“No, I brought Rose just for today—”
Clara looked at Cora and Rose, barely taking a breath in her monologue. “Isn’t that one of Cora’s nieces who came with you today? My, but she’s a plain thing, isn’t she?” She leaned closer then and put her hand on his arm. “Luke, say you’ll come. Or better yet, just come to dinner. I still make the best fried chicken in Multnomah County. I know it would win the blue ribbon at the fair if I entered. Mother would be thrilled to see you, too, and it’s time you came out of mourning for dear Belinda.” Clara was one of the women who’d pursued him after his wife died.
“Really, Clara, I can’t—” he tried, feeling badgered.
She tapped him on the arm again and brushed her shoulder against him. “Now, now, I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. We had some fun, you and I, back in the old days. I know what you need—a mother to take care of Rose and good woman to take care of you.” She actually giggled and winked at him. “If you know what I mean.”
God, this was worse than Ackerman’s joyless sermon. Two years older than Luke, Clara had never married and her desperation was as obvious as her blunt invitation. In his youth, he would have taken up her offer, just for the fun of it. Now he felt himself beginning to sweat inside his suit coat.
He glanced around, hoping to find Emily and Rose so they could leave. When he spotted them, they were standing with Cora and a group of other women nearby. He listened hard to hear their conversation over Clara’s prattling.
“This is Emily, an etiquette teacher Luke found to tutor Rose,” he heard Cora say. “It’s a hare-brained idea, if you ask me, but he didn’t ask. He just went ahead and did it. I don’t think it’ll make one bit of difference to Rose which fork to use at the table.”
There was some polite, confused murmuring among the women. “An etiquette teacher? But how nice for Rose.”
“You’ll be staying on for a while then?”
“Well, I live here now—”
“Are you hiring out to tutor other girls, too?”
“No, I’m not a tutor—”
Emily looked defenseless to Luke, with his mother-in-law doing her best to degrade Emily’s position to that of a hired hand, or little better, a servant. “Actually, what Mrs. Hayward is trying to say is—”
His anger flared to life. Cora had done nothing to make Emily welcome since she arrived and he’d had just about enough of that. He strode toward the group, leaving Clara gawping at his abrupt departure. “Actually, what Cora should say is that Emily is my wife. We were married in town last week.” He turned slightly toward Clara, whose mouth still hung open. “Clara Thurmon, this is Emily Cannon Becker.” He took Emily’s elbow and nodded at Rose. “Farm chores won’t wait for chatter. We’ll be going now.”
Emily rounded her shoulders and turned grateful eyes on him. Cora followed them in a fine huff—he knew the signs, and he knew he’d hear about this later. Rose brought up the rear. Word of Luke’s news spread through the crowd like the buzzing of a beehive on fire. He hadn’t intended to make an announcement like that, but his fuse was growing shorter each day with Cora. When they reached the wagon, this time Luke put Emily on the seat up front first. Then he handed Cora into the back of the wagon, and lifted Rose in last.
Once they were on their way, Emily watched the rooftops of Fairdale fall away as they climbed into the hills above. Everything looked fresh and green in the spring sun, and for the first time since coming here Emily felt a lightness of heart. Enduring the stares at church had been such agony, she’d almost become physically ill. She hated being the center of attention, and wished that she’d never suggested coming to church. But she’d called upon every lesson in graceful living that she’d ever learned and forced herself to appear as if she didn’t notice. When the service was over, just when she thought she’d get away from the terrible scrutiny, Cora had dragged her to that group of women simply to insult her.
Then Emily had seen that woman hanging on Luke, touching his arm, bragging about her cooking, leaning closer to whisper something and giggle, and the spurt of jealousy it had kindled in Emily’s chest astounded her. She had never been jealous in her life. Well, perhaps once or twice, especially when Father had compared her to delicate, beautiful Alyssa and found Emily wanting. This, today, had been different. She’d wanted to confront that woman, slap her hands off Luke, and tell her that her behavior was appalling.
