Yankee Bride / Rebel Bride

by Jane Peart

  The engagement of their daughter to Bryce Montrose had come as much of a surprise to the Camerons as to the rest of the community. But it was Garnet's insistence on being a June bride that bothered Kate most. She would like to have planned the wedding of her only daughter at a much more leisurely pace. As it was, there had not been time to have all her linens monogrammed, her silver engraved, or for a complete set of Belleek china ordered from England to arrive. Invitations to relatives and friends were rushed out, but not all had responded yet, making it difficult to anticipate the number of guests who would be attending the reception after the ceremony.

  "Can't we hurry up? I'd like to go riding!" complained Garnet petulantly, tired of standing for what seemed like hours on a footstool while her mother measured the skirt of the ivory satin wedding gown that still needed hemming.

  "Only a few more minutes, dear," Kate replied patiently.

  Garnet sighed and studied her reflection in the oval mirror.

  My dress for my sixteenth birthday was white, too. A white embroidered dimity with little blue forget-me-nots, she remembered, and narrow blue ribbon threaded through the shirred bodice, and small puffed sleeves. It had been a warm summer evening and the August moon rising like a huge, yellow balloon over the treetops made the lawn as bright as day. There had been a barbecue in the afternoon, then the ball. All the young men had clustered around the birthday girl, clamoring for dances. But it was Malcolm for whom Garnet saved the special dances, especially the one before supper so they could eat together on the cool veranda. She would have him all to herself at least for a little while. When he came to claim his dance, she had moved eagerly into his arms and gracefully out onto the polished floor.

  She had smiled up at him and asked with pretty coquetry, "I'm sixteen today, Malcolm. Am I grown up enough for you now?"

  "Garnet, you certainly look all grown up and very beautiful. But I still see a mischievous little girl lurking behind that lovely faÇade." He had looked down at her, half-seriously, half-teasingly.

  Garnet frowned. "I wish you wouldn't always use such big words, Malcolm. I declare, seems like you're showing off!"

  Malcolm threw back his head and laughed.

  "That's what comes of going up north to school. You begin to talk so no one down here can understand a word you say!" Garnet pouted. "Papa was right, you know. The schools here in Virginia are every bit as fine as the ones in Massachusetts. All you learn up there is Yankee ideas and fancy words!"

  Malcolm laughed again, the laughter sending sparkles into his usually grave eyes and little crinkles around them.

  "Ah, Garnet, you're precious. Don't ever change!"

  "But I want to change! I want you to think of me as a proper grownup young lady!"

  "I may someday think of you as a young lady, but never a proper one!" he teased. "Besides, no matter how old you become, I'll always think of you as a 'little sister'."

  The music stopped and Garnet, still in the light circle of Malcolm's arms, felt helpless fury at his words. How would she ever make him see her any other way? "Little sister," indeed! How infuriating when she wanted him to think of her as someone with whom he could fall in love, marry, and bear his children!

  Memories of that long-ago night came back to Garnet now, overwhelming her with unbearable longing. If it were only possible to bring it back, she knew what she would say to Malcolm. She would be done with all those silly games that girls were taught to play. She would tell him straight out that she loved him. Garnet closed her eyes and swayed slightly.

  "You can get down now, dear," came her mother's voice, breaking her reverie. "I know you're tired with all these fittings and trying on and such, but we did have so little time to get your trousseau ready—"

  Garnet stepped down off the stool, knowing that it wasn't fatigue that dazed her, only that she was heartsick, remembering that moment on her birthday when she had had the chance to tell Malcolm and maybe make the difference in her destiny and his. What was it he had said to her?

  "You have more charm than anyone should be allowed, Garnet. Too much, maybe. It won't win you any friends among the ladies, I'm afraid, and it's going to bring unhappiness to a mighty number of young men, I'd wager."

  His remark had flattered Garnet. She had wanted to say, "But it's you I want to charm—it's you I want to please!" But she had let the moment slip away.

  Then Francis Maynard had come to claim his dance and there had not been another opportunity to be alone with Malcolm. Now it was too late. Would she go her whole life long, regretting a moon-drenched night and the lost opportunity to speak of her love?

