The Bridal Veil

by Alexis Harrington

  “I wasn’t able to save Cotton.”

  He sighed and ruffled his hair with a big hand. “Oh, honey, he was just too far gone. No one could have helped him.”

  Honey.

  Had it been an unconscious slip by a man too tired to know what he’d said? Emily wondered. Even if it had been, that didn’t diminish the sudden warmth that flooded her, and the feeling of familiar belonging. Almost without thinking she crossed her palm with her thumb to feel her wedding band on her little finger.

  “I guess you’re right,” she said, and then added, “Luke, what did Cora mean about Belinda?”

  He tipped his head against the newel post. “You mean when she said I killed her?”

  It was awkward to hear it so baldly put. “Well, um, yes—“ She told him about the unfinished letter she’d found in the parlor, then realized how it must sound. “I honestly don’t make a habit of reading other people’s mail!”

  His smile was a tired one. “I’d bet she left that letter there on purpose, hoping you’d find it. She hasn’t had any contact with her cousin Eunice for years.” He turned and faced her. “But you have the right to know the truth.”

  He told her about his youthful infatuation with Belinda, and in his voice she heard the ghost of a passion that made her heart sink. She knew he would never feel that way about her—Belinda had been the love of his life.

  “That summer, I guess Belinda was sixteen and I was nineteen. She wasn’t interested in me.” He shrugged. “I suppose I can understand that now. My brothers and I were pretty wild back then, and not too many parents wanted their daughters marrying one of the Becker boys. God knows I’d get out my shotgun if someone like one of us came courting Rose. Both she and Cora wanted her to marry Brad Tilson. He was a doctor’s son from Portland and had come out for the summer to work on one of the farms around here for a monthly wage and found. He was studying medicine too, and I guess Cora and Belinda thought he was a good catch. I saw him at grange dances and around town sometimes and I didn’t like him—I thought he was a stuck-up rich boy and I could tell he was just leading her on. Of course, I was jealous as hell, too. But I knew he wasn’t going to marry her. He’d go back to his rich-boy life in Portland and never think about her again.” He hung his hands between his knees. “And that’s just what he did. Cora thought I chased him off and ruined Belinda’s chances with him. The truth was, she never stood a chance at all. Men like him don’t marry small-town farm girls. And no matter what Cora would like to believe, I think she knows that truth, too. It’s just easier to blame me—for everything.”

  Luke went on to explain that after Tilson left town, he stepped up his courtship of Belinda and finally won her over. “I think her heart was broken, and she didn’t care who she married. But I didn’t know it then. I just figured I was the luckiest guy in town to win such a beautiful girl.”

  He didn’t mention Belinda’s pregnancy and neither did Emily. After all, it was only a rumor she’d heard, and in any case, it would be unspeakably rude to bring it up. But if it was true, she wondered if Luke realized what a good man he was, even coming from a poor background, to accept his responsibility and marry Belinda?

  The years had not been kind to their marriage and always, always, Cora was an interfering influence. “She gave Belinda all kinds of reasons to be dissatisfied. Nothing I did was every really good enough.” He shook his head. “I think we would have been all right if not for her. But we argued a lot. Then one night just over three years ago, Cora came for Sunday dinner. She’d gotten her little digs in about a lot of things. By the time she finally went home, Belinda and I were like two cats spoiling for a fight. Cora seems to have that effect on people. I said things and Belinda said things . . . finally she got angry and said she was going back to her mother’s house. I figured, fine, let her go. It would give us both a chance to cool off.” He rolled his whiskey glass between his hands and studied its empty bottom, as if looking at a window to the past. “But it was raining that night, and a fierce wind was blowing down the gorge. It had been a cold March. Belinda left without a coat, and when she got to Cora’s she was soaked to the skin. She developed a fever. I didn’t know she was sick, because I was angry and let my pride get in the way. I should have gone over there and brought her home. Cora put her to bed, but didn’t think she was sick enough to send for Dr. Gaither. I found that out later. You probably got a sense of how Cora is. She thinks doctors are for weaklings, and didn’t suppose he could do anything for Belinda that she couldn’t do herself. By the time she changed her mind, Doc Gaither couldn’t do anything for her—she was too far gone. I went to see her but she was unconscious—I don’t think she even knew I was there.” His voice was barely audible. “She died that night. And when she went, she took my heart with her.”