But something had happened back there in that churchyard. Not only had Luke defended her against Cora’s rudeness, he’d publicly announced their marriage. It was a simple statement—Emily is my wife—and yet to her, it held enormous implications that both frightened and pleased her.
As they bounced along in the wagon, her gaze kept straying to him beside her. She felt Cora’s daggers in her back and wondered briefly if she would ever overcome the woman’s unmistakable animosity. Mostly, though, she was more aware of Luke than ever. She’d felt his leg brush hers in the pew, even though she’d tried to pull away. He’d been impossible to ignore in the churchyard, tall as he was and better-looking than any other man present. And he was her husband. He’d said so. He’d told them all. He had willingly admitted that he was bound to her. This amazed her. She wanted to tuck her hand in the crook of his arm, to thank him for his chivalry. But she kept her hands firmly clasped in her lap and her mouth closed. Another wave of cold and heat shimmied through her, and her face felt fiery. Wouldn’t it be nice if he were really her husband in more than just name? That was silly, of course. Emily had learned a long time ago that she was not worthy of love.
For now, the masquerade of marriage was good enough. Still, she fantasized, if they really were husband and wife, they would come to church on Sundays, perhaps attend a social or two. People would eventually stop staring when they got used to her being Emily Becker. There would be cozy dinners with the three of them, Emily, Luke, and Rose. She didn’t even realize she’d cut Cora out of her daydream until she heard the woman’s braying, satisfied hoot from the back of the wagon. She and Rose had been murmuring on the way home, but Emily hadn’t paid much attention to the conversation.
“I guess that’s how much good church did Rose,” Cora said, her tone triumphant.
To hide her roiling emotions, she turned slightly to talk to the girl. “Why? What did you learn in church, Rose?” She almost feared she’d stolen money from the collection plate.
“God makes you suffer and then you die.” The girl looked frightened.
Cora brayed again. “That’s what your idea of going to church did for the girl, Mrs. Becker.”
Why on earth would she think that was funny? Emily wondered. That was a horrible image for a child to have.
“Oh, dear, no Rose! That’s not true at all!” Emily countered, although she could understand why Rose might have gotten that impression from listening to Reverend Ackerman. And if Emily were to be honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she’d had the same thought many times in her life. “We’ll talk about it later.”
When they arrived home, Luke changed clothes to unhitch the team and do some chores. Cora put on her apron and went outside to get a side of pork ribs from the smokehouse. Emily, buoyed by the fantasy of marriage she still carried in her mind’s eye, stood in the kitchen and surveyed the room. The table needed something to dress up its plainness. Sunday dinner ought to be something special, not just food flopped on the table with no style or grace. It was a time for family to come together. Rose lingered in the hallway, still dressed in her good clothes and looking forlorn. Blast that Cora Hayward for her insensitivity, Emily thought.
“Rose, I need your help. Do you know where to find some wildflowers to put on the table? Like the pinks you brought to me?”
The girl scuffed her shoes across the floor. “Yeah, there are some lupines on the other side of the road.”
“That would be perfect! Would you change your clothes and go gather a few stems?”
“Okay.” She turned wide, dark eyes up to Emily.
“Do you think that Grammy is right about God?”
Recognizing the sensitive subject, Emily asked, “What did she say?”
“She says that God doesn’t answer prayers. That if he did, my mama never would have married Daddy, that she never would have died, and that—that, well . . . ”
“It’s all right, Rose,” she urged gently. “Go on.”
“She says you never would have come here. She says talking to God is a blame-fool waste of time and that a body might as well talk to the wall.”
Yes, that sounded like Cora, all right, Emily thought. Bitter and autocratic. “Do you ever talk to God?”
“Sometimes,” the girl answered, but she looked as if she were admitting a guilty secret.
“And does he answer you?”
“No—at least I don’t think so. Daddy still doesn’t laugh and things around here aren’t fun anymore. Maybe Grammy is right.”
“But does it make you feel better to tell God your troubles?”
Rose looked up at her with tear-damp eyes, and Emily’s heart ached for her. “Yes.”
