by Jane Peart
Graham felt perspiration bead his brow, his palms grew clammy, his heart pounded painfully. The church was stifling, making it difficult to breathe. He wished desperately for escape.
He must get hold of himself, Graham resolved. Blinking hard, and by an effort of will, he turned his head straight ahead just as the minister entoned, “What God hath joined together let not man put asunder….”
Graham had little recollection of how he got from the church to the reception at the Buchanans’ country home, Woodlawn. There, hospitality of the most gracious, expansive kind was manifested. The Buchanans must have had dozens and dozens of relatives as well as a limitless number of friends streaming through the seemingly endless receiving line, then spilling out from the large house onto the lawn and garden.
Under the trees a long table decorated with masses of flowers and loaded with all sorts of food held a punch bowl at either end.
Graham found himself treated with immediate acceptance by everyone, as though he were either a member of the family or an old friend. There were no strangers at the Buchanan home.
When at last Mrs. Buchanan gave the word that the guests had all been received and the bridal party could break up the receiving line and join in the festivities, Avril searched the crowd for Graham.
Just as she spotted him and started to thread her way through the maze of wellwishers to him, she heard Mrs. Buchanan inquiring of Auntie May, “Mr. Montrose is such a charming, handsome man. Why is it he’s not married?”
Avril felt herself stiffen and halted instinctively, waiting to hear Auntie May’s reply.
“He is a widower, my dear. Such a tragic story. His bride died within a few months of their wedding. And as you know, he has had the guardianship of Avril these past years. He has made her welfare his priority.”
“But surely there must be many ladies who would be glad to help him exchange his bachelorhood for wedded bliss?” Mrs. Buchanan continued.
Auntie May laughed. “Oh, my yes! Many! There is one in Williamsburg who, I believe, is simply biding her time.”
“And is Mr. Montrose a willing victim?”
“Well, he takes his responsibility as guardian seriously and as an honorable gentleman would not ask anyone to wait and wait but—”
“But Avril is the same age as Becky, isn’t she? And Becky just turned twenty-one.”
“In a few months, at the end of the summer—”
“So, either when his ward is twenty-one or should she herself choose to marry, I suppose then he would be free.”
“You could assume so—” Auntie May was skillfully avoiding giving Mrs. Buchanan a direct answer, Avril though, but the woman’s next words caught her off-guard.
“Well, if my Jamison has anything to say about it, it will be the former, not the latter!” she laughed. “He is completely determined to marry Avril. Has been since he first set eyes on her.”
Avril moved away. She did not want to hear any more. She felt her cheeks flame at being the subject of such a discussion. They both assumed so much. About Graham, about Clarice Fontayne, about herself. In the end, she would prove them wrong! They would all be surprised at the end of the summer when her marriage to Graham, instead of being annulled, would be blessed by a church ceremony—a ceremony as sacredly beautiful as the one taking place today. Hadn’t she seen Graham’s expression when Becky and Marshall made their vows? She could not have been mistaken. She had read a message in his eyes that told her without words that he was feeling what she was feeling. Of that she was certain.
She looked for Graham again but saw that he was now involved in a conversation with a wedding guest. She started toward them, but it was announced that the bridal couple were about to cut their wedding cake.
“And we shall now have the toasts!” Becky’s father said loudly as people gathered around.
Mr. Buchanan made the first. His jowly, jovial face was red with pleasure and excitement, his speech eloquent and loquacious, heightened by a liberal helping of the special wedding punch. At the end, he waved his hand in a welcoming gesture to the guests assembled around him.
“And I invite you all back in the not-too-distant future for another wedding in the family, that of my son and the lovely girl he has not yet had the courage to ask to be his wife!”
To Avril’s horror, he was looking directly from her to Jamison, who, although flushed with embarrassment, was smiling broadly.
There was a hearty round of laughter, though some, unaware of his meaning, did not appear to be taking Mr. Buchanan’s announcement seriously. But Avril, darting a quick glance at Graham, saw the grim set of his features.
