I got a little time alone with her in the kitchen after that, when we were washing up the plates and putting away the leftover food from dinner, what little there was of it. “He told you he’d had two wives already?” I asked Zona, handing her the chicken platter to dry. I tried not to sound upset, just interested, because if you got Zona’s back up, she wouldn’t tell you anything.
She shrugged. “Well, he told me early on about Lucy, the one that died last year. There’s no shame in that, is there? He said he thought his heart would be forever in the grave with her, until he met me. Said I was his healing angel.”
I was thinking that the wound couldn’t have been all that deep if he was over it in only a year, but some men cannot bear to be alone, or maybe they just can’t look after themselves. I didn’t offer any opinion about that, though. “What about the other one?”
Zona glanced back at the open door, but the men had gone outside. “Well, I don’t believe he intended to tell me about her, for it looks bad, him having a divorce in his past. I expect he was afraid that he’d lose me if I found out all that about his former life.”
So he should have, I thought, but I wouldn’t find out anything else about him if I made Zona feel she had to defend him. She was as touchy as a scalded cat at the best of times, so I had to swallow my censure and listen as silently as I could while she prattled on.
“I think he meant to keep it dark that there had been another wife before his precious Lucy.” She laughed, and reached for another plate to dry. “But he didn’t have much choice in the matter.”
“How was that?”
“Well, last week when we went down to the courthouse in Lewisburg to get the marriage license, who should we meet but her?”
I nearly dropped the plate I’d just taken out of the dishwater. “You met his former wife in the courthouse? What was she doing there?”
Zona’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Why, would you believe it? The very same as him! It turns out that after they parted, she had got herself trained to be a schoolteacher, and then she moved here to Greenbrier County to work. But once she got here she met some fellow over in Falling Spring, where she settled, and they fixed it up to get married, too. Funny, she wasn’t calling herself Mrs. Shue anymore. She had gone back to her maiden name, which was Cutlip. Allie Cutlip—that’s her name. I heard her introducing herself to some other woman there. But soon she’s going to be Mrs. Todd McMillion. Once I figured out who she was, I listened as hard as I could.”
“How did your fiancé feel about that, Zona?”
She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t reckon he cared. He was shaken when he spied her as we came to the clerk’s office, and that’s when he let it slip to me who she was, but after that he barely glanced at her. They parted ten years ago, so it’s all over and done with. Anyhow, she’s at least half a dozen years older than me, and not a patch on me for looks.”
Zona looked like the cat in the cream jug when she said that, but I didn’t like the sound of any of it. Come a time, there’ll be a girl ten years younger than you, I thought. “And how did the first Mrs. Shue feel about seeing her former husband?”
Zona smiled. “She wasn’t best pleased to see him, I’ll tell you that. She acted thunderstruck when she first caught sight of him, and I guess her groom-to-be had heard about Trout, too, ’cause he clenched his fists and got all red in the face. He came over and told Trout he’d better stay away from them, and from Gertie, too. I thought the clerk was going to have to call a peace officer to calm them down.”
“Who is Gertie?” I said, willing my voice to keep steady, but I felt like shying those plates against the farthest wall. Instead of unraveling his past, I was just hearing it get more and more knotted up.
“Gertie? That’s his daughter. She must be a big girl now, nigh on ten, but he don’t never see her, so I’ll never be bothered with her.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, either, but it wouldn’t do to let Zona know that. “What a thing to happen as you’re getting your marriage license!” I said. “Seeing your former wife about to marry another, and then nearly being made to fight in the courthouse. Didn’t Mr. Shue seem put out by all that?”
“No, I told you, it didn’t seem to bother him much. It’s ancient history to him, I reckon. When he first caught sight of her, he didn’t seem too happy to see her. They didn’t talk or hug or nothin’. After she got her new beau calmed down, she did start over toward us like she wanted to say something to me, now I come to think of it, but the clerk called us over to the desk just then, and after we got our papers, Trout hustled me away. I didn’t want to talk to that old frump anyhow. She was probably jealous. Trout said she wasn’t a very good wife, and that’s why he left her.”
