The Bridegrooms: A Novel

by Allison K. Pittman

  “What are we gonna do when we get there?” he asked.

  “We’re going to wait.”

  “How long?”

  “Until I tell you otherwise.”

  She found the ratty carriage blanket and wrapped herself up in it once more. The ride was slow and smooth—not many drivers out on the street, and no hurry to arrive at the destination. Taking advantage of the luxury of having such an enormous vehicle to herself, she leaned up against the far side and stretched her legs the length of the seat. Having one ear pressed up against the upholstery further muffled whatever noise drifted in.

  She gave herself one more long look at the stars before the enormous weight of her eyelids prevented her from seeing them more. The clomp of the horses’ hooves was every bit as regular and soothing as the sound of the distant parlor clock, and the tattered wool blanket sealed in a warmth that dissipated at the slightest movement on her part. So, she didn’t move. She sank, a little. Curled a bit. But didn’t move. No movement until…

  “Vada? Darling?”

  Coarse wool tickled her nose and scratched her shoulders; a block of pain wedged itself in the small of her back.

  “Vada?”

  A coolness came to her cheek, long graceful fingers whose touch she’d know anywhere. They moved the blanket, letting her be awakened by the chilly evening breeze.

  “Wake up, darling. It’s me.”

  Garrison.

  She opened her eyes to see only his face, pale against a backdrop of stars. In those first seconds, his expression melted from concern into mild amusement. The stiffness in her back stilted her movement. She grasped the back of the seat and maneuvered her body—crackling and all—to sit up. The blanket fell away, as did one of the straps on her dress, leaving her shoulder bare.

  His eyes flickered away from hers, distracted by the fully exposed moonlit skin. Slowly, he reached out, found the strap, and settled it back in place.

  “Where’s Pete?” she asked, still trying to make sense of the setting.

  “Who?”

  “Pete, my driver. Where is he?”

  “I’m right here, Miss Allenhouse.” She leaned to the right and saw the boy sitting straight up in his driver’s seat. “You said to wait, so we’ve been waiting.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Ten thirty.” Pete and Garrison answered in unison, though Garrison had to check his watch beforehand.

  “I must have fallen asleep.”

  “It would appear so.”

  “I should get home.”

  “But I haven’t seen you all evening. Where did you go?”

  It all flooded back then, the last time she’d seen him, and the frustration she’d felt in her concert seat bristled alongside the pain in her back.

  “You didn’t look for me.”

  He settled back in the opposite seat. “Oh, but I did. After the concert, I went straight out to where you were sitting, but your sisters said you’d left during the first piece. And the carriage was gone, so we walked to your house, but you weren’t there. Everybody’s half-crazed with worry.”

  “I meant onstage.”

  “What?”

  “Onstage. When you were playing. You got lost, and you said you’d look to me, but you didn’t.”

  “Vada—”

  “You looked at the music and you looked at the floor and you even looked at fat old Pennington.”

  “Darling, you’ll wake—”

  “I was begging you to look at me! Just once. I stood up! I would have called your name if—” A shifting in the driver’s seat caught her attention. She looked up at Pete who was staring at the stars, but the stars alone would never completely entertain him. Lowering her voice she asked, “Can we go inside?”

  Garrison glanced over at the fussy, garreted Victorian house. Every window was dark, save for a faint light coming through the front door window. “I don’t think so.”

  She leaned across and whispered, “I have to talk to you.”

  “Mrs. Paulie is quite clear on how she feels about female guests. She doesn’t approve—”

  “You are a grown man, Garrison Walker. That room in there is your home. If you want to have a female guest in your home, you may do so!”

  She threw off the blanket, grabbed her violin case, and tumbled out of the carriage. By now so many unaided entrances and exits had frayed the hem of her dress, and the contortion of her body as she slept left the entire gown rumpled and askew, as was her hair. The roses of her corsage were now limp and crushed—though no less fragrant. Still, she yanked the ribbon loose and took it off, throwing the whole lot into the street.