  “Oh, dear God,” Emily murmured.

  “I was mad as hell at Cora for letting Belinda suffer. She blamed me because she said I’d driven Belinda out of her own home and exposed her to the weather that made her sick in the first place.” He shrugged. “She’s right, I guess. At least, that’s how I’ve been looking at it for the last three years. But, Jesus, Emily, at least I would have ridden for the doctor.”

  “Of course, you would have,” Emily sympathized. She thought for a moment, and then added, “But Luke, Cora must feel just as responsible as you do.”

  “Nope, it’s been easier to blame me.”

  “But consider this—she thinks Rose’s interest in drawing is a waste of time. And she told her that nice needlework is fine for a woman who sits around all day with nothing important to do. Yet she turned your home into a living memorial to Belinda, who apparently loved needlework. Look at the fuss she caused over the tablecloths. Yes, she might have been trying to punish you, and I have no doubt that she wanted me to feel unwelcome.” Emily felt safe in saying that now that Cora would be leaving. “It’s odd that she wanted a soft life for Belinda, even though she scoffs at it. Still, I don’t think she’d have done all that if she didn’t feel guilty, too.”

  Luke stared at her, comprehension dawning in his eyes, and a kind of relief, too, as if she’d conferred a benediction on his soul. “I never thought about it that way.”

  She nodded, as if praising a bright student who had worked out a complicated problem. “Sometimes when we’re too close to a situation, it’s hard to be objective about it. To see it as it really is. I’m an outsider so I can be a better observer.”

  “You’re not an outsider, Emily,” he said, and stared at the whiskey he’d poured into his glass. “Your name is Becker now, just like mine, and just like Rose’s.”

  A flush of confusion and gratitude swelled in Emily’s chest. Sharing a name didn’t necessarily make one part of a family—after all, Robert Cannon had given her his name, but she never really felt like his daughter. This was a step in the right direction, though. At least she hoped it was.

  He drank the second shot of whiskey in one gulp, like the first, and set the glass upside down on the step next to him. “I never saw any of this coming when I got up this morning. Like I said, it’s been a hell of a day.”

  Emily could see it in his profile. The weariness that always lingered behind his eyes seemed more pronounced than ever. “I can’t argue with that.”

  He turned to looked at her, a wry smile pulling at his mouth. A chuckle worked its way up from his chest and he laughed. “You’re a rare one, Emily-gal. You’re a rare one.” Then without warning, he laid his head in her lap, as if too tired to sit upright any longer. Instinctively, she wanted to stroke his dark curls. The instant she felt his soft hair, she pulled her hand away, fearful of the heat that traveled up her arm and the tug she felt in her heart.

  Luke wondered if he’d felt the caress of Emily’s touch, or simply imagined it because he needed it so desperately. Upstairs, the window slammed in Cora’s bedroom, breaking the soft spell of the balmy spring night. He realized that she’d probably been listening to every word he and Emily had said. He didn’t
care anymore. He supposed he should try to maintain some kind of relationship with her for Rose’s sake, but too many things had been said. Too much had happened. Once Cora was gone—and he would see to it that she left because he intended to drive her home first thing in the morning—they’d have a little peace in the house. Suddenly, nothing sounded more appealing.

  Much as he didn’t want to, Luke lifted his head from Emily’s comfortable lap and stood up. “I’d guess I’d better check the stock one more time and then get to bed. Morning will come soon enough.” He turned to set off for the barn, then stopped and turned to face Emily. “I really did appreciate your help today.” He took her smooth hand from her lap and pressed a kiss into her palm. It was soft and warm against his lips, and made him want to linger. But he couldn’t. “I wish I had more to give you,” he said. “More than my name.” More than the shell of his broken heart. She deserved it. But he feared he would never love anyone again except Rose. He picked up the glass and the bottle and went down the steps.

