A Bride Idea

by Yvonne Lehman

  ten

  Four days later, Neil was hitching Sally to the carriage when Juliet walked out the doorway of Stella’s cabin and stood on the front porch at the top of the steps. “Hey,” she said softly.

  He didn’t know what else to say but “Hello.” Saying, “Good afternoon,” would sound too formal to one’s wife. “Sorry I had to call and say I’d be later than expected,” he said like a dutiful husband. “I suppose you got the message?”

  “Yes, Stella and I checked with the general store every day.”

  “The rain didn’t stop for two days in Wheeling,” he ex-plained. “There was flooding, and automobiles were stuck in the mud at the sides of roads. One was stalled on the rail-road tracks. Thank goodness the word got to the depot before the train left and they could get the auto off the tracks. That’s why the train was delayed.”

  “It rained here, too, but not that much.”

  After his quick glance took in her appearance, he focused on Sally and the carriage. To make conversation, he said, “The carriage isn’t where I left it a few days ago.”

  “Oh, were we wrong to take it into town?”

  He glanced up. Her hand, which he had come to know was as graceful as her mother’s, lay against the delicate pink lace at her throat. His gaze lingered for a moment. A ray of late afternoon sun slanted across her auburn hair and turned it to reddish gold. Her cheeks were flushed as if she thought she’d done something wrong. “No,” he said. “I just noticed and. . .said it.”

  Relief washed over her face. “We did take it into town. I mean it’s so much nicer than that creaky old wagon.”

  “I. . .don’t mind.”

  “You look like you mind. Your eyes squinted and your mouth sort of looked funny.”

  He stared at her. “Funny?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t mean ha-ha funny. I mean. . .like you’re troubled.”

  “No. Not exactly.”

  “Well, if you don’t want me to ever take the carriage, just tell me.” Her hands fluttered in front of her. “I don’t know how to act like a wife. I’ve never been married.”

  Neil quickly finished what he was doing. He walked up and propped one foot on the step. “I’ve never been married either. Do you suppose this is what’s called—” He’d almost said, “A lover’s spat.” Quickly he changed it to “What’s called. . .our first argument?”

  After a moment of her incredible green eyes staring into his, her expression softened and she smiled. “I think it might.”

  He straightened and stood on both feet. “But you were right. Something did concern me. Not that you took the carriage, but that someone might recognize you.”

  “No, no. I wore a wig.”

  “A wig?”

  She nodded, her face aglow with the slanting sun. “A blond one.”

  He tried to picture her as a blond. Kathleen was blond. Kathleen’s eyes were light blue, not green. “You do that often—wear a wig?”

  “No. It’s Stella’s. She has. . .wigs.”

  Neil felt himself nodding like a willow branch in the wind. The first time he saw Stella she had brown hair pulled back in a knot. The next time she had copper-colored curly short hair to just below her ears, like some of the doctors’ wives wore theirs. Well, he would not concern himself with whether or not a woman wore wigs. “Is your mother in Sunrise?”

  “My?” She looked as if she hadn’t understood the question. “Oh,” she said after a moment. “Yes. She went up right after lunch to help your grandmother and Hedda prepare for the reception tomorrow.”

  He walked up onto the porch. “Let me wash up, then we should be on our way.” She went inside ahead of him. After washing up, he saw that she’d put on a gray jacket that matched her skirt. The gray and pink looked nice together. “Oh,” he said, “I see you’re wearing those pointed shoes.”

  “Is something wrong with that?”

  “No, no. I saw some of the city women wearing that kind.”

  “Stella keeps up with the latest styles.” She picked up a shoulder bag and a small travel bag.

  “Do you have anything else to take?” he asked.

  “Stella took my luggage.”

  He took the bag from her, and soon they were on their way up the mountain. “Sorry to be driving Sally so fast,” he said. “But darkness comes quickly once the sun has dropped behind the mountains.”

  “Good idea,” she agreed. “After all the rain, there may be potholes in the roads. By the way, did you get to see people you knew in Wheeling?”