  "Aren't you feeling well, Garnet?" Again it was her mother's voice, soft with concern, that brought Garnet back to the present.

  She stared blankly at Kate and shook her head. She was remembering what her mother had said to her after she and Bryce had announced their engagement and wish to be married as soon as possible. Kate had come to her bedroom and, in her own tactful way, had questionsed Garnet about the suddenness of her decision.

  "If you're sure—" Kate had begun. "If you have searched your heart and soul, and know beyond a doubt that you love him. . . . We just don't want you to make a mistake, darling. Your happiness is our primary concern. Bryce obviously adores you. But marriage is for a lifetime and you are very young. I wouldn't want you to persuade yourself that you love a man, only to find out too late it was not really love at all."

  It was as if her mother could read her thoughts, Garnet fretted, taming away from that too-perceptive gaze. Had Kate seen in her eyes the stirring of an uneasy conscience?

  Mesmerized by her inner turmoil, Garnet watched her mother's long, slender fingers making the fine stitches characteristic of any properly trained Southern gentlewoman, and wondered.

  How do you stop loving someone? Garnet stormed within herself. How could she stop thinking about Malcolm? How could she stop seeing his haunting smile, his thoughtful gaze every time she closed her eyes? How could she free herself when Malcolm held her heart and mind and emotions captive?

  "I can't! I've tried and I can't!" she exclaimed—then gasped, clapping her hand to her mouth.

  Startled by her daughter's outburst, Kate pricked her finger and a tiny spot of blood stained the white satin hem, but Kate was too startled to notice. But the superstitious Mawdee saw and took it as an evil omen, one more reason Garnet should not marry in such haste.

  The old woman had been stubbornly silent on the subject of Garnet's engagement and wedding plans. Usually, she had plenty to say and said it boldly. Garnet thought Mawdee might be upset because she was not taking her along with her to Montclair, where there were already twenty house servants. She was only taking Bessie as her personal maid so as not to cause any trouble in the new household. But when she explained this, Mawdee just shook her head. "Didn't 'spect to go wid yo'" was all she would say.

  Garnet knew that when Mawdee wouldn't talk, there was no way of making her. So she tried to ignore this unusual behavior. But on the morning of Garnet's wedding, Mawdee at last became vocal with her opinions.

  Garnet, in camisole and pantaloons, stood holding on to the bedposts while Mawdee tugged at the lacings of her boned corselet.

  "That's enough! Don't you want me to be able to breathe?" gasped Garnet. "If you lace me any tighter, I'll faint dead away during the ceremony!"

  "All yo' has to do is to say 'I do'," mumbled Mawdee.

  "What do you keep mumbling about? You'd think I was going to a funeral, not a wedding!" declared Garnet crossly. She was feeling nervous enough without this old woman giving her more trouble.

  "Jes' all dis hurryin' up ain' proper," Mawdee insisted. "No time to finish wid yo' hope chest belongin's-no time a'tall! Iffen yo' cousin Elvira ain' done loan us her weddin' dress and us hab your mama's own weddin' veil, we couldn't of had a proper weddin' day outfit or nuthin'." Her tone was outraged indignation.

  "Two months is plenty long enough for an engagement, Mawdee. I declare, I never heard
anything so silly," retorted Garnet haughtily. "It isn't like the olden days. Young ladies don't have to be engaged for two years like they did in Mama's day. Besides, Bryce and I wanted to be married and back from our honeymoon in New Orleans before the beginning of fox hunting season."

  "Huntin' or no huntin' doan hav nuthin' to do wid bein' proper," grumbled Mawdee.

  "Yes it does! Bryce has to ride. His father has always been Hunt Master and, if you talk about being proper, we wouldn't have time for a proper wedding trip and do all our visiting to relatives as newlywed couples are expected to do, and still be back in time to get settled at Montclair. So stop your fussing, Mawdee!"

  "Jes' too much hurryin' up is all I have to say," Mawdee insisted.