The crowd was too dense for Avril to make her way to him without rudely elbowing her way through, so she had to stay put until Becky and Marshall had sliced the first piece of wedding cake and the guests hovering near had moved away.
Again, however, Avril was delayed. Someone was calling her name. Turning to acknowledge the greeting, she was caught up in an exuberant hug by one of her former schoolmates who had been invited to the wedding. The ensuing exchange took another several minutes and when she started over to Graham, she saw that he was engaged in a serious conversation with Jamison.
For some reason Avril felt a shiver pass over her, even in the warmth of the June day.
By the time she finally made her passage through the tight little clusters of people socializing, Graham himself was striding purposefully toward her.
When he reached her, the look on his face made her lighthearted greeting fall flat. “I have made my excuses to the Buchanans, Avril, because I must go now. My plans are to leave for Montclair in the morning. May wants you to accompany her, as Logan is going on to visit friends in Charleston, and of course, Marshall will be on his honeymoon.”
“But, Graham, I thought—” she began.
“Plans change, Avril,” he said shortly. “I did not know Logan did not intend to go back with his mother.” He paused for a moment. “I’m sure the Buchanans will enjoy having you as their guest a little longer, especially since young Buchanan has a special interest in your staying. He has just asked my permission to marry you.”
Avril shuddered, bringing the violent reaction under control only by iron willpower. Through stiff lips she asked, “And did you give it?”
“I saw no reason to withhold it,” Graham admitted. “In fewer than three months you will be twenty-one—free to make your own decisions.”
“Is that all you told him?”
“I think that was sufficient.”
Just then a stir of excitement rippled through the party, followed by a laughing remark made by a feminine voice. “Oh, look! The bride’s going to throw her bouquet!”
Avril felt herself pushed and jostled forward until she found herself in the front of the line of guests gathering in front of the porch steps where Becky and Marshall were standing. Looking over her shoulder and finding Avril, Becky lifted her bouquet and flung it unerringly in her direction. Before she knew what was happening, Avril mechanically put up her hands and caught the fragrant, lace-encircled missile.
“You’ll be the next!” came the laughing predictions all about her.
From behind, she felt strong arms go around her waist, felt a kiss on her cheek, heard Jamison’s whispered words, “Say, yes, Avril! Do say yes!”
In a frantic attempt to offset the seriousness of Jamie’s request, Avril whirled out of his impulsive embrace and raised the bouquet high above her head to show the smiling onlookers. As she did so, she saw Graham standing on the fringe of the crowd. The expression on his face wrenched her heart.
In a single second’s passing, their eyes met. Then he turned abruptly and the crowd swallowed him from her sight.
chapter
26
ON THE PRETEXT of wanting to give Aunt Laura a full account of the wedding at Woodlawn, Avril insisted on going immediately to Williamsburg instead of remaining with the Buchanans. Auntie May seemed amenable to her suggestion and would drop her
off there, though Jamison did his best to persuade her to stay.
But Avril needed time to collect herself, to do some serious thinking about her future. With her twenty-first birthday only a few weeks away, she must make some alternate plans if her hopes and dreams for a life with Graham were not to be fulfilled.
In Williamsburg, Avril gave a charming recital of the events of the preceding few days, but she had not counted on Aunt Laura’s canny perception. Her eyesight might be failing, but the old lady’s heart was still tender, her insight clear.
One day when she and Avril were in the garden gathering herbs, she suggested that they pause for refreshments. “My, but the sun is getting hot. Why don’t we sit in the summerhouse for a while to cool off?”
Seated in the charming gazebo, she gave Avril a searching look. “Now, my dear, what’s really bothering you?”
Avril sighed. “Growing up, I guess. Trying to decide what to do next.”
“Ah, but that’s a lifetime task,” declared Aunt Laura, smiling gently.
