Summer Lightning

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  Letting the younger girl wiggle down, Edith looked up and surprised a wistful expression passing over Louise’s face. Standing up, Edith quickly bent to hug the other girl tightly. It was a bit like embracing a doll carved from a single piece of wood. Edith pressed her lips to Louise’s smooth forehead.

  “It’s all right, dear,” she said as she stepped back.

  Louise nodded, her eyes as startled as a deer’s. For once, it was Maribel who spoke first. “Can we go play now. Dad?”

  “No,” Jeff said. “I think you should go to your room and think over everything I’ve said. You can come down for dinner and then an early night.”

  “Yes, sir,” the two said, dragging their feet over the rug.

  Edith couldn’t bear their woebegone faces. “That’s too hard, Jeff. Louise, Maribel . . . come with me to church tonight?”

  Their faces did not exactly light up. Obviously weighing the rival merits of their room and the church, Louise visibly came to the conclusion that church had ever so slightly an edge.

  “Can we, Dad?”

  “You’ll come too, Jeff, of course.”

  Glumly, he answered, “Of course.”

  Sam was no more cheerful about the idea than the rest of the family. Finally, he gave in to majority opinion. “Do I have to put on a stiff collar?”

  “You should be used to them,” Edith said. “You must have worn them as a young man.”

  “I hated them then too. But I guess you can’t go to church in a flannel shirt, no matter how comfortable.”

  “Certainly not!” Edith smiled and hurried up the stairs. She’d promised to give the girls their baths and wanted to use the fine soap she’d found packed in some of her undergarments. It had a sweet lily-of-the-valley fragrance that made all her things smell so fresh. She was sure the girls would revel in it.

  Edith had little time to think about Jeff until she was sitting beside him in the buggy. Yet he was always at the back of her mind, even while she was bathing the girls or learning how to bake biscuits by watching Sam. Sitting beside him now, she knew that she was already far too deeply in love with him to save herself.

  He looked again like her rescuer from St. Louis, wearing his fine tan suit, his low-crowned hat tipped over one eye. Leaning back, she watched his face covertly from behind her veil. His firm jaw showed a scrape where he’d shaved too closely. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, while his keen eyes stayed upon the road, never flicking in her direction. Yet, after a few moments he smiled and said, “What?”

  Startled, Edith also said, “What?”

  “You’re staring at me.”

  “No, no, I wasn’t.”

  “Sure you were. Or were you looking past my nose at the scenery?”

  “I wasn’t even looking in your direction.”

  “Sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  His smile widened, showing his white teeth as though he’d like to take a bite of her. Realizing she was staring again, she glanced down at her white-gloved hands. But when he said, “Whoa!” and pulled back on the reins, her gaze snapped up to his face as though it was drawn there by magnetic force.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Stopping. . . .”

  “But you can’t!”

  The wagon, carrying Sam and the girls, stopped beside them. Even their horses turned their heads to see what was the matter. “Something wrong?”

  “Nothing at all,” Jeff said. “I’m just waiting for Edith to tell me . . .”

  “Yes, I was,” Edith said quickly. “All right?”

  “Sure thing.” He motioned for his father to go on ahead.

  “It’s extortion. That’s what it is.” Edith bit her lip to keep from smiling. She didn’t want to encourage him in his outrageous behavior, but at the same time, she hoped he’d continue to say reckless things.

  “Now where did a nice girl like you learn an ugly word like extortion?”

  “A city can be an ugly place,” she said, looking at the trees. All the leaves were shiny, as though Mother Nature had passed through the woods with beeswax. A fresh smell permeated the air. Edith breathed deeply, for she’d never known such an exciting fragrance before. It spoke of the mysteries at the heart of the green woods, far from brick walls and stone streets.

  “I know.” Jeff untangled his hand from the reins and dropped it lightly over her knee. “Have you thought . . . you don’t have to go back. You could make a good life in Richey.”

  “A good life, but not a good living. There isn’t much call for a matchmaker here.”

