretta called Marjorie’s current condition “depression.”

  “I thought it was called melancholia.” Not that she cared about that, either.

  “That’s the old word for it. The new word is depression.”

  “Oh.” Marjorie couldn’t perceive much difference, although she didn’t bother to ask why the change had taken place.

  “Anyhow, it’s all because you overcame your phobia and performed an heroic deed, Marjorie. And now, since you’ve achieved the utmost, your inner psyche is telling you that there’s nothing left to conquer.”

  Nothing left to conquer? What was the woman talking about? Marjorie didn’t care enough to ask.

  “Also,” went on Loretta. Marjorie rolled her eyes. “Since you stepped so far outside the bounds of your usual behavior patterns, you frightened yourself, and are not suffering the consequences.”

  It didn’t take an alienist to tell Marjorie that. She didn’t care enough to say that, either. All she knew was that she had no interest in anything any longer, and the sooner this stupid opera was over for good and all, the sooner she could get back to living her life the way she wanted to.

  Loretta called the way Marjorie wanted to live her life “hiding away from the world.” Marjorie thought she might have a point, but she didn’t care.

  Loretta wanted Marjorie to see Dr. Hagendorf again.

  Marjorie didn’t have the energy for that.

  “Oh, look!” Loretta cried, startling Marjorie, who had been slumped in her seat. “It’s Dr. Hagendorf!”

  Oh, joy. Oh, rapture. “Did you telephone him?” Not that she cared much. Anyhow, she didn’t have anything against Dr. Hagendorf. He’d given her sound advice. It wasn’t his fault that Marjorie had allowed herself to commit a moral lapse that had affected her more than she’d ever have dreamed it would.

  “No. But I told him you were Mabel when we met at the charity benefit last Thursday.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why don’t you make an appointment with him, Marjorie? I’m sure he can do you some good. He did the last time, remember.”

  “Why don’t you let Marjorie take care of her own life, Loretta,” grumbled the captain, stepping out of the automobile and assisting his wife to do likewise.

  Marjorie smiled at him as he then helped her out. She didn’t quite have the vigor to thank him. In fact, she was sleepy. It was a good thing the music always perked her up, or she’d be stumbling through her part in a haze.

  “I’m not interfering!” Loretta said indignantly.

  The captain rolled his eyes.

  Marjorie said, “Aye, you are.”

  Loretta frowned, but didn’t pursue the matter. Then she brightened. “Oh! And look, there’s Jason.”

  Wonderful. Exactly what she needed. Jason. Finding herself the recipient of a sudden spurt of energy—fleeing for her life from a ravening lion,
would have produced much the same effect, she supposed—Marjorie spun around and started walking in the opposite direction, toward the corner. There was another church entrance in the back. She’d just use that instead of— “Ow!”

  Frowning, she turned and saw that it had been Jason who’d grabbed her arm. She stared pointedly at his offending hand.

  “Damn it, Marjorie, we need to talk!” he hissed under his breath. He didn’t release her arm.

  Looking over his shoulder, Marjorie saw that he’d raced right past Loretta and Malachai, both of whom had turned to gape in their direction. Bah. Stupid man. “You’re making a spectacle of the both of us,” she said crossly. “Let me go.”

  “We have to talk,” he insisted.

  “No, we don’t.” She shook off his hand and marched on in the direction she’d started.

  “Damn it, don’t walk away from me!” He hurried after her.

  Confound it! Well, she supposed it would be undignified to have a knock-down, drag-out fight on a public street—especially in front of her very own church—so she didn’t run away or shout at him. Rather, she stiffened her spine and kept walking. If he wanted to talk to her, fine. Let him talk. She didn’t have to talk back at him. Maybe he’d get bored with himself and shut up.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  She remained mute.

  “Damn it, Marjorie, talk to me!”

  She wouldn’t.

  They arrived at the back door, and Jason yanked it open. Mrs. Proctor, in her Ruth costume, jumped a foot and slammed a hand over her heart. “Oh, my! You frightened me, Jason! I was just getting a broom out of the closet here.” She gestured at an opened door. “I thought Ruth might like to carry a broom or a mop during the first scene.”

