Perfect Wedding

by Duncan, Alice

  Hamilton tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and guided her toward the stairs. “It’s a lovely Sunday morning, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, it’s a fine day.” A little chilly, but that was to be expected in the autumn. Also, the day was gray and glum, overcast and threatening rain. She supposed many people favored rainy days. Perhaps Hamilton was one of them.

  “And the choir’s anthem today is one of my favorites.”

  “Aye, it’s a pretty one.”

  In truth, Marjorie didn’t much care for “Nearer My God to Thee,” because every time she heard it, she remembered the night she’d lost her one true love. The Titanic’s orchestra had played to the bitter end, and all the musicians had died for their efforts. It was one of the tunes she’d heard as she and Leonard had parted for the last time. She found it difficult to keep from crying when she sang it, and she wasn’t looking forward to the experience today.

  “I do love autumn,” Hamilton said brightly, thumping his thin chest. “Makes me feel alive.”

  “Ah.” And what, Marjorie asked herself, was a body supposed to say to that? She hadn’t a notion.

  Fortunately, she was spared an answer, because they entered the church and there were other people to smile at and greet and shake hands with. Hamilton seemed reluctant to release her arm, but he did, thank God. After saying hello to several acquaintances, Marjorie hurried to the choir room to don her robe, Hamilton hard on her heels.

  As luck would have it, the first person she met in the choir room was Ginger Collins. Because she could perceive no polite alternative—anyhow, it was Ginger who had the problem, not Marjorie—she smiled graciously. “Good morning, Ginger.”

  “Good morning, Marjorie.”

  One could have iced a drink with Ginger’s tone of voice. Marjorie hated it when people had a grievance against her. Most of her life had been spent in an effort to avoid such conditions. The fact that Ginger’s grievance wasn’t her fault bucked her up only slightly.

  When Ginger, robed and with her choir book clutched to her bosom, pushed past her to go to the stairs to the choir loft, Marjorie sighed.

  “What’s the matter with her?” Hamilton stared after Ginger in plain bafflement.

  You, thought Marjorie. She said, “I don’t know.”

  The choir would proceed to their assigned chairs while singing the introit as soon as Reverend Sargent greeted the congregation. It was a tradition.

  Tradition. Sometimes it seemed to Marjorie as if tradition was the only thing that held the battered bits of her internal self together. She valued it this morning as she’d seldom had reason to in recent days. She prayed hard during the opening prayer, too, asking the Lord for strength to survive this present chaos in her life. Not to mention the strength to resist Jason’s embraces and her own unladylike impulses.

  Not for Marjorie MacTavish Loretta’s devotion to free love. Whatever that was.

  And then she opened her eyes and beheld Jason himself, sitting halfway down the right-hand row of pews, his neck twisted, and his bright blue eyes sparkling directly at her. At once, she squeezed her own eyes shut and sent another, desperate, prayer to the heavens. Her fervent prayer didn’t keep her from hearing a feminine snort from the row behind her. Ginger. Second soprano. Who had also spotted Jason in the congregation. Wonderful. Simply bluidy wonderful.

  She managed to get through the church service somehow. So alarmed was she by Jason’s unexpected appearance in church, of all unlikely places, that she didn’t even think about Leonard as she sang the soprano part to “Nearer My God to Thee.” Small mercy. Now she had to face Jason. A mere day after she’d made a total fool of herself with him. On her own bed. In Loretta’s house. How would she ever live it down?

  Having no clue how to answer that question, Marjorie endured. Every now and then, Marjorie entertained the caustic notion that that’s what she’d done all her life: endure. A little enjoyment now and then wouldn’t be unwelcome.

  Except that she wasn’t sure she knew how to enjoy things anymore. How pathetic.

  Reverend Sargent, an ardent speaker of whose sermon on this morning Marjorie hadn’t heard a word, said the last prayer, intoned the last “Amen,” and Marjorie and the choir stood for the choral benediction.

  And then it was over, and she had to face her doom. That is to say, she had to face Jason. For only a moment, Marjorie wondered if anyone would notice if she remained in the choir loft for the rest of the day. A glance at the congregation, surging toward the sanctuary door, and of Jason, who had stood and was now posed rather like a statue and staring at her from his pew, disabused her of that notion in a hurry.

  “Marjorie, you sounded simply wonderful today. You’re in superior voice, my dear.” Hamilton took her arm.