“Even if you feel something is right for you, how can you know it is right for another person? Or, if it’s right for another person, it may not be right for you! Oh, dear, it is all so difficult!”
“Yes, life is difficult. And perhaps it was meant to be. Or else, to quote the poet, ‘What’s a Heaven for?’ “ Laura shook her silver head. “We must live by faith and lean not on our own understanding.”
Growing bolder, Avril blurted out her dilemma. “I love someone, Aunt Laura, but I don’t know if he loves me. Someone else loves me, but I don’t love him, at least not in the way he wants me to—and I don’t know what to do!”
“You’re still young, Avril. You’ve plenty of time to choose a life’s companion.”
Avril shook her head. “No, I don’t, Aunt Laura. I have only a few weeks. At the end of the summer, everything will be different, everything will change.”
“Then all you can do is trust in the Lord, Avril. Ask Him to show you the way.”
Avril kissed Aunt Laura’s wrinkled cheek in gratitude and within a few days, made preparations to return to Montclair.
On the long carriage ride home, there was time for contemplation. While confiding in Aunt Laura had eased some of her tension, Avril found that it had also made things more complicated. Now, she must accept the responsibility of her own conscience.
Aunt Laura’s oft-repeated admonition to “seek God’s will in His Word, to listen to the still, small voice, to pray for guidance” seemed reasonable. But when Avril tried to follow that advice, her emotions took over and she found herself more confused than ever. She began to wish that something would happen that would take the decision out of her hands.
Avril was still debating with herself as the carriage rounded the bend of the drive and Montclair came into full view. There, in front of the house, was another carriage, its driver lounging in the shade of one of the giant elms. As they drew nearer, she saw that this was no carriage she had ever seen before, but a hired hack.
Puzzled, she stepped down, mounted the steps to the veranda, and went inside, quite unprepared for the scene taking place in the front hall.
Locked in furious argument were two men. One was Graham; the other, to Avril’s shocked surprise, was Claude Duchampes.
Duchampes’ voice was thick with anger. “A fine scandal when it becomes public knowledge that you coerced an innocent child to sign over her property. The oh-so-honorable member of the Montrose clan conniving to get his greedy hands on such valuable land! You would stoop to any device—even a surreptitious wedding ceremony—to transfer her rights to your own dubious control. And who were the witnesses? Your best friends and some now deceased lawyers whose credentials cannot now be scrutinized.”
“You dare accuse me of fraud?” Graham’s tone was icy with contempt, but Avril recognized the fury seething beneath it and shuddered.
“Fraud and more!” Duchampes flung back. “I don’t think the documents you claim to have will stand up in any court! A child, under duress, made to sign away her birthright! If you had not acted so furtively, I could have been named her guardian, and the property would have remained in the family. I, too, could have devised a mock marriage to get full ownership. But you deceived this child into a belief that all you wanted to do was safeguard her. I say, when this is brought out into the open, when the light of day exposes your true motives—”
“Enough, sir! Out of my house! If it must be, we shall meet in a court of law and the thing will be settled!”
“Indeed it will be!”
As the two men turned, they saw Avril pressed against the doorframe, her eyes wide with alarm.
Duchampes seemed startled at first, then his countenance lightened, and his manner became smooth and affable.
“Well now, here she is herself, the lovely lady in question. Perhaps we should ask her opinion of your latest business transactions in her behalf.” His last words were heavy with sarcasm. “Did you know, for instance, that your guardian was selling your priceless heritage in Natchez, letting the house and land go to strangers—land that has been in the Duchampes family for generations?”
Avril looked at Duchampes, then at Graham.
“You signed the papers, Avril. I explained at the time the lease-option agreement about the house—the land,” Graham reminded her.
“Of course, Graham.” She drew a long breath and fixed her gaze on Duchampes. “I do not know where or how you got the impression that I was coerced or manipulated or in any way forced to agree to, or to sign, anything. Whatever has been done in regard to the Duchampes’ land and property has been done with my full knowledge and consent. And, as far as I am concerned, our ‘mock marriage,’ as you choose to call it, was entered into with my complete understanding. It still stands as legal and binding, and my guardian and husband is entitled to conduct my affairs in any way he deems right. He has my entire confidence.”