  Garnet whirled around with her hands on her hips. "I declare, Mawdee, I should think you'd be glad and proud instead of acting so uppity. All you and Mama have talked about ever since I can remember is how important it was for me to find a suitable husband. You especially!" Garnet pushed out her lower lip in exact imitation of the plump old woman. "'Act lak a lady, Miss Garnet. . . . Doan' do dis and doan' do dat, Miss Garnet . . . so's you' kin ketch you'sef a husbin'!' Now all you do is complain about all this 'hurryin.' I'm eighteen—nearly nineteen! Do you want me to be an old maid?" she demanded.

  "Some chanct of thet!" Mawdee would not relent, just lifted her fat chins higher.

  "You are an old mule, Mawdee." Garnet's eyes flashed angrily. "Now that I've 'ketched' myself a fine husband from one of the best families and biggest plantations in the entire county, and good-looking and sweet-tempered besides, you're scolding me for wanting to marry him before some other girl gets him!"

  In spite of herself Mawdee's lips twitched in an effort not to smile. Instead she pursed them primly and said loftily, "Well, mebbe I'm some surprised myself."

  "Oh, Mawdee!" Garnet sighed, half in irritation, half in affection, knowing that regardless of her criticism Mawdee loved her dearly and was feeling a sense of pride in Garnet's good match.

  Reluctantly she admitted, "Yes'm, I'm sho' enuf proud. Mr. Bryce is mighty fine and I is happy yo' done ketched such a nice gen'leman."

  With that, Mawdee turned, picked up the length of ivory satin that was spread carefully on the bed and dropped it over Garnet's head. It slithered over the tiered hoop and starched crinoline petticoats, and fell in graceful gathered scallops, each loop caught into a velvet bow all around.

  "My, my," Mawdee hummed with satisfaction as Garnet slowly pivoted before the mirror. "Nebber seen yo' look so pretty!"

  The dress was becoming, as if it had been especially designed to show off her figure to full advantage, her creamy shoulders and rounded bosom. But for some reason, no dress in her life had ever seemed less suited to her. Just then, however, the bedroom door opened and Kate Cameron, elegant in mauve taffeta, entered.

  "What a beautiful day for a wedding.!" she said as she came over to view her daughter. "And what a beautiful bride." Cupping Garnet's chin with one cool hand, she smiled, quoting softly, " Happy is the bride the sun shines on!' I wonder if Bryce Cameron knows what a lucky man he is?"

  Lucky? Bryce? Garnet controlled a shudder. Her pursuit of Malcolm's brother had been subtle, yet relentless. He had never known how deliberately his ultimate surrender had been planned.

  After Garnet had first devised the plan of marrying Bryce Montrose, it became a kind of obsession, controlling every waking moment, motivating every action. With reckless abandon she pursued the unsuspecting Bryce, her ruthless intensity masked in charming flirtatiousness. Since spring brought a flurry of social activities for the young people of Mayfield, Garnet had lost no opportunity in showering Bryce with flattering attention.

  The once indifferent young man was first astonished to be the focus of the pretty and popular belle whom he had known all his life as his friends' "little sister," then stunned by his vulnerability to her charms. For the first time in his rather uncomplicated life Bryce found himself confused, dazed, enamored. With every day that passed Garnet Cameron became more and more the reason for his existence.

  His was a lost cause. By the time he finally got up the courage to speak to his father about his desire to marry Garnet and was given permission to speak to Judge Cameron, Garnet's conquest was complete.

  Now, at her mother's words, Garnet felt a tiny pang of conscience. Lucky? Garnet wondered with a small stirring of panic. Would Bryce consider himself lucky if he knew his bride was not in love with him, after all, but with his brother?

  "Here comes Bessie with your bouquet, dear." Mrs. Cameron took the spray of white lilacs from the little maid.

  Numbly Garnet received it into her own clammy hands. She gave her head a small, impatient shake as Kate adjusted her veil. She felt chilled yet flushed and warm. She tried to swallow, but her throat was bone dry.

  In sudden frightened awareness of what she was about to do, she spun around to confront her mother. "Mama, there's something I must—"

  But Garnet never finished, for there was a knock at the door and Judge Cameron's voice called to them.

  "The carriage is out front, my dear. Is Garnet ready?"

  "We'll be right along!" Kate replied gaily. "Come, darling, it's time to go."