  Marjorie heard Jason’s harsh intake of breath and deduced he was attempting to suppress further swear words. “Sorry, Mrs. Proctor. Door got away from me.”

  Liar. She didn’t say the word aloud because she didn’t want to start a conversation.

  “That’s quite all right, Jason, dear. You make such a splendid Pirate King. I just know we’re going to do a wonderful job this evening.”

  “Thanks.”

  After smiling at the woman and hoping Mrs. Proctor wouldn’t wonder why she didn’t speak to her, Marjorie resumed her march to the sanctuary. Naturally, Jason continued to pester her.

  “I won’t leave off until you agree to speak to me, Marjorie. I don’t understand why you’re being so standoffish. For God’s sake, I thought we’d overcome our problems! We’ve been intima—”

  Marjorie slapped her hand over his mouth, so he didn’t get to finish his sentence. Then she broke her silence long enough to whisper, “Haven’t you done me enough harm, ye deevilish, gawkit gullion? Keep your mouth shut about my mistake, if you will!”

  “Mistake?” Jason stopped dead still and looked stunned. “Mistake?”

  Deciding that to say more would be imprudent, Marjorie huffed once and continued her trek to the sanctuary.

  “You’re calling it a mistake?” Again, Jason rushed to catch up with her. “How can you call that heavenly night a mistake?”

  “Shut up!” They were nearing the sanctuary, and there were quite a few people milling about.

  “I won’t shut up! You have to explain yourself to me, Marjorie MacTavish! If you don’t want the whole of San Francisco to know about us, you’d better talk to me, and do it now!”

  Confound the man! Furious, Marjorie turned on him. “Will ye shat your trap, ye ghastly man? I’ll talk to you, if that’s the only way to keep you from ruining my reputation! I won’t do it now, though. I have to change, and so do you. The play will begin in less than an hour!”

  His chest heaving, Jason glared at her. If he’d been an honorable man, he’d have looked guilty for threatening to expose her, but he didn’t, the rat. Marjorie’s hand itched, it wanted so badly to slap his insolent face. “Well?” she demanded. “Is that good enough for you, you underhanded, sneaking, slithering snake, you?”

  He had the impudence to appear offended. “I am not any of those things. I’m only a man who’s being driven distracted by an irrational woman.”

  “Right.” Turning on her heel, Marjorie stamped away from him. Let him shout her iniquities to the rooftops. She couldn’t stop him, and she’d be confounded if she’d stay in the same room with him any longer than she had to. It was too difficult to remain angry when she wanted so badly to throw herself into his arms and beg him to love her.

  How utterly degrading.

  # # #

  Jason’s hand trembled as he strapped his sword belt on. He felt a little guilty for having threatened Marjorie as he’d done, but she’d driven him to it, damn it.

  “Here’s your sword, Dr. Abernathy.”

  “Thanks.” Taking the rubber prop sword from Theodore Kettering, Jason reminded himself that he wasn’t the only man in the world with a lot on his mind. Forcing a smile, he said, “You’ll do very well this evening, Kettering. You’re much better in the role than St. Claire.”

  The young man’s face, which had been creased into intense lines, relaxed. “Do you really think so? I’ve never had a role this big before.”

  Jason clapped him on the back. “You’ll do swell. I really think you’re better than St. Claire.” In more ways than Jason would say.

  “Thanks. I appreciate your support.”

  Nodding, Jason tested his sword. It had a tendency to get caught as he was removing it from the scabbard, so he’d put a dab of petroleum jelly on it. It seemed to work better now. Good. That was one thing in his life that worked. Too bad nothing else did.

  “Are we ready?” Mr. Proctor asked, rubbing his hands together. “The orchestra is about to take to the pit.”

  There was no pit, per se, but Jason didn’t mind the man taking liberties. Mr. Proctor’s talents were vast; if he wanted to pretend that this was an honest-to-God theater instead of a church sanctuary pretending to be a theater, Jason didn’t begrudge him the affectation.