  “I found a use for one. Besides, you do all your work through the mails, remember? Just list your post office as General Delivery, Richey, Missouri, until you get settled.”

  “Now you’re tempting me, Mr. Dane.” Daringly, she patted his hand, very quickly, afraid of being burned. How could she possibly stay after he married someone else?

  The church doors were open, a sign of welcome. Many buggies and wagons, even a four-person surrey with a fringed canopy, were parked in the green churchyard. The horses, some with nose bags, waited patiently for their masters in the glow of the setting sun. A few stragglers were climbing the church stairs.

  “Are we late?” Edith asked anxiously. “I hate walking into church late. It makes such a poor impression.”

  “No, we’re not late.”

  “Then where is everyone?” Now the only people in sight were Sam and the girls.

  “The service hasn’t started yet,” Jeff assured her.

  “Oh, we’d better hurry though.” She wondered what the difference was to him between walking in late during the service or walking in late before the service. Everyone stared either way. Perhaps it was a distinction only a man would understand.

  Maribel and Louise both slipped their hands into hers when they met crossing the grass. “We want to sit next to you,” Louise whispered as they entered the church.

  No one noticed them. The citizens of Richey, all that attended here, were busy talking amongst themselves, a musical whispering punctuated by laughter. As Edith followed Sam and Jeff to an empty wooden pew near the back, she saw that the church, though simple, had been decorated with care. A few pictures were hung beside the red and blue windows, showing sentimental scenes from the Bible. Nearest her was one of Christ ministering to the little children.

  To keep the girls from fidgeting, Edith told them the story.

  Maribel was interested enough to stop banging her shoes against the pew in front. Louise, however, didn’t seem to be attending very closely. She had poked a finger into her ribs and was scratching vigorously.

  “What is it?” Edith asked, interrupting herself.

  “It’s this danged dress. It itches something fierce and I can’t ever seem to make it better.”

  Edith considered reproving Louise for her language in the house of God, but having suffered through itchy dresses in her own girlhood, she understood perfectly. Not that she’d ever known the word “danged.”

  “You must have on a horsehair petticoat.”

  “I think it’s wool.”

  “In the summertime?” Edith shook her head sympathetically. “We’ll find you a nice muslin one tomorrow.”

  A peculiar wheezing followed by thin organ-like notes stilled the congregation. Edith could just see the back of Mrs. Armstrong’s head as she played the harmonium by the pulpit. With a concerted rustle and the thumps of feet hitting the floor, everyone stood up and began to sing the Twenty-third Psalm. Knowing the words well, Edith also sang, blending her voice with Jeff’s bold baritone and his father’s surprisingly lyrical bass as well as the piping voices of the girls.

  When she sat down again, Maribel climbed onto her lap. Edith caught a gleam of admiration in Jeff’s eyes. She cast her gaze downward. A pretty situation when a smile from him made her insides feel all squeezed. She peeked to see if he was still looking at her but he was attending to Mr. Armstrong who mounted into the pulpit.

  He
wore his dark suit, and looked as though he were a lumberjack doing an imitation of a preacher. He spoke, however, with the true faith of a Christian ringing in every word. From his opening words, “The night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armor of light,” the preacher had the full attention of the assembly.

  The women ceased to fan themselves with their paper fans bearing advertising mottos. The men sat up from relaxed attitudes, or leaned forward. Even the children stopped squirming, though they were the first to resume.

  Mr. Armstrong went on, telling them that now was the time to consecrate themselves to Jesus, that soon there would be no more time for any repenting, for the Second Coming was surely now at hand. They had to be ready. Some people were nodding now, while a woman in the middle kept saying, “Amen!”

  Edith felt the tension building in the little church. The intensity of feeling which Mr. Armstrong wrought from the people began to frighten her. It was like sitting next to a keg of black powder as the fuse dwindled, headed toward an inevitable explosion. She wanted to sink to the floor and cover her head.

  Then the harmonium started again and the moment passed. When Mr. Armstrong began to speak after the hymn, he persuaded more gently, like a father encouraging a wayward son, rather than as an avenging spirit. The fans began waving again, languidly, stirring the stifling air.