“But he had a daughter with her, you said. Surely he wants to keep in touch with the child?”
“I don’t see why he should. I reckon by now he barely knows her.”
“And what about your child, Zona? Does your intended husband know about that?”
She stared at me as if I’d taken leave of my senses. “Tell him about that mistake of George Woldridge’s? Not likely! It’s no business of his, is it?”
“Most men would want to know about it. A bride having a past . . . that’s not something you want him to find out later from somebody else.”
“He won’t find out! And if we’re to have the wedding here in Meadow Bluff, you’d best see that all of those long-eared old cats around here don’t go talebearing to Trout at the reception.”
I sighed. “A marriage lasts a lot longer than a day, Zona. And it seems to me that the more time that passes before he does find out, the worse it would be.”
“Well, then you’d best see that he doesn’t find out, Mama, so be careful who you let on to about the wedding. I figure that what Mr. Edward Trout Shue doesn’t know about me won’t hurt him. And if he ever does find out after we’re married, it’ll be too late to matter.”
I was afraid that Mr. Edward Trout Shue might have felt exactly the same way about his own past. It seemed likely to me that there was another side to the story of his former life as well, but it was plain that Zona hadn’t questioned it, and when she went on to talk about the wedding plans, I let her run on about it to her heart’s content, but I didn’t contribute much to the conversation because my thoughts were elsewhere.
It was already plain to me that Mr. Shue was the spitting image of trouble, and that my girl would likely come to regret becoming wife number three.
I said as much to Jacob that night, as I was brushing down my hair, getting ready to braid it up for the night. Mr. Shue had finally taken his leave of us about dusk, and Zona insisted on going back with him to the cousins’ house, for she vowed that she could not be parted from her beloved for an entire week until his next day off, this coming Sunday. They did promise, though, to come back next Sunday again for dinner, to bring us more news about the wedding plans. They were getting married up here in Meadow Bluff at our little Methodist church, Soule Chapel, and they said they planned to invite a few folks over from the Richlands, since they intended to live there after they were married, close to his work at the smithy.
I had always wanted to see my daughter properly married in a ceremony at our home church, but in the end, the prospect of Zona’s wedding gave me no joy whatsoever. I just wished that I could stop them from doing it at all, for I didn’t think there was a church in the world holy enough to bless that union into happiness and peace.
“That girl is riding for a fall, Jacob,” I said, continuing to brush my hair, which is still the rich brown of walnuts, with hardly any gray at all in it, even though I’m nearly forty-seven. I pulled at a stubborn curl that had turned into a tangle, which is what brought Zona back into my thoughts in the first place.
“You mark my words: riding for a fall. That daughter of ours is rushing headlong into this marriage with a fellow she barely knows, and who we know next to nothing about. Why, I wouldn’t buy a pig from a man I hadn’t known
any longer than she has been acquainted with this fellow, and it’s plain there’s more to him than she realizes, or at least more than she’s letting on about. I tell you: I don’t like this romance of theirs one bit. Him acting like a lovesick calf, despite the fact that he is thirty-two if he’s a day. Not only has he been a husband twice before so this isn’t exactly a new experience for him, but he has a daughter that he takes no interest in as well. A big church wedding for a thrice-married man and a girl who’s already birthed a baby—I ask you! It’s nonsense.”
Jacob lay back on the pillow, not even bothering to lift his head as I talked. Finally he let out a long weary sigh. “Let her go, Mary Jane.”
I laid down my hairbrush and turned to stare at him. He had propped himself up on the pillows, and was staring out through the window at a pale sliver of moon hanging in the sky above the hills. He sounded sad, as if we were talking about something that had happened a long time ago and couldn’t be changed now. Something ruined and lost. But Zona had been his pride and joy all her life, and it made me shiver to hear him say that about her with no more feeling than he’d have had for a leaky old bucket that you had to throw away because it wasn’t worth fixing.