  “I’ve asked Reverend Sargent to say a brief prayer for our success this evening, and in our succeeding performances,” Mr. Proctor went on.

  Some wag in the chorus muttered, “We can use all the help we can get,” and a few titters erupted from the rest of the cast.

  Everyone obediently bowed their heads as Reverend Sargent stepped up to stand in front of the assembled cast and members of the orchestra. Everyone except Jason, who searched the crowd for Marjorie. Ah, there she was. Although her head was bowed, he’d recognize her anywhere. All that amazing red hair. He loved her hair. He loved her.

  For the first time, he wondered if perhaps he should tell her that. Hmmm. It was an idea. A definite idea.

  Could that be the reason she was avoiding him? Because she thought he’d only used her?

  Indignation swelled in him. Did she honestly believe he was that sort of man? Did she truly think he was so lost to goodness that he’d take advantage of an innocent for his own pleasure?

  And why shouldn’t she? his inconvenient little voice asked him. You’ve done naught but make her life miserable for more than three years.

  Have not!

  Have, too.

  Bother. All right, so he’d teased her a little.

  More than a little, chappie.

  Why the devil was his little voice speaking to him with an English accent? As Reverend Sargent intoned a sonorous “Amen,” Jason wondered briefly if the spirit of the late, lamented Leonard Fleming had taken possession of his brain.

  But the cast began hurrying to their places, the orchestra lugged their instruments to the front of the church, the audience erupted into applause, and Jason had to leave off contemplating his most recent bout with insanity in order to play the role he’d been assigned in the Pirates of Penzance.

  # # #

  Marjorie listened and watched moodily. The audience was eating up their production of Pirates. Even Marjorie had to admit that, if she weren’t in the throes of depression o
r melancholia or whatever the current terminology was, she’d be enjoying it, too. Jason was excellent. And in spite of his hurried introduction to the part, Mr. Kettering was proving to be a splendidly comic Frederic.

  “‘What a terrible thing it would be if I were to marry this innocent person, and then find out that she is, on the whole, plain!’” said Mr. Kettering musingly as he eyed Mrs. Proctor as Ruth, who was preening coquettishly. The audience laughed.

  “‘Oh, Ruth is very well. Very well indeed.’” said Jason, with a look of absolute innocence on his face. The audience roared. Evidently, they were more intelligent than Marjorie, who hadn’t understood the falsity behind that look until far too late.

  The fellow playing Samuel, one of the pirates, said, “‘Yes, there are the remains of a fine woman about Ruth.’” Yet more laughter.

  Sighing, Marjorie thought that probably described her as well as poor Ruth. The remains of a fine woman. Aye, that’s all there was left of her. And, worse, she’d never even blossomed. Not once. She’d believed her life would be complete with Leonard, but the confounded iceberg had taken that sweet hope from her. And then, idiot that she was, she’d fallen for the blandishments of Jason Abernathy. And his blandishments weren’t even kindly! He was a benighted habbler, and she was a bluidy gameral. A gudgeon. A baffin.

  “It’s going very well,” someone whispered in her ear.

  Turning, Marjorie saw that it was Mr. Proctor, dressed in his Major-General suit, readying his play daughters for their grand entrance, even though it was quite a ways away. Jason was going to sing his Pirate King song first. And then every bluidy female in the whole bluidy audience would fall madly in love with him. A sob caught in her throat. Swallowing it unmercifully, she smiled at the elderly Mr. Proctor. “Aye. The audience loves it.”

  It was the right thing to say, and Marjorie congratulated herself. She seldom managed to say the right thing. In fact, it had begun to seem as if everything she attempted turned to garbage.

  Dinna fash yoursel’, she commanded. She had to pay attention to the play. As soon as Jason finished his song, Ruth and Frederic would have their confrontation, and then her play sisters would take to the stage. Her cue would come soon, and she had to be alert, even if she’d rather be asleep.