“Then it’s not a waste of time. Believe me, Rose, God hears you. It’s just that sometimes the answer doesn’t come right away. Or sometimes the answer is simply no.”
“It is?”
“Yes. No one gets everything they want.” Emily was well-acquainted with that fact. She wanted to take Rose into her arms and give her the affection she seemed to be missing. But Emily sensed that it might not be welcome just yet. “You just keep on talking to God, if you want. And if you want to talk to me, I’ll listen too.”
“Okay.”
Emily gave her a big smile. “Now run and get your clothes changed, and find those flowers for me. I’m counting on you.”
Rose smiled too. “I’ll bring back the biggest ones out there.”
While Rose was gone, Emily went to the sideboard and found a lovely cutwork tablecloth and napkins with which she set the table. Obviously, the tablecloth hadn’t been used in a long time, perhaps years. It bore sharp creases from sitting in the drawer and smelled of the lavender sachet tucked into the corners. Emily tried to smooth the fold lines with her hands, but they were too well established. It seemed a shame not to use something so pretty for special occasions. As she put a napkin at each place setting, she dreamed of doing this every Sunday. They could go to church, have a real Sunday dinner with nice table linen and flowers. In the summer, they could even have dinner outside, she and Luke and Rose—
This pleasant reverie was interrupted when Cora came back into the kitchen, clutching the pork to her chest. She let out a shrill squawk louder than the caterwauling of all her hens combined. Her eyes were wide and staring, and she pointed at the table with her free hand. Like a specter from a nightmare, she squawked again, raising the hair on Emily’s scalp.
“Wh-what?” Emily stuttered.
“How dare you?” Cora raged.
Rose came running through the back door, grasping the stems of wild lupines. Their purple blossoms were a sharp contrast to her pale hand. She followed the direction of her grandmother’s gaze and sucked in her breath as well.
“How dare you touch Belinda’s belongings?” She threw the pork ribs into the galvanized steel sink and pumped water over her hands. After throughly lathering them with soap and rinsing again, she dried them, and carefully removed the napkins one by one. Then she took up the tablecloth, refolded it following the crease lines that Emily had tried to press out, and laid the linen back in the drawer as though it were a holy relic. All the while, Emily stood by, feeling both foolish and angry, and knew that her face was the color of a rooster’s comb.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t know—it’s so beautiful I thought . . . ”
“It’s pretty plain that you didn’t think at all!”
Luke came up the back stairs in time to hear Cora’s last remark. God, now what? he wondered. He wanted to turn around and go out to the fields. But that would be the coward’s way out and he knew it. So he walked in, and the tableau in front of him was fraught with tension. Cora glared at Emily, Rose stood like a statue gripping some flowers, and Emily looked as if she’d been caught stealing.
“What’s going on here?”
“Your wife put out Belinda’s best tablecloth and napkins, that’s what! We never use her things!”
Luke had been fighting this for more than year now. Cora had turned the house into a shrine to Belinda, making certain that the wound of their grief would never heal. He’d tried several times to put their wedding picture into a bottom drawer of his dresser, hoping that if he didn’t have to look at it every day, the weight on his heart might lighten. He’d also put away her vanity set that laid next to the photograph. Each time, Cora had searched for everything and put it all back on top of the dresser while he was working outside. Finally, he’d given up.
“Cora, for God’s sake, it doesn’t matter that much.”
“Doesn’t matter!” Her face turned as red as a gobbler’s. “I guess I’m the only one around here who has any respect for Belinda’s memory.”
Luke’s stomach tied itself into a tidy knot. That had been happening more often lately, with the friction in the house increasing every day. It had begun long before Emily arrived and had only grown worse since. For the first time since Cora had moved in, Luke allowed himself to consider what life would be like if his mother-in-law went back to her own home. For three years, he’d been doing double work, keeping up his own land and tending her property too. He’d done it gladly, knowing that having Cora there was best for Rose. But things were different now with Emily here. Two women in one kitchen could be bad business. He didn’t know if Alyssa would have been a better match for this or not. But it was exactly the kind of thing he didn’t want to think about. He knew how to grow crops and tend stock. This business with females locking horns made him wish he could escape to a chore in the barn.