“It’s no use getting worked up over this, Mary Jane. She may be our daughter, but she’s no longer a child, you know. She’s past twenty-one, and no stranger to men, though it shames me to say it. That incident last year with that no-account George Woldridge was the proof of that. Now, maybe you’re right. I don’t say I was taken with that sweetheart of hers any more than you were. I’d sooner trust a snake in an egg basket. So maybe this whole thing is just the thundering mistake you claim it is, but at least it will get her settled, before she can bring any more shame upon us. At least she’ll get a husband while she’s still pretty enough to land one.”
“But he’s had two wives already. And he’s at least eight years older than she is, with precious few prospects that I can see.”
“Blacksmithing is honest work, Mary Jane, and as to his age: we both know men with children by their first wife who are older than their new stepmother, so I wouldn’t hold that against him. Maybe maturity has settled him down into a reliable husband and a steady worker.”
“And maybe it hasn’t.”
“Well, then, that’s Zona’s lookout, not ours. All I know for certain is that it is time she went, Mary Jane. If she marries this fellow—and she is dead set on doing so anyhow, mind you—then we’ll be shed of her. And it’s high time. As old as she is, she ought to have been out and gone a long time back.”
“And should we give up on her?” I turned away from the mirror then, because I could see traces of Zona in my eyes and in the angles of my cheekbones. Maybe it’s easier for a father to turn away from a child than it is for the mother who gave birth to it.
“Let her go. Zona is all grown up, and there’s not much we can do for her now except pray for her, I reckon. If you want to worry about a child, you have three sons you can fret about, and I hope for both our sakes that they turn out to be more of a credit to us than she is.”
“I don’t trust this fellow she’s fixing to wed. I don’t like him.”
“What do you reckon your chances are at being able to stop her? I make them: slim to none. Just let it go, Mary Jane. She’ll do as she pleases, same as always.”
“But what if this marriage makes her miserable?”
Jacob shrugged. “Then she’ll have a lot of company in this world, won’t she?”
six
The Wedding
THE MARRIAGE LICENSE that Mr. Shue and Zona got at the end of October in the Greenbrier County courthouse was good for a month, which gave them a few weeks to plan for the wedding—not that they ought to have needed it, if you ask me, for this was no society couple who would have their wedding reception at the Old White Hotel down in White Sulphur Springs. After Zona and her groom said their vows at Soule Chapel, there might be cake and apple cider in the church hall, but nothing more elegant than that, for all Zona’s fine ideas about marriage to a handsome man making her into a somebody. It wouldn’t quite do that, but as Jacob said, it was an improvement, anyhow.
The time between their first setting eyes on one another and their wedding day was both too long and too short, depending on how you looked at it. The interval was too long for the preparations that the occasion would require, which was next to nothing: some branches of fall berries and a basket full of colored leaves to brighten up the sanctuary, and two or three cakes and a jug of cider for refreshments. Why, you could get that put together inside of two hours. But the interval between meeting and marrying was another matter: entirely too short for propriety.
I expected most of the congregation and many of our neighbors in Meadow Bluff to attend. Considering Zona’s past and the suddenness of the occasion, it might have been more fitten to have just a small crowd, mostly immediate family, but nevertheless, word gets around in a small community, and the less inclined you are to talk about something, the more inquisitive everyone becomes. Our kinfolk and neighbors in Meadow Bluff were soon wondering about the indecent haste with which Miss Zona Heaster went from nodding acquaintance to bride, and I was questioned about it by all and sundry, with varying degrees of tact, depending upon their closeness to our family and the quality of their manners.
“Heard about your daughter’s betrothal.” Mrs. Lewis, a stout old biddy in brown calico, waylaid me in the church aisle after Sunday services. “You must count that as a blessing. I reckon you are glad to see her settled, old as she is. But three weeks from now?”