  Garnet knew she could delay no longer. The time had come. The day she had schemed for was here. All her devious plans were coming to pass. Her heart thudded heavily. Turning her head quickly, she felt something catch as she raised her free hand to her coronet of orange blossoms. Then there was a strong tug, then the sound of ripping fabric.

  "Oh, my goodness, your veil!" There was a note of genuine distress in Mrs. Cameron's voice.

  Horrified, Garnet looked at an ugly tear marring the delicate tracery of butterflies and flowers in the gossamer lace. Though her mother tried to conceal it, she saw, too, the anxiety in Kate's face as she moved swiftly, followed by Mawdee, to examine the damage. Garnet saw the two women exchange a glance. Their expressions reflected in the mirror were inscrutable, but she felt a twinge of fear.

  "Don't worry, dear," her mother was saying reassuringly. "It's only a small rip. I don't think it will show. This lace is very old and fragile and it caught on the bureau handle. It will be just fine. . . . Now, we really must go, or we shall be late."

  Kate hurried to the door, waiting for Garnet to follow. But Garnet moved stiffly, feeling the weight of her heavy satin train, the stab of pins securing her headdress.

  At the door she hesitated as if uncertain. Again she turned toward Kate, trembling visibly. Quickly Mrs. Cameron touched her daughter's arm. "There, there, dear, it can be fixed," she assured her calmly. "It's not the end of the world, you know. Hurry now. Your father is waiting—and your bridegroom."

  With a kind of despairing bravado Garnet swept through the doorway, knowing it was indeed the end of the world—at least, it was the end of the dream world she had cherished for so long.

  chapter

  6

  GARNET WOULD have dearly loved a European honeymoon, but Bryce had no such inclination. He had no desire to see foreign countries nor deal with strange languages or unfamiliar customs. So a compromise was struck when they left by riverboat for New Orleans three days after the wedding.

  Denied the delights of sightseeing in London and shopping in Paris, Garnet indulged her extravagance in the many luxurious stores of this sophisticated and fascinating city. Bryce accompanied her and waited patiently while she spent hours trying on dresses and bonnets and making decisions on her purchases. She ordered new furniture in the ornate modern style for their wing of Montclair, as well as elegant accessories.

  Garnet was finding her first taste of life as a grown-up married woman to be enormously satisfying.

  Bryce, who was out of his element in these surroundings, merely allowed his vivacious bride to satisfy her whims, content only to see her happy. His compliance with her every wish intensified Garnet's sense of guilt—a guilt she released, ironically, through frequent outbursts of temper. Bryce, who beneath
his rugged masculinity was shy and gentle, reacted awkwardly, bewildered by his new wife's rapid mood swings. When she snapped at him over some incidental matter, Garnet was just as likely to turn around and make him laugh with a bit of mimicry, an amusing observation, a witty remark.

  They had only been married a few weeks when Garnet made the surprising discovery that no matter how willful she was, how easily irritated and how often cross, Bryce put up with all her faults. She had a feeling, which she failed to explore, that he loved her unconditionally and saw something in her she did not even know about herself.

  For Garnet their stay in New Orleans with its lavish attractions, new people, and new experiences could have lasted much longer. Away from Mawdee's stern eye and her mother's gentle but inflexible code of behavior, Garnet found her new freedom intoxicating.

  But Bryce had been away from the fields and streams and meadows of his beloved Montclair long enough. He missed his daily horseback rides, his hunting dogs, and the outdoor life he lived there. He had had his fill of touring and shopping. He was anxious to go home.

  On their way back to Virginia, as was the custom, they visited relatives on both sides of the family. Although the couple was royally entertained and urged to stay longer, Bryce would not delay his return to Montclair another day.

  It was different for Garnet. Returning to Virginia and her new home, the one where she had dreamed of being mistress, was a jolting letdown. Montclair was magnificent, everything she had ever remembered it to be, but living there was not at all as she had imagined it.

  Ordinarily a young woman marrying into the family of a large plantation owner would have moved into a complex, demanding role. But even though Sara Montrose was an invalid, still it was she who ruled from her "ivory tower." Her personal maid Lizzie, trained expertly to relay Sara's orders to the twenty or more house servants, kept the household running smoothly. As a result there was very little for Garnet to do. She had no duties, no responsibilities—no authority.