The Bride’s House

by Sandra Dallas

  Smoky-gray bluebirds and the black-and-white birds that Mrs. Travers called camp robbers flitted about, along with red and green hummingbirds that hovered in the air, their wings spinning so quickly that Nealie could scarcely see them. She sat on the front porch, a bit of mending idle in her hands. Before Charlie had called to her, Nealie, eyes closed, had held up her face to the sun, despite Mrs. Travers’s warning that the air was thin, and the girl’s pale skin would burn before she knew it.

  “Why aren’t you up at the Bobcat?” Nealie asked. She turned to look Charlie in the face. “You didn’t get laid off, did you, Mr. Dumas? Mrs. Travers said there were rumors the vein pinched out last week. She feared you might be out of work.”

  “Did you fear it?” Charlie asked.

  “I fear anybody missing payday,” she replied, carefully choosing her words. Of course she didn’t want Charlie losing his job. She didn’t wish it at all, wouldn’t wish it for anybody, because being out of work was a tragedy. Besides, in Charlie’s case, if he wasn’t working, he’d be hanging around the boardinghouse. She didn’t want that, either.

  “Well, I’ve not been laid off. I just took a day to work my claim is all. I’ve found blossom rock, and I mean to follow it.”

  “That’s fine,” Nealie said, holding her tongue, because she did not want to say that every man at the boardinghouse claimed he’d found blossom rock, which was an outcrop of mineral-bearing rock. “I wish you good luck,” she said, and surely she did. After all, she liked Charlie Dumas. She just didn’t like him that much.

  Charlie leaned forward on the bench, his knees apart, his cap between his heavy hands. He cleared his throat a couple of times, as if he was trying to say something but couldn’t. Nealie waited, watching Charlie twirl his cap, until he burst out, “There’s a play at the opera house on Saturday night. I’d like it awful well if you’d go. With me, that is. Would you?”

  Nealie didn’t answer right away. She loved the opera house more than anything in Georgetown, was enchanted with the way it took her into another world, and she wanted to go in the worst way. But she’d hoped that Will Spaulding would invite her. He hadn’t mentioned going out a second time, however, and that troubled her. She’d turned it over in her mind and wondered if maybe he’d been embarrassed by her table manners. Since that night at the hotel, she’d studied the way he ate his supper at the boardinghouse and was trying to imitate it. She’d read every romantic story in Mrs. Travers’s Peterson’s Magazine to learn how to act, and she’d consulted a book on etiquette that Mrs. Travers kept on a shelf in the kitchen. She’d memorized what to eat with a fork and what with a spoon and how to hold utensils and cut food with a knife. But it was awfully confusing, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever get it right.

  Or maybe it wasn’t her manners but the fact that Will just plain hadn’t liked her and was too mannerly to say so. After all, she was only a hired girl, and he was used to ladies like the ones she’d seen on the streets of Hannibal. There were enough of them in Georgetown to tempt him. Maybe he’d found somebody else and hadn’t told her. So if she wanted to go to the opera house, Nealie realized, she’d better accept Charlie’s invitation. “Why, I’d like that,” she said at last.

  Charlie beamed. “I already asked Mrs. Travers if you could have the night off so’s I could take you to supper someplace,” he said. “I hope you wear that green dress. I never saw anything so bright.”

  Nealie smiled prettily at him, for after all, she was not immune to compliments.

  * * *

  Of course, it wasn’t more than a day later that Will Spaulding, too, asked to squire Nealie to the opera house on Saturday. “I should have told him yes, Mrs. Travers. I wish I had,” Nealie said later. “I could have told Mr. Dumas I had a sick headache and couldn’t go or that you forgot and needed me here.”

  “You’d do no such a thing. He’d find out and know right off you put him aside for Mr. Spaulding. You’d shame Charlie, and him being so nice to you.”

  Nealie was a little ashamed of herself then, although she couldn’t help but wish she’d turned the big man down and risked staying at home.

  “Besides, it’s not such a bad thing to go with Mr. Dumas,” Mrs. Travers continued. “You’ll make Mr. Spaulding jealous.”