At her side her wizened friend Miss Henry, with bright birdlike eyes in a face like a dried apple, nodded sagely. “Yes, indeed, three weeks does seem awfully sudden, Miz Heaster, and late November is such an unlikely time for a wedding. Come to that, I don’t believe I’ve seen Zona here at church lately. Is she well?”
“She’ll be back soon. She’s been visiting with our cousin Sarah and her family over in the Richlands,” I muttered, trying to edge past her, “so I expect she’s attending services there.” I didn’t think any such thing, but I had no desire to be cross-questioned by half the congregation. I was easing toward the door—Jacob had wisely made his escape as soon as the last hymn notes died away, and I had no doubt that he was waiting for me in the wagon with the boys. Before I could reach the door, though, a couple of other older women, who must have overheard the conversation, gathered around me, hemming me in with such eagerness that it put me in mind of a raccoon treed by hounds.
“What’s this we hear about Zona’s getting married?”
“How sudden! Do we know the fellow?”
“No. He’s from away. Now if you all will excuse me, Jacob is waiting—”
Nobody paid my excuses any mind, and the questions kept coming. “Will she be needing a new dress for the wedding? If not, I could help you let out the seams on one of her old ones.”
After that remark, the women glanced knowingly at one another, and anybody could see what they were thinking: a hasty marriage meant that a baby was on the way. After what happened last year, I guess I had no cause to take umbrage at what she was hinting at, even though I doubted they’d heard about it. We had done our best to keep it quiet, and once she had begun to show, Zona stayed on the farm and kept to herself. It nettled me anyhow.
“Thank you, but Zona won’t be needing any dress alterations. She hasn’t put on an ounce of weight lately, and”—I looked the old cat directly in the eye—“she has no cause to. This is a love match, not a shotgun wedding.”
What I said was true, as far as I knew, and I was pretty sure that it was indeed a fact, because when we had seen Zona only the week before, she was showing no signs of being with child. If she had been in the family way, I think she would have confided in me, because I was the one who saw her through her troubles with George Woldridge’s by-blow, and I think she would have trusted me again if she were keeping any secret. Besides, I had seen her pregnant only a year ago, and I knew
how it took her—the weariness, the cravings, the spells of vomiting. She was showing no signs of any of that now.
“But who is this fellow she’s marrying in such a hurry?” another one wanted to know. “Who are his people?”
I tried not to groan. There would be no getting away from them until they had found out all they wanted to know, and I’d best smile and try to look pleased about it, or else they’d want to know how come I wasn’t. “He is a Mr. Edward Shue, ladies. He comes from over in Pocahontas County, and he’s working now at the smithy at Livesay’s Mill.”
“Over in the Richlands?”
I nodded. “Just off the Midland Trail.” I refused to let on that I wanted to know the particulars of who he was just as much as they did. “He’s a likely-looking fellow—tall and strapping with curly black hair and a bold chin. They make a handsome couple.”
One of them sighed with pleasure at the romance of it all. “That will be a sight to behold, the two of them all dressed up in wedding finery.”
The others nodded in agreement. Weddings—anybody’s wedding—made a welcome change to the sameness of life in a farming community. “Zona was always a headstrong girl, but no one can say she isn’t pretty. She’ll make a beautiful bride. When will she be bringing this young man of hers to services?”
I hesitated. “Well, I hope she will, but although they’re having the wedding here in Meadow Bluff, it’s a long way from here to the Richlands, where he is employed, and he doesn’t make the journey over in time for church. They’ll be living over there, after, of course.”
“Well, that’s only to be expected,” said the stout old biddy. Her ancestors came from Tidewater Virginia, and a lifetime on a mountain farm had not cured her of her notions of propriety. They hadn’t cured mine, either. My father had started life as a Yorkshire collier, but I think the English notions of proper behavior are stricter than ours. “She must live where her husband’s work takes him, but a bride always gets married in her home church so that the people she’s known all her life can wish her well.”
The Unquiet Grave: A Novel Page 6