  “Now, I’m going through that front door and into your room. You may follow me, or wait here, but I’m not leaving until I talk to you.”

  “Do you know which room is mine?”

  “No, but I’ll knock on every door until I find it. Are you coming with me? Or shall I wake the whole house?”

  “I’m coming.” He swung his long frame down to the ground and plunged a hand into his pocket. “It works best if you have a key.” He turned, speaking up and over his shoulder to Pete. “And you, driver. Just wait here.”

  “Oh no, sir.” Pete pulled his cap low. “Pa’d kill me for bein’ a part of anything like this.” He slapped the reins and the horses took off at a brisk clip.

  “Well, now,” Garrison watched the rig disappear, “it seems we are alone at last.”

  “Take me to your room.”

  “It wouldn’t be—”

  “Rumors will be what they will, Garrison. But you know me. Do you honestly think I’m the type of girl who—” She broke down then, sobbing, her shoulders shaking, because she didn’t know herself what type of girl she was.

  “There, now…there…” He tucked her head into his shoulder, and she sobbed, her mind ready to split with confession and pleading.

  “Please,” she said, her words wet against his lapel, “take me inside.”

  Without a word he’d taken off his jacket and wrapped it around her, folding her into an embrace beside him. The front door, unlocked, opened into a warm hall with a cozy, fussy sitting room just to the left. The only sound was the click of the door behind them.

  “Mrs. Paulie goes to bed promptly at nine thirty.” He whispered directly into her ear, tickling. He took her hand and led her up a wide set of carpeted stairs to the second floor and the first door across on the left. His body shifted against her as he fumbled for the key, which he silently inserted.

  Neither spoke. In fact, it seemed neither was breathing as they crossed the threshold. She waited for the sound of the closing door; instead, she heard the strike of a match as Garrison touched the flame to the wick of a brass-based lamp with a plain glass dome. She moved to close the door, but he stilled her hand. “Better we keep it open.”

  The room filled with light from corner to corner.

  “I’ve never been in here before.” An unnecessary thing to say.

  “Nobody has.” Equally unnecessary.

  She turned slowly, taking it all in. A small, cold stove stood in the corner; above it were three narrow shelves, two of them empty, one with a neat little row of glass bottles, a shaving mug, and a stack of shoe polish tins. The lamp itself sat on a round table with two straight-backed chairs tucked beneath it and covered with a dark-checked cloth. Probably blue, but in the lamplight it was hard to tell.

  Across the room, underneath the single square window, sat a comfortable-looking stuffed leather chair, draped with a crocheted Afghan. Beside it, another small table with a neat stack of books, a black Bible on top. And finally, against the wall to her left, his bed. Black iron headboard, cheerful quilt. Not a big bed by any description, but easily as large as the one she’d been sharing with Hazel these past few nights.

  One step after another, she moved around the room, touching the base of the brass lamp, running a finger along the unused shelves. No dust. Touched the cold stove, studied the pattern of the Afghan, laid a palm
against the cool leather of the chair. She picked up the Bible in order to see the book beneath it. “The Time Machine?”

  He cleared his throat. “I—um…I enjoy the fantasy.”

  Imagine, after all this time, a surprise. A covert passion. Vada balanced the Bible on her forearm and thumbed through the pages of the novella, skimming a few lines, imagining Garrison doing the same. She’d never sought her fantasies in pages; they’d never left her own head. If he harbored this secret delight, what others might await?

  “Tell me,” she said, “would you rather take a time machine to the past or to the future?”

  “That depends.” He took the books from her hands. “Wherever you are.”

  She waited for him to return the question, but of course he didn’t. He didn’t have past mistakes to erase, and he didn’t have a future in question. She longed for the feel of the book in her hand, something to relieve her of this undeserved, burdensome trust. But he’d put them back, neatly, with finality, so she moved around him and studied the quilt.