  Nealie had to think that over, because she’d had no experience with men—with gentlemen, that is. She’d had plenty with the other kind, and she didn’t like them—her father and his friends. They were animals. They’d put their hands on her and tried to kiss her and more. Her own pa was the worst of the lot. She’d seen farm animals coupling and figured the same thing went on between her ma and pa. She heard her pa rutting in the bed, her mother crying out in pain, because the old man liked to hurt her. After Nealie came into young womanhood, her pa began to look at her with greedy eyes, staring at her breasts. Sometimes, he came into the barn and touched her there, his eyes hard with longing. Once, he’d put his hand under her skirt, on the inside of her leg and slid it upward. Nealie had run off, but Pa had found her and whipped her, cursing her for being a temptation. Her ma, that sweet, gentle woman worn down from overwork, protected her as much as she could from the beatings, the railings, explaining that Nealie’s father had been a good man before hard times turned him sour. Nealie, knowing her mother was fragile, kept her pa’s fumblings to herself, although she suspected that dear woman knew and subjected herself to the old man’s brutality to keep him from Nealie.

  Then her mother died, leaving Nealie alone with her pa, and the girl knew she had to get away. The day came when Pa brought home Hog Davis from two farms over. He raised pigs and leered at her, following her along the fence whenever she passed on the road. Hog had a jug of silly-bug, and the men went into the barn and got drunk. Nealie had to milk the cow, but she stayed in the house until she figured the two had passed out. Instead, they were lying in wait for her, and her pa grabbed her as she went into the barn, gripped her in a hand of iron, and said, “The girl’s been devilin’ me, although I give her a flailin’ every time or two. Makes me feel better.”

  “She’s a scoundrel for temptation, all right.” Hog ran his tongue over his wet lips. “Red-haired women’s as devilish as they can be. I guess I wouldn’t mind trying to take it out of her.”

  “You’d have to pay me something, a dollar maybe.”

  “I ain’t had a dollar in my life. Hell, I don’t have two bits. But I got a shoat I could let you have.”

  “Have at her then, if you can. You’ll need sharp luck. She’s a vixen.” Nealie’s father pushed her toward Hog, but Hog was clumsy and didn’t get a good hold of Nealie, and she broke and ran for the house.

  “Get back here, or you’ll get a cowhidin’,” her father called. But Nealie barred the door of the house and wouldn’t let her father in until he was sober. That night, she made plans to leave, and it wasn’t more than three days later that she’d taken the seed money and lit out.

  With a pa like that, Nealie had learned to be careful, and instead of schooling herself to flirt and simper like most girls her age, she had taught herself to watch out for men for fear of being disgraced. She was only just now learning there were others—gentlemen like Will Spaulding and even Charlie Dumas.

  So the girl had not considered that she could make a man jealous, and the idea confused her. If she liked Will Spaulding, why not let him know it? But Mrs. Travers had had more experience with men, and Nealie decided the woman might be right. Maybe it was best Will knew there were others anxious to escort her places. Maybe next time, he wouldn’t take his time asking her out.

  So Nealie went to the performance with Charlie and was so delighted with it that she forgot who sat beside her. The girl could scarcely believe the play wasn’t real. For a moment, she hated the villain as much as if he’d been her pa, and although she wasn’t a church person, she prayed—prayed that the girl would end up with the handsome man. “Oh, it was wonderful, Mr. Dumas,” she said when the gaslights were turned up, careful not to call her escort
Charlie.

  Charlie beamed. “If you’re not too tired, Miss Nealie, we can take supper at the hotel.”

  “Truly?” Nealie asked. Imagine eating dinner twice at the Hotel de Paris, when Mrs. Travers had never been there even once. She followed Charlie out of the theater, casting about for Will. He was seated in the front row, a woman beside him, but Nealie wasn’t sure whether Will had escorted her or she was with the man on the other side of her.

  At the hotel, Charlie opened the door, going in ahead of her. Once they were seated, he looked askance at the menu, just as Nealie had the other time she’d eaten there. “You can read, can’t you?” Nealie asked.