  People I knew? Have I mentioned that Kathleen’s father was a doctor? “Yes. Yes, I did.”

  Her asking that question surprised him. But if she went away for several days, he would certainly ask questions. After all, they are married, even if it is a marriage of convenience. “Kathleen’s father was one of my mentors. He invited me to his home.” He did not say that Kathleen had been most cordial, was still single, and managed a boutique in Wheeling that catered to stylish women.

  “Did you tell them you are married?”

  “No. No, I didn’t mention it.”

  “Well, I suppose there’s no reason. After a year, you won’t be.”

  That surprised him, too, as if she knew his thoughts. He didn’t know what he would do when his grandmother was no longer with him. “It was a good convention. And I spoke with Dr. Maynard who gave me some recent reports on stroke and heart disease. He thinks there are some new medications that might at least make Grandmother more comfortable. I also consulted with a couple of doctors who will give me information that might help ease her rheumatism.”

  “Oh, I hope so. I was with her for only a short while. But I can see why you love her so. She’s so nice, and I would love to have a grandmother like her.”

  “You do,” he said quickly. “That’s what this is all about—making her dreams of my marrying come true, for however long—”

  The sudden sway of the carriage sent them both trying to keep their balance, and for an instant he was afraid the wheel might come off or get stuck in the muddy pothole. Sally knew her business, however, and pulled them right out.

  After having been thrust against his arm, Juliet straightened and emitted a small laugh. “If that had been an automobile, we’d still be back there, wouldn’t we?”

  He agreed. “That’s why we don’t have many autos up here. And I wouldn’t want to get stuck on this road at night. There’s not much traffic on it now that the trains run daily.”

  “Yes,” she said, “most of the people in Canaan Valley are loggers’ families. They’re stripping the land, which is a concern about what will happen to the town when there are no more trees. I know that’s progress, but it seems to me there should be some kind of restrictions. I’ve heard talk that stripping the land of trees means the town could flood when there’s a hard rain.”

  They discussed that for a while. Neil was pleasantly surprised that she would converse about the logging or even care about it. Whatever happened to that demure little spectacled creature he met that first day? He formed an answer—the same thing that happened to that demure, middle-aged, plain mother of hers. They were. . .different. And he liked the difference.

  They reached Sunrise as darkness fell. Bart appeared almost as soon as Neil helped Juliet down from the carriage. Bart hugged him and welcomed him back. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. McCory.”

  “Just Juliet,” she said and smiled.

  “Thank you, ma’am. And I’m just Bart to everybody. Don’t think anybody knows my last name anymore. And I’ve about plumb forgot it myself. But that might be old age. I’ll take care of Sally.”

  Neil noticed that, contrary to what Bart said, he lingered, patting Sally and talking to her. He knew the reason when he and Juliet walked up the steps to the porch. The door opened, and they were bombarded by his grandmother, Stella, Hedda, and Edith Whitfield laughing and throwing rice at them.

  He and Juliet were laughing, too. She was shaking her head and trying to dig
out the rice stuck in her thick roll of hair. He began to help pick the rice out and brushed some off the shoulders of her jacket. Some of the pins came out, and her hair began to come loose. Her gaze met his, and he felt his laughter catch in his throat at what he was doing.

  Her laugh seemed forced this time. “Why do they throw rice at weddings anyway?” She looked around at the women.

  When they all shrugged, or admitted they didn’t know, Neil offered the information. “Comes from a pagan ritual. Offering grain to the gods is a. . .um. . .fertility rite.” Now he wished he’d kept silent. He gave a quick laugh. “There’s also a ritual of throwing shoes at a couple. No, none of that,” he said when Bart laughed and reached for his shoe. He looked at the women blocking the doorway. “May we come in?”

  They shook their heads.

  Suddenly it dawned on him that there was another tradition besides rice throwing. Juliet’s head turned toward him, and her eyes widened with understanding.

  He knew this would end in an annulment, but he quickly swooped Juliet up in his arms. She squealed, and her arm cradled his neck as if she thought he might drop her. His greatest worry was that he might not let her go.