As she spoke, Avril felt a surge of strength giving her an articulate expression she did not know she possessed.
Duchampes seemed to shrink before her eyes. His pale face, drained of color, became a sickly gray, then flooded with bright crimson.
“You’ve not heard the last of this!” He shook his fist at Graham, his mouth twisted in an angry snarl. Then, shaking with fury, he brushed past Avril and was out the door, the sound of the carriage wheels spinning as he made a hasty exit.
Avril went limp, feeling her knees buckle beneath her.
“My dear Avril, I’m so very sorry you had to witness all that!” Regarding her, his solemn expression changed to one of frank admiration. “I’m very proud of you. I never supposed I had such a champion!”
“Oh, Graham, don’t you know how much I love you?” she burst out, not realizing what she was saying until the words had left her lips.
“And I love you, Avril. You are a brave, courageous girl—I suppose I should say woman since you will soon be twenty-one.” But by his intonation, she knew he did not mean the kind of love she had for him, only a fond affection for his loyal ward. Then he frowned. “At least this unfortunate episode has precipitated the necessity of drawing up some new papers for you to sign. I shall see Judge Cameron soon. In the meantime, my dear, try to put this whole ugly incident out of your mind.”
With that, Graham walked into the library, leaving Avril feeling weak and frustrated, leaning heavily against the door. She looked after him helplessly. Hadn’t he heard what she had said? I love you, Graham. What more must I do to prove it?
chapter
27
ON THE MORNING of her twenty-first birthday, Avril awakened to the sound of a bird trilling merrily on a tree branch right outside her bedroom window. Below, she could hear the low tones of the gardener directing his young helper.
Outside her bedroom door were the sounds of scurrying feet and muffled voices as servants bustled along the hallway. The household was humming with preparations for the party that night.
As she came slowly in
to full consciousness, Avril remembered the date and all that it signified—the real end of her girlhood, the beginning of independence. It was the day she came into her inheritance, a day alive with promise. Today she could win everything she had hoped for, or perhaps lose her dream.
A light tap at her door interrupted her half-formed thoughts.
“Miss Avril, is you ‘wake?”
“Yes, come on in, Dilly,” Avril instructed her old nurse, sitting up as Dilly opened the door cautiously and came in, carrying a tray.
The lined mahogany face was all smiles as she set the tray on the table by the bed. Propped against the silver coffeepot was an envelope addressed to her in Graham’s bold hand: “Let me be the first to wish you a Happy Birthday,” and beside it, a single scarlet rose, still sparkling with dew.
Avril picked it up, held it to her lips, its delicate scent wafting to her nostrils. She breathed in its sweetness.
“Now, sit up, chile, so’s you can eat. Busy day ahead,” Dilly warned, plumping an extra pillow to wedge behind Avril.
There were berries and cream, fluffy hot biscuits, and honey.
“Done pressed yo’ party dress,” Dilly told her. “Miz Cameron already sent over some peaches from dey orchard. Cookie been up since dawn bakin’.” Dilly shook her head, chuckling, as she closed the louvered shutters against the morning sun.
Sipping her coffee Avril watched her old nurse. Dilly moved stiffly now, plagued with arthritis.
With a new jarring awareness of the passage of time, Avril realized that the same years that had seemed so slow to her, impatient to grow up, had brought Dilly swiftly to old age. Suddenly she had a new appreciation for the years of devotion lavished on her. She must do something for Dilly, Avril decided, not sure of just what.
There was another knock on the bedroom door. At her summons, one of the maids entered, bringing a bouquet and note just delivered from Becky and Marshall, who were back from their honeymoon. They were staying temporarily at Cameron Hall and would be coming over for tonight’s celebration.