  Edith became aware that some heads had turned in her direction. Unable to believe anyone had a reason to look at her, she glanced over her shoulder. Vera Albans stood in the doorway, closing the door discreetly behind her. Her face flushed beneath her gaily decorated hat, she began walking as quietly and as quickly as possible up the aisle.

  Sam sat at the end of their pew. He had also turned around to see the milliner creeping in late. As she approached, he signaled Jeff to scoot over. Edith had already moved the children down. She smiled a welcome when Sam snagged Miss Albans’s hand as she tiptoed toward her regular seat.

  Miss Albans gasped at the sudden touch of his hand, and more heads swiveled in the Danes’ direction. Sam stood up, a tall figure in his checked suit, and let Miss Albans pass in front of him. He gave her a grin that was very nearly a duplicate of the one Jeff used when he wanted to fascinate. After they sat down. Miss Albans began to whisper to Sam, obviously offering explanations for her tardiness.

  Few people seemed to be attending to Mr. Armstrong anymore. Most of the children were whispering. Some of the men were yawning, and Maribel was very nearly asleep.

  Everyone woke up instantly, however, when Mr. Armstrong said, “Most of you know already that my daughter Dulcie is getting married soon. I reckon this would be a good chance for you all to meet her intended. Victory? Victor Sullivan? Come on up here. You, too, Dulcie.”

  With some good-natured grumbling, and a nervous giggle from Dulcie, the happy couple stepped up onto the slightly raised platform at the end of the church. Edith leaned forward to peer at Dulcie’s fiancé. She interfered, accidentally, with Vera’s view. “I beg your pardon, Vera, I just want to see . . .”

  He had a lean body, a handsome face in a pretty way, and a wide, friendly grin. His pale, pasty skin looked as though it had never been exposed to sunlight and he must put something on his hair to make it so shiny. Edith disliked him at sight. She glanced at the young lady next to her to see what she thought. No doubt that irreverent mind must have some comment.

  What she saw shocked her. Vera Albans was white, literally as white as the lace collar of her dress. Some beads of sweat had appeared at the edges of her red-gold hair, and she bit her lips until Edith thought she must be tasting her own blood.

  Instantly, Edith transferred Maribel to Jeff. She touched Vera’s arm. “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  “Air . . . please . . . outside . . .” Her eyes were eloquent with misery. Edith could not resist the plea.

  Supporting Vera’s elbow with her hand, she said, “Excuse us, Sam. Miss Albans is unwell.”

  Once again the tall man stood up. Jeff at the other end of the pew stared worriedly past Mantel’s head on his shoulder. Edith waved at him as she assisted Vera out of doors. Sam remained standing, staring after the two women until his son tugged him down.

  Chapter 17

  Before they’d reached the bottom step, Vera began to sob, dry sobs that wracked her from head to foot. It was a terrible aching sound that started Edith’s lip quivering in sympathy.

  “I ... I’m sorry,” Vera gasped.

  “No, now, don’t be,” Edith murmured, fiercely ordering herself to remain collected. Vera needed strength, not mere feeble sympathy.

  Feeling the other girl sagging, Edith put her arm around Vera’s waist and helped her over to a gravestone in the shade. She pulled her softly scented handkerchief from where it hung over her belt and gave it to Vera. “Sit here. Do you need a drink of water?”

  “No . . . no, I’m better now.” Vera pressed the handkerchief to her eyes. Her voice still shook as she said, “It was just such a shock . . . seeing him ... I ...”

  She gave herself up to tears, but only for a moment. Straightening, she shook herself as if she were coming out of deep water. Edith could only admire her self-mastery. “There, I’m perfectly all right. It must have been the heat. Thank you for your help, Miss Parker.”

  Her smile was as brilliant and false as the purple rhinestones in her brooch. Edith did not want to press her, but she felt very strongly that she ought to. It was a compulsion as strong in its way that which drove her to talk to strangers about the people they loved.