  “This is a log cabin pattern.”

  “Is it?”

  “Did Mrs. Paulie do the quilting?”

  “I don’t believe so. She did, however, make the Afghan. On the chair. Why don’t—I mean, would you like to sit down?”

  “No.” She set her case on the bed, filling the room with the sound of its clasps as she opened it. There, on top of the violin, was the envelope. She held it out to him, her hand absolutely steady.

  “What’s this?”

  “Read it.”

  His eyes first scanned the words on the envelope, the instructions to read it after the concert. A slight tremor came to his hands as he slid out the note, becoming eerily steady as he read.

  She stared at the log cabin quilt, replaying the words in her mind. He must have finished it by now. And again.

  “Vada?”

  “I was going to give that to you. Leave it in your case. But then, right before the concert—I just couldn’t. Because I remembered how much I loved you. And how much I thought you loved me.”

  “I do love you. I don’t understand—”

  “And then you wouldn’t look at me—”

  “I couldn’t see past the lights, Vada. They’ve never been that bright before. But I didn’t need to see you, because I knew you were there.”

  “I know…I mean, I must have known that. Should have known that. Oh, Lord forgive me.” Her knees buckled and the tears came again. She fell to the bed, burying her face in a sea of log cabin stitches. “I have been such, such a fool. You can’t possibly know—”

  He was at her side, kneeling beside the bed, moving the damp wet hair off her face. “Vada, where did you go when you left the concert?”

  She lifted up on one elbow, focusing on a single orange square.

  “There was a man…” And she told the whole story. Her voice, a listless monotone, narrating the events of the week—every moment since they took a cab ride from the Hollenden Hotel. Even the ones they shared, because she wanted him to see, wanted him to know how important he was to her life.

  Louis LaFortune was reduced to this man. This man touched her knee at a ballpark. This man kissed her in the alcove. This man brought her within inches of a bed. This man never loved her. And she never loved him.

  By the time she finished, Garrison was no longer beside her. She sat up, turned around, and found him sitting on his stuffed leather chair, elbows resting on his knees, holding the envelope loosely in one hand, the note in the other.

  “I knew there was something,” he said.

  “You must hate me.”

  “No. I couldn’t. I just don’t understand why.”

  “I guess I thought you didn’t love me.”

  “Darling, how could you think such thing?”

  “Look around you.” She stood, his jacket falling from her shoulders, and made a tour of the room. “Two chairs here at the table. One for me. Empty shelves, room for me.” She came to the bureau behind the chair, and he craned his neck to follow. “Yes, we’d need to get another dresser. A small one. And,” she swallowed, “your bed…”

  She held no fear of being taken for a seductress. Oh, her head pounded, her eyes burned. Her mouth filled with the salty, gummy taste of tears. No mirror anywhere in the room, but she knew she looked a blotchy, swollen, puffy, disheveled mess. The strap on her dress would not stay up, and she felt the stray hair on the back of her neck and stringing past her eyes. Still, the air was thick with certain promise.

  “Of course,” she said, in an effort to break the tension, “there’s only one really comfortable chair.”

  “Well then, we’ll just have to share it.”

  The next thing she knew she was snatched at the waist and pulled right into his lap. Her outcry stifled by his kiss, and his long arms holding her together.

  “Don’t you see?” She snuggled into his collar. “There’s room for me in your life now, Garrison. This is enough for me.”

  “But I want to give you so much more.”

  “Do you love me, Garrison?”

  “You know I do.”

  “And can you—will you ever be able to forgive me?”

  He lifted her chin and answered with a kiss, deeper than the first, and with it he claimed her, leaving no room to question if any other man would ever have such privilege.

  “Oh, Vada.” His finger traced along her jaw, down her neck, dabbling in the well of her collarbone. “My darling, I need to take you home.”

  “Before Mrs. Paulie finds us out?”