  He didn’t see her press her palm to her cheek, as if to hold his kiss there. He didn’t know about the disappointment on her face—an expression of hopes dashed—as she watched him walk away.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Well, I’ve been waiting.” Cora sat alone at the kitchen table, drumming her fingers. Luke stood in the doorway, buttoning his shirt. He’d just come downstairs to start his day. The sun was still only a promise on the eastern horizon, and the morning stars had not yet blinked out.

  That was Cora. Surly to the end.

  By her feet stood her valise and three years’ worth of belongings, including some of Belinda’s things, tied up with a length of rope like a cowboy’s bedroll. He thought that Rose might like to have her mother’s keepsakes, but decided to leave the subject be. Thank God Rose was still asleep and Emily had chosen to stay upstairs. There was no telling how ugly this could get if Cora had an audience.

  “Waiting for what, Cora?” Not for his change of heart, he hoped. She’d see the next blue moon before he’d ask her to stay here.

  “For you to drive me home, of course. Unless you expect me to walk.” She started to push her chair away from the table.

  He sighed. “No, I don’t. I was planning to take you.” He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot she had brewed and sat across from her. He drizzled a measure of cream and spooned two sugars into the thick black murk of hers that he’d learned to drink. “Look, I’m sorry about the way this has all turned out.”

  She responded by staying in her seat and pressing her thin lips into a white crease above her chin.

  He hadn’t expected this to be easy, and she wasn’t disappointing him. He forged ahead. “I appreciate all your help over the past three years. You pulled us through a real hard time—we were the better for your being here.” It was an exaggeration, but Luke wanted to be big about this. “I’ll keep helping out around your place. That won’t change. And if you need anything, just let me know. You’re still Rose’s grandmother and it’s important that you and she stay close. I know she’ll want to stop by after school sometimes, and come to see you when school lets out.”

  “Are you sure Mrs. Becker won’t mind? After all, she’s taken over now,” she sniped. Last night, both Rose and Emily had told him about her reaction to Rose’s drawing. It had only reinforced his decision to send Cora home.

  He bracketed his coffee cup with his elbows. “What happened yesterday started way before Emily ever got here. Way before I placed that advertisement for a new wife.”

  She fixed him with her small, hard blue eyes. “You’re right. It started the day you married Belinda.”

  He drew a deep breath. “Then it should be over now, shouldn’t it. Belinda is dead and gone.” It sounded harsh to his own ears, and yet freeing too. It was the first time he’d been able to state aloud that his first wife had died. It was as if at this moment, his mourning ended and a new beginning waited for him.

  That left Cora with nothing more to say. She adjusted her battered straw hat and stood up. “Dead and gone. Just like that. All right, I’m going too.”

  He nodded. “I’ll hitch the team and bring the wagon around.”

  Cora watched him go out the door and down the steps. He crossed the yard and she waited, her back teeth snapped together like a bear trap. “But this isn’t over, Luke Becker,” she murmured. “Not yet.”

  ~~*~*~*~~

  From her bedroom window, Emily watched as Luke pulled the wagon out into the road. Pink and yellow fingers of dawn stretched out from the eastern sky, providing enough light to see the dark silhouettes of the wagon and Luke and Cora. Emily had remained upstairs, certain that her presence in the kitchen would not be welcome or appropriate. Maybe with enough time and healing, the four of them could reach a truce. Right now, though, there were hard feelings all around.

  But Cora’s leaving gave Emily a sense of a new beginning in so many ways. She stood at her square of mirror and braided her hair. Then she opened the doors of her wardrobe and studied one of her day dresses. Her period of mourning Alyssa was not fulfilled, but she let her hand linger on a lavender muslin gown with a linen collar and cuffs. It would be cooler and more practical for household chores than the black crepe. And it looked better. It wasn’t dirty or streaked with variegated shades of black.

  “Alyssa, please forgive me,” she murmured and pulled out the lavender dress. Perhaps those who were mourned were not as worried about appearances and dictums as those who did the mourning. Maybe—and this was a revolutionary and rebellious thought for Emily—maybe in heaven or wherever the souls of the departed flew to, the complex manmade observations of proper social conduct seemed as mundane and insignificant as the doings of microscopic beings seemed to humans.