  The women stepped aside, and he carried her over the threshold, aware of how easily he had lifted her and held her. He could feel her softness against his chest, her arm over his shoulder and around his neck. He wondered if that faint fragrance was her natural odor, something like women dabbed behind their ears, or her hair that brushed against the side of his face as he set her on the floor and made sure she was balanced. He’d never seen anyone prettier as she stood there, a blush on her cheeks and her hair in disarray.

  “I know why a man carries his bride over the threshold,” his grandmother said, and he was grateful for the diversion. “The saying is that if she trips or falls, she’ll have bad luck for years to come.”

  “Here are the bags,” Bart said. “I’ll get a broom and sweep up the rice. That gets wet, and we’ll all slide down the mountain on it.”

  “Thanks.” Neil turned to get the bags. He would not dare meet Stella’s eyes. Everyone there should think he found his wife. . .attractive. Everyone except Stella, his wife’s mother.

  He’d dreaded what questions might be asked them but soon realized they had none. He supposed it wouldn’t be fitting to ask how things were on one’s honeymoon. They simply mentioned the rain, and he told of the train’s delay. Soon Hedda, Bart, and Edith left.

  “We can’t have Stella going back down the mountain tonight, Neil,” his grandmother said. “I had Bart set up that old bed that was in the attic down there in your study. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Yes, that’s the hospitable thing to do. You know I don’t use the study very much. We certainly should do this for Juliet’s mother.”

  He felt a sense of relief, having supposed he would have to sleep on the loveseat in the study or on the floor. That had to be more than coincidence. More like divine providence. God must be approving this “union” with Juliet. . .and Stella.

  Later in the evening, when Juliet and Stella were unpacking Juliet’s things, his grandmother took hold of his hands and stood in front of him. Her dark eyes were more alive than he’d seen them in a long time. “Oh, Neil,” she said, “I know I can’t live forever on this earth. But it’s so wonderful having family again. This is the medicine I need. I didn’t even feel my rheumatism today.”

  When she was ready, he listened to her heart, kissed her forehead, turned out her bedroom light, and closed the door. Next he walked down the hallway to his—no, Juliet’s— bedroom.

  “I’ll have all my things out of here as soon as I can,” he said. But for the moment, he retrieved a few items of clothing, bade them good night, and went through the bathroom between the rooms and into his study/bedroom.

  Later he lay in the darkness, without any light coming through the window because the sky was overcast. Wind moaned lightly through the trees. His grandmother was right. He’d almost forgotten how it felt to have family around. Tonight had felt like family. He’d made his grandmother happy.

  He pulled the quilt closer around his shoulders. Faint voices and an occasional laugh sounded from his former bedroom. For a while tonight, while going through the motions of being a married man and holding his wife in his arms, he’d almost believed it. But he dared not forget that the woman in his home, in his room, in his bed, and wearing his mother’s ring was not his wife.

  She was his employee.

  eleven

  Olivia sat straight up in bed. Light pressed against the curtains. “Stella, should I be making breakfast?”

  Stella moaned then mumbled, “I’m not hungry. I’m not even awake.” She turned to lie on her back and pull up the covers Olivia had just flung aside. Her aunt blinked several times. “You never make my breakfast anyway.”

  “I mean for the guests. And for Neil and Mama McCory.”

  Stella dragged herself upright against a pillow and fluffed out her curls. “That’s taken care of. Hedda supervises things when Mama McCory can’t. And there’s a cook who comes in early. Your role will be to take Mama McCory’s place. You’re the lady of the house, not the hired help.”

  “But I am the hired help.”

  “Yes, but secretly. Openly you’re the mistress of the house. As far as everyone knows, except me, you, and Neil, you’re married to the doctor in this town. So you must act like it. And today, after church, you and Neil will be the celebrated newlyweds at a reception that Mama McCory, Hedda, and Edith planned for you. I’ve been working with them on it, too.”

  “Who’s cooking?”