  “Of course I can read. I just never ate anyplace that wrote it down.”

  Nealie looked at her own menu then, realizing that it was mostly in English with just a few French words. Nonetheless, she had no idea what the dishes were, and when the man came back to take their order, she said, “I want venison and raspberry ice. No oysters. Don’t you bring me oysters, for I’m not much of a fool about them.”

  “Same,” Charlie said, and when the waiter was gone, he asked, “I guess you ate here before.”

  “Well, of course, I have,” Nealie replied, then a little ashamed of her pomposity, she giggled, “Once.”

  “With Will Spaulding?” Charlie asked.

  Nealie didn’t answer. Instead, she looked around the room, stopping to stare at a woman. “Why, that’s the lady in the play. She isn’t nearly so pretty up close, is she?” Nealie studied the actress and added, “She’s just an ordinary woman and kind of old.”

  “That’s why they call it playacting. It’s not real.”

  “But up there on the stage, it’s like magic. I believe I like the magic better. I wonder what it would be like to be a play actress.”

  “I don’t think you ought to be one, Miss Nealie. They’re not good women. Some of them are … well, you know.”

  Nealie studied him a minute. Of course she knew, and it surprised her, because Charlie rarely had a bad word to say about anyone. She wondered then if he was hidebound. But before she could consider that further, the waiter set down their plates. Nealie carefully picked up her knife, and pinning down the meat with her fork, she cut a single bite. As she put it into her mouth, she watched Charlie cut the venison into strips, then turn his plate so that he could cut the strips crosswise. He stirred the peas and carrots into the potatoes and gravy, then mixed in the meat, and leaning over his plate, he shoveled in a mouthful. Nealie looked around the room, but no one was watching. She cleared her throat, and Charlie looked up, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t you like it?” he asked, looking at her plate, because while he had gobbled a fourth of his food in two bites, Nealie had eaten only a single piece of meat.

  “I’m trying to eat slow,” she said, but that was not the only reason she had eaten so little. She still had trouble holding her fork the way Will did.

  “Well, I don’t know why. It’ll get cold.” Charlie continued pushing food into his mouth, until his plate was almost empty. Then he glanced around the room and saw that the other diners were eating as slowly as Nealie. “These folks all eat as prissy as Will Spaulding,” he said.

  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt a person to learn manners,” Nealie replied.

  “Don’t you think I have manners, Miss Nealie?”

  The girl blushed, because she herself had been sensible of table manners for only two weeks. Besides, she was not an unkind person. “I just learned about them myself,” she said, adding quickly, so that Charlie would not bring up Will Spaulding again, “I read about them in a book that Mrs. Travers has.”

  “Maybe she’ll give me the borrow of that book sometime.”

  “Maybe,” Nealie said, doubting the man would ever read such a tome.

  Charlie speared a piece of meat, then tried to rub off the mashed potato clinging to it, and brought it to his mouth. “How’s that?” he asked.

  He reminded her of a puppy who wanted a pat on the head, so Nealie smiled and nodded her approval, although she considered Charlie as unmannerable as ever.

  The big man finished his meal, then pushed the plate aside. He removed the napkin from his shirtfront and rubbed his mouth, then ran it over his face and set it on the table, as he sat watching Nealie eat. When she was finished, he said, “There’s something I’m wanting to ask you.”

  Nealie stiffened, because she didn’t want Charlie claiming another evening before Will had a chance to ask. She wondered how she could turn him down without being rude.

  When Nealie didn’t encourage him, Charlie fidgeted. “You see…” He cleared his throat and moved around. “You see, Miss Nealie … that is … I’ve been thinking.” He stopped and leaned over the table. “I never liked anybody as much as you. I work hard, and I keep myself clean, and I don’t drink or chew. My claim looks good, and I’ve got a little money put aside. And I own my cabin.” He ran his finger around his collar and blurted out, “Would you marry me?” Charlie looked askance then, and his face turned red, as if he’d uttered an obscenity. “I never asked that of anybody before.”