  “Before I break my promise.”

  “What promise?”

  “Every time I see you, I promise God to honor you. And I’ve promised to keep my thoughts pure—as pure as I can, given the circumstances. So, now, I need to get you home.”

  “I felt like I was home the minute I walked in here.”

  “But you aren’t. Not yet.” He began to stand, and she stood with him. They faced each other, hands clasped loosely. The lenses of his glasses were smudged, obscuring his eyes, so she reached up and took them off. The gaze behind them affected her every bit as strongly as his kiss, and it seemed the final barrier had been removed.

  “Vada Allenhouse,” he said, his voice choked. “I loved you the moment I saw you in Moravek’s. And every day since. And never for one minute more than I do right now.”

  “That’s enough for me, Garrison. All I ask for is enough.”

  “Then you shall have it.” He gestured grandly around him. “All of this, my darling, I’ll share with you.”

  “Even the chair.”

  “Especially the chair.”

  “Oh, darling!” She moved to her toes, eager to throw her arms around him, but her grand romantic gesture faltered when her foot slipped and she fell into his arms. There was a brief moment of laughter, until the two glanced down to see what had caused her to falter.

  It was the letter, dropped when he’d pulled her to him. It spoke to them from the floor, filling the space between them with questions and doubt.

  “There is,” he said, “this one other matter.” He knelt and picked up the note, folded it, slid it back into its envelope, and rolled it into a tube. With two short strides, he crossed the room to the table and lowered the rolled envelope through the glass globe, igniting the words within. He lifted it out, flaming, and, with no more urgency to his stride, dropped it inside the cold stove. Back at the lamp, he leaned over the globe and, with one quick breath, extinguished it.

  The room was dark, darker it seemed than it had been when they walked in. Soon she felt a jacket being draped over her shoulders, long fingers entwined in her own, and his voice reaching to her through the night.

  “Shall we?”

  Back out on the street, she was surprised to see the carriage once again parked in front of Mrs. Paulie’s house and Pete, looking sleepier than ever, at the reins.

  “Mr. Allenhouse says I was to come back to fetch you. Says I was to wait here until midn
ight if I had to.”

  The relief of his presence sapped the last of her strength, and it felt like Garrison was pushing her up into her seat. He settled in beside her, draping his arm across her shoulders, and arranged the wool blanket across their laps before giving Pete the word to start.

  “But take it slow, Pete,” he said, drawing her close. “Midnight’s a while off.”

  Readers Guide

  1. Vada has grown up in the shadow of the loss of her mother. How do you see that affecting her relationship with her father? With her sisters? Ultimately, with Garrison?

  2. Why does it seem sometimes that those people who are absent from our lives can have just as big of an impact as those who are present? Can they have more?

  3. The Bridegrooms is full of several illustrations of grace. Which one did you find most touching?

  4. What do you think of Garrison’s reluctance to make his relationship with Vada “official”?

  5. As if the advances of Louis LaFortune weren’t enough, Vada also has to contend with the flirtatious Dave Voyant. Do you think he was ever a serious contender for her affections? Why or why not?

  6. Althea has been living as an elective mute for most of her life. Do you see this as an exercise in discipline or as a means of escape?

  7. Vada, Hazel, and Althea seem to have been raised to be upstanding young women. To what do you account Lisette’s wild streak?

  8. Hazel claims to be following the trail of women’s rights in her quest to find a Wyoming groom. What else do you think is fueling her decision?

  9. More than once, Vada prays and asks the Lord to simply keep Louis LaFortune away from her. Yet, he continues to pop up. Why do you think God chose to answer her prayer in this way?

  10. Besides housekeeper and cook, what role does Molly Keegan play in the Allenhouse home?

  11. Throughout the story, we see Vada unraveling. In what areas of your life do you have a hard time “letting go”?

  12. Why do you think Dr. Allenhouse has never remarried?