  Stella laughed lightly. “Everybody. We were doing that yesterday, but all the women know if they come to the reception they bring a dish of food. They do that all the time here.”

  “There was a dinner on the grounds at the church in the city one time, but I never went.”

  Stella nodded. “The only one I went to was a church picnic in a play. We didn’t get to really do it, just donned our duds and picked up an empty basket and exited the stage.” She laughed. “But this is real, child. You’d better get yourself into that claw-foot tub and get ready to meet the town as Mrs. Dr. Neil McCory.” She jumped out of bed. “I’ll go to the kitchen and say you and Neil want breakfast in bed. How’s that?”

  “You’re a lifesaver.”

  Stella grinned. “I know.”

  Olivia felt a strange stirring in her stomach, and it wasn’t hunger. “Stella, what will I do after you leave here?”

  Stella looked at her with one of her loving, serious ex-pressions. “Olivia,” she said with a note of confidence, “you will rise to the occasion.”

  Olivia wondered if she could rise to the occasion of being welcomed by the town as Neil’s wife. At least she knew how to dress appropriately and wore the same outfit she’d worn the night before in coming to Sunrise, with the addition of a small gray hat trimmed with a band of pink ribbon and a pink bow on one side.

  At church, Pastor Whitfield had them stand, and everyone applauded the newlyweds. He announced that since the weather had cleared up, the reception would be on the church lawn.

  Right after church ended, most of the men went to their wagons and the women walked away. Olivia’s heart sank, thinking they weren’t staying for the reception. However, in the next few moments, men were setting up tables they took from their wagons. Some brought doors and set them on sawhorses. They even brought benches. By the time some women put tablecloths on the tables, others were bringing dishes and boxes of food from nearby homes.

  As soon as the feast of every imaginable food was spread on the table, Edith said she and Neil must go first. They were followed by Mama McCory and Stella. Olivia kept marveling that the church members and even some townsfolk were doing this for her and Neil.

  As soon as she put her plate on a table, she took off her jacket and hat and laid them across her lap. Most of the women were dressed in plain skirts and shirtwaists. She wanted to i
dentify with them. In a way, this reminded her of the times she wanted to play with the miners’ children but her father wouldn’t allow it, as if she were better than they. She wasn’t, and she knew all of these people were better than she. They were not pretending.

  People she’d never met came by the table where she sat to congratulate and welcome her. She was glad Stella could keep conversation lively and ongoing. It felt wonderful to be accepted as their beloved doctor’s wife. But she felt guilty because it was all fake.

  To her surprise, people started singing “O Perfect Love.” Edith Whitfield and Stella were walking toward her, holding a tall cake. They put it on the table in front of her. Hedda brought a sheet cake and set it alongside it. Neil joined her as several men brought trays of pitchers and glasses.

  Olivia began expressing her delight. She looked at Neil who had a funny look on his face. His eyes seemed to hold a warning. Had she done something wrong?

  “You know the tradition, don’t you?” asked Mama McCory.

  Dumbfounded, Olivia shrugged. “I’ve seen the bride and groom feed each other a piece. Is that it?”

  “Hardly,” said Edith.

  Stella’s eyes gleamed with mischief. She knew.

  “The bride and groom must kiss over the cake,” Edith said. “That’s for future prosperity.”

  Now Olivia knew what that look on Neil’s face was all about. But women and men were gathering around. Those nearby were cheering them on. They began to clap in unison. Little children joined in.

  Neil got on his knees on the bench across from her. “I guess we’re outnumbered.”

  She had no choice but to make the best of this. . .job. “I guess it’s my wifely duty.” She got on her knees across from Neil, braced her hands on the table, and leaned over the cake.

  She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, hoping she wouldn’t fall in the cake when he kissed her.

  All of a sudden, she knew when it was about to happen. The sweet fragrance of cake icing was replaced by the aroma of musky aftershave, the smell of Neil’s clothing. Then she felt his warm breath. Like a feather, something touched her lips. Then she felt the warm, soft, firm touch of his lips on hers. His lips didn’t move and neither did hers. But as quickly as it happened, it ended.