  So in the cool morning light, Emily dropped the broadcloth over her head, let it slide down her chemise and her legs, and buttoned the bodice. Then she tied her apron around her waist and opened her bedroom door.

  Her first stop was Luke’s room. She hesitated a moment, just as she had the one other time that she’d put her hand on his doorknob. She drew a breath and lifted her chin. Regardless of the arrangement between them, she was the lady of the house now that Cora had left, and with the title came responsibilities and obligations. One of those responsibilities included making beds. So with a sense of belonging and purpose, she turned the knob and walked in. But to her surprise, the bed was already made.

  “Well, for heaven’s sake—” she muttered to herself.

  She plumped the pillows and straightened the already-tidy quilt, feeling a little deflated. She tried to imagine sharing this room with him, but it was so small and austere, it didn’t look as if a woman had ever occupied it. It was as plain and unadorned as always. This time, though, she noticed that Belinda’s vanity set was gone. Only the wedding photograph remained and it was turned, as if someone had pushed it aside while reaching for something else.

  She left the room and went down the hall to Rose’s bedroom. Opening the door a crack, she saw that the girl still slept. Her dark head was barely visible in the nest of bedding. Poor thing, Emily thought. She’d lost her grandmother and her pet on the same day. Emily wasn’t even sure if Cora had bothered to tell her goodbye. She hoped she had.

  Emily proceeded downstairs and got breakfast started. She had to hunt for a while to find everything she needed since Cora had never let her do much in the kitchen. Finally she had a bowl, flour, salt, baking powder, and milk assembled on the table to make pancakes, then realized she would need eggs.

  And that would mean a trip to the henhouse.

  In Chicago, even when the Cannons had been forced to live in rented rooms, street vendors came by selling eggs, butter, and milk. Or she could buy eggs from one of the families that kept chickens in their backyards. Now the chickens were in her backyard and she was scared to death of them. At least she was afraid of the hens. Her memory of that day in the henhouse—the stifling odor, the sharp beaks and claws, the flap
ping wings—was acute, like a nightmare she’d suffered only hours earlier. Every few minutes, she glanced out the window, looking for Luke and the wagon. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind taking over the task of gathering eggs for her. After all, he’d scolded her for even going out there that day.

  Cora is the only one who knows how to handle that mean old biddy.

  Then she remembered how she’d resented being talked to as if she were a child. If she was going to do a proper job of running this house, she would have to manage the bad and the good. Luke had enough to do out in the fields. She wasn’t afraid of hard work, and sometimes that meant doing dirty work. She knew full well that life consisted of more than just tea parties and nicely-appointed dining tables, something Alyssa had never really had to learn, at least not for a long time. Yes, she’d been aware of their reduced circumstances, and had stood on the sidewalk and wept the day they left the house on Washington Boulevard. And Charles Walker had eventually called off his engagement to Alyssa when he realized that the Cannons had tumbled from their social position. But she had stayed home and taken care of their father while Emily had gone to work and supported them. In fairness to her sister, Emily didn’t suppose that had been an easy chore, especially toward the end of Father’s life.

  She eyed the egg basket on its shelf next to the back door. To cook breakfast she would need eggs, and she would go get them, by heaven. She snatched the basket from the shelf and marched out the door and down the backstairs, full of grand resolve.

  The grass and wild flowers that grew on each side of the wide path to the barn bore crystals of dew that sparkled in the early morning sun. Looking out across the plowed fields, she noted long, arrow-straight rows of new green plants, all well-tended, almost lovingly so. How did Luke make those rows so straight? she wondered. What landmark did he use as a guide? It seemed like an amazing accomplishment for someone working with the simple tools of a plow and a pair of horses.

  The pastoral hush of the morning was an unexpected balm to her spirit. The house and the outbuildings were in good repair, and Luke put food on the table every night. Yes, he took a drink now and then, but his life had been hard and lonely, from what Emily could tell. He loved his daughter with a sometimes befuddled but fatherly devotion that she wished she had known in her youth. What, then, had Cora found so lacking in him? she wondered. She’d have thought that a mother would be proud, even relieved, to have such a son-in-law. But Cora’s bitterness seemed to reach to the very core of her heart, like a tooth rotten to the roots.