  Choosing her words carefully, she said, “If you don’t want to say anything more, that’s all right. However, you know I will be gone from Richey in a few days. If telling me your troubles would help you bear them, I would be happy to listen.”

  Vera sank slowly down once again onto the granite stone. “I don’t know what you mean. . . .”

  Looking up into the deep blue sky of twilight, Edith said, “You know, the first morning I was here, I woke up twice. The second time was when I heard Sam in the kitchen. It is a strange thing that so pleasant-spoken a man cannot cook without swearing. He uses words I have never heard before, and don’t know what they mean but they sound terrible!”

  “Sam . . .” Vera rubbed her forehead and looked miserably at the ground.

  “Anyway, the first time I woke ... I don’t know exactly why, but I went to the window. The curtains were moving in the breeze. They looked just like watered silk, so much so that I had to touch them to be sure they were still just cotton. When I looked out the window, the whole sky was silver. I’d never seen a silver sky before but there it was. Then the clouds turned pink, so faintly at first that I couldn’t tell them from the sky. They became brighter and brighter, becoming orange, and the whole sky flushed with pink. And when the sun came up, I was astonished to think that this sun has been rising over the world for so many thousands of years I couldn’t begin to count them all—and I had never seen it before. It makes me wonder what other miracles I have wasted.”

  “Miracles . . . ,” Vera said, and gave a little mirthless laugh. “All my miracles have been ominous, like the bears eating the children who laughed at Elijah.”

  Edith looked into Vera’s gray eyes, now darkened with misery. “Are you sure all your miracles have been so grim?”

  “No, you’re right,” Vera admitted. “It isn’t always like that, but sometimes do you ever get the feeling that something . . . maybe just the world ... is out to get you?”

  “Out to get you?”

  “Yes, you know. A dark menace pursuing you and all you can do is run and run like in a nightmare, never getting away.”

  Edith shook her head. “No, even when things go badly for me, I don’t feel that way. Why do you?”

  Vera paused, plainly considering how much she should reveal. “All right,” she said, “it’s like this. That man . . . Victor Sullivan ... I knew him, only that wasn’t the name he was using.” />
  “I knew it!” Edith nodded, far from happy that her intuition had proven itself. “I knew there was something wrong with that man.”

  “Wrong is right. To state the facts briefly and baldly, he met me at a party. I was shy, naive and as stupid as any girl could be. My brother was introducing me to society, trying to impress everyone in New York with his culture and gentility.” Vera’s face showed her disgust, as though she were reading a page from a sordid novel aloud. “They came all right, but I could tell they were laughing at him. And at me. Then I met Tate . . . that was what he called himself then. He won my heart at once.”

  She laughed bitterly. “I can’t say I made it very difficult for him. Heavens, what a perfect idiot I was! Anyway, he soon convinced me to agree to marry him, but my brother wouldn’t hear of it. He called Tate a fortune hunter. George swore he’d refuse to support me once I was married. I ‘persuaded’ Tate to elope with me, though he kept putting off our marriage. I know now he was expecting George to change his mind and send money. He even wrote George letters, begging letters.”

  “Did your brother change his mind?”

  “George never changes his mind. Tate left me. I was all alone in this miserable boardinghouse in Boston. He’d even taken the few trinkets I’d brought along. The landlady kicked me out. The only thing to do was to go home.”

  “You must have hated that,” Edith said. She could imagine returning, disgraced and despoiled, to a stern, righteous brother.

  All she had to do was substitute him for her own aunt. “Did he say ‘I told you so’?”

  “Only about every hour on the hour,” Vera laughed again, more warmly. “I couldn’t stay. George was right about that too. If I stayed I might drag him down. They’re very hard on girls who ‘slip’ in that society.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I wandered around, staying in hotels.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t stand to be in one place for very long. Then, one day, I came here. I was out of money and George wasn’t supposed to send another check for several weeks. The milliner had gotten married and moved West, and I’ve always been good with frills and furbelows. They’ve been nice to me here, but if they knew . . .”