  “Mr. Dumas—” Nealie replied, her eyes wide. But at that moment, the waiter removed their plates, and took out a small brush to sweep the crumbs around Charlie’s place into a silver dustpan. He left, and the two avoided looking at each other. Nealie’s face was on fire, and she had a powerful need to dip her napkin into her water glass and rub off the heat. Instead, she stared at the tablecloth, noting a tiny hole that would have to be mended or else the cloth would begin to ravel. With her fingernail, she worried the hole, pulling a thread loose.

  “Did you hear what I said, Miss Nealie?” Charlie asked.

  Nealie’s eyes felt as heavy as flatirons as she raised them to face Charlie. “Mr. Dumas, I…”

  He leaned farther forward, his forearms on the table, watching her.

  Nealie tried to think of something gracious to say and suddenly remembered words from a story in Mrs. Travers’s Peterson’s Magazine. “I am mindful of the honor,” she said, not remembering the rest of the sentence, so she thought a moment and continued. “Well, I guess I’m not ready to get married. I haven’t been in Georgetown so long, and I don’t want to get tied down yet. There’s things I want to do before I get married.”

  “What things?”

  Nealie shrugged, wishing her mind worked faster. “Just things. You know, things.”

  “You’re not saying no, are you?” Charlie held his breath.

  She was saying no, the girl thought, but she didn’t want to hurt the man’s feelings. “I guess I’m not saying yes,” she told him.

  Charlie let out his breath in a whoosh and grinned at her. “I’ll just wait, then. I’m not so good at waiting, but I guess I’ll just have to do that.” He was so happy that Nealie was glad she hadn’t told him outright she wouldn’t have him.

  The waiter set down their ice, and Charlie watched as Nealie picked up her spoon, not gripping it in her fist but holding it awkwardly in her fingers. Charlie tried to copy her but dropped the spoon.

  The sound made Nealie jump, and she looked around the room to see if anyone was staring. But nobody seemed to notice. She ate her dessert with her eyes downcast, not looking to see how Charlie ate. When she was finished, she stood up, saying she needed fresh air, because the room seemed hot and stuffy to her. Charlie paid the bill and followed Nealie to the door. “We could walk around a little, if you want to,” he said, as Nealie stood in the doorway, fanning her face.

  “I need to cool down,” she said.

  So they took a roundabout way back to the boardinghouse, going up the hill and circling back down to the bride’s house on Taos Street, Nealie’s favorite stop.

  “I guess that’s going to be the prettiest house in Georgetown,” she said. “The yard’s big enough for an ice-cream social.”

  “I wonder who’s going to live there.”

  “A bride,” Nealie said. “It’s a bride’s house. Only a bride can live there.
She’d plant lilacs all around it, and you could smell them every summer.” Nealie turned away so that Charlie wouldn’t suspect that she was thinking about Will Spaulding, instead of him, as the bridegroom. It almost made her blush to think she could be so bold as to dream she and Will would live there.

  “Her husband’d have to be awful rich.”

  “And she’d have to be awful lucky.”

  “If you was to say yes to me, I’d show you my cabin. It’s not so big as this, but it’s tight, and it’s got two rooms.” He looked hopefully at Nealie, but she was lost in thought about the house for a bride and didn’t reply.

  * * *

  It was not Charlie Dumas’s cabin that Nealie visited the next day, however. Will Spaulding called that Sunday, Nealie’s day off, and asked her to walk out with him. He waited on the porch while Nealie went inside the house to change into her boots, because a rain had stirred up the mud.

  Mrs. Travers followed Nealie into the girl’s bedroom, remarking, “You see, going out with Charlie Dumas did make Mr. Spaulding jealous.”

  “I thought you didn’t like him.”

  “Oh, I like him well enough, but he strikes me as a courting man, a fellow who’ll go after all the girls. You wouldn’t want to spoil things with Mr. Dumas. He’s as good a catch as you’ll ever find.”

  “Charlie asked me to marry him.” Nealie had not expected to tell Mrs. Travers. The words just popped out. She stood, the boot half on, looking at the older woman.