He knew he couldn’t.
He’d brought Emily Cannon here, for better or for worse, and he had to stand by his decision. He couldn’t let Cora Hayward run roughshod over her; he owed her what he’d promised. His respect and protection. And he wanted his home and his daughter back.
“Damn it, Cora, you know that isn’t true. We’ll never forget Belinda.” He held out his hands in an open appeal. “How could we? But she’s been gone for three years now. I don’t see anything wrong with using her tablecloth.”
Cora put her hands on her hips. Strands of faded red hair had escaped the tight confines of her bun and hung from her temples. “Oh, you don’t! Well, if you’re going to put my daughter’s memory aside, you can do without me, too!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll just go back to my own place and you can see how you’ll get along without me.”
Luke sighed. He’d anticipated this threat and he was tired of being held hostage by it. He knew Cora expected him to back off and beg her to stay. It was a dance they’d done several times before. But not this time, by God. Not this time.
He straightened and looked her dead in the eyes. “Cora, if you want to go home, I won’t try to stop you.”
“Who’ll do the cooking and cleaning and mending?” She jabbed a thumb in Emily’s direction. “Your etiquette teacher? Hah! I don’t think so. She can’t even gather eggs without breaking them.”
He glanced at Emily, whose face was now as white as paste. He didn’t know if she could do any of the things Cora talked about. “We’d manage just fine. Life is too short to be unhappy, and if you’re unhappy here, maybe you’ll get on better in your own house.”
Cora dropped her hands to her sides, plainly flummoxed by this turn of events. “Well! It—it sounds like you’ve been planning this all along—”
“I hate it when you fight!” Rose sobbed suddenly. Her gaze shifted quickly between Emily, the flowers in her hand, and Luke. Then she ran to her grandmother and hid her face against her ample bosom. “Daddy, don’t make Grammy leave. Grammy, please do
n’t go!”
That was all that stopped Luke from carrying the conversation any further.
“There, there, Rose, honey. I’m not going anywhere,” Cora soothed. She glanced up at Luke over Rose’s head and sent him a knowing smile. “I’m staying right here.”
The knot in Luke’s stomach gave another twist. Maybe she was staying—for now—but things were going to change around here. He couldn’t expect Emily to make any headway with Rose if she had Cora trying to cross her up at every single turn.
Emily was his wife, just as he’d told everyone in the churchyard. He didn’t love her and she wasn’t the woman he would have chosen for himself. But they couldn’t continue this way, with Cora holding court like a queen while the rest of them danced to her tune. There would be some serious talk tonight after Rose went to bed.
“I’ll be in the barn—one of the horses is coming up lame. Call me when dinner is ready,” he said. Then with a last look at Emily, and Rose sobbing in Cora’s arms, he went outside.
~~*~*~*~~
“Grammy, why don’t you like Miss Emily?”
“I didn’t say I don’t like her.” Cora made the paring knife fly as she peeled potatoes at the kitchen table. The new Mrs. Becker had gone upstairs, and she doubted they’d see her again for hours. “She just has no business going through other people’s belongings. You’d think she’d know with all that fancy etiquette she keeps talking about.”
“Well, then why don’t you like Daddy?”
“I like him well enough,” Cora lied.
Rose had pulled her chair close and sat watching her as she worked. “But you act like you don’t. You say bad things about him.”
“He wasn’t the man I wanted your mama to marry.”
“I know, but he did, and that was a long time ago.”
Cora carved off a peeling a yard long, all in one piece, and threw it into a bucket for the hogs. It was a silly talent, but privately she was proud of her ability to peel a potato or an apple or a turnip in once long ribbon. She’d bet Mrs. Becker couldn’t do that. She picked up another potato. “I’ll explain more when you’re older. But for now, I’ll just say that I can’t forget Luke is the reason your mama died.”
The Bridal Veil Page 8