  He would. “Thank you.” Wanting to shake off the fellow’s hand, but knowing she was being unreasonable, Marjorie again endured. Fortunately, the choir had their own hallway leading to the choir room, so she could take her time as she hung up her choir robe and readied herself for public inspection once more. With the no-doubt ridiculous hope that Jason would get bored and go away before she showed herself in street clothes, Marjorie dawdled. To her dismay, Hamilton dawdled with her.

  Then again, perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing that Marjorie should face Jason with Hamilton at her side. His presence would at least prevent Jason from making snide references to her moral lapse of the preceding day. Or perhaps it wouldn’t. Jason didn’t possess the respect for social structure and manners that most people exhibited.

  “Are you ready, my dear?”

  Why did he persist in calling her his dear? Bother. “Aye. I’m ready.” She took Hamilton’s arm, thinking that not even Jason would allude to a passionate interlude in front of another man. Would he?

  She sucked in air when she realized she was going to discover the answer to that question in only a few seconds.

  “I say, Marjorie, isn’t that your friend Dr. Abernathy?”

  Marjorie glanced at Hamilton sharply. He didn’t sound as disappointed as Marjorie might have anticipated he would. Another puzzle, and one she didn’t feel like thinking about at the moment. Turning back to the people gathered in Fellowship Hall for refreshments after the service, she spotted Jason. “Aye.” She sighed. “It’s he.” Confound the man.

  “Fellow seems to be hanging around you a lot lately, Marjorie. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Another sharp glance at Hamilton informed Marjorie that he was enjoying the situation. His pale blue eyes were bright, although his smile looked fairly tense. Perhaps he was only young and unsure of what to do in the face of a rival. If Jason was a rival. If Hamilton was a rival. Marjorie didn’t bolt in the opposite direction as she was tempted to do and was proud of herself.

  One thing was for certain: there was no escape. Jason had spotted them, frowned, and was now marching straight at them, reminding Marjorie of a Cavalry charge she’d see in a motion picture recently. Before he was close enough to do so properly, he spoke. “Marjorie!”

  Everyone in the hall turned to see who had spoken so loudly. Marjorie winced before she could stop herself, faked a smile, hurried to meet Jason, dragging Hamilton with her, and hissed at him, “Don’t yell at me, confound you!”

  “Sorry.” Appearing neither sorry nor happy, Jason glared at Hamilton. “St. Claire.”

  Returning Jason’s glare with a silly grin, Hamilton said, “Dr. Abernathy.” He didn’t let go of Marjorie’s arm.

  Since Hamilton didn’t appear willing to release Marjorie’s arm into Jason’s custody in spite of his threatening scowl, Jason said, “Listen, Marjorie, I need to talk to you. Right away. It’s important.”

  She just betted it was. “Now?” She put as much incredulity and scorn into the one word as she was able.

  “Yes, now.” It didn’t seem fair to Marjorie that Jason should be able to out-scorn her without even trying.

  Marjorie wavered for only a few seconds. Although she didn’t want to
be alone with Jason again, ever, for as long as she lived, she knew they had to discuss the Jia Lee situation.

  Perhaps he’d found another place to hide the poor girl. A happy notion. And possible.

  Perhaps he wanted to discuss strategies for keeping Jia Lee and the Quarleses safe. Less likely, but also possible.

  Perhaps he wanted to apologize for putting her in a compromising position. Not bluidy likely.

  Nevertheless, she recognized her duty when she saw it, even if it did entail speaking with Jason privately. “Vurra weel,” she muttered, he Scots coming out in force, as it did when she was perturbed.

  “If you don’t care to speak with this fellow, Marjorie . . .” Hamilton let the sentence hang.

  Irrational annoyance with Hamilton warred with gratitude that he should be willing to take up the cudgels of righteousness on her behalf. She opted to demonstrate gratitude. “No, no. I really mun—must—speak with Dr. Abernathy for a moment.” Judging from Hamilton’s lifted eyebrows that he couldn’t understand why she should be interested in a private conversation with a doctor, she added lamely, “It’s about the bairns, ye see.”

  “Yes,” Jason said with much emphasis, ignoring Hamilton’s unbelieving eyebrows and taking Marjorie’s other arm. He yanked on it. “We need to discuss the babies. Loretta needs help.”

  And with that esoteric comment, Jason managed to tug Marjorie away from Hamilton, not without a small stumble on Marjorie’s part. “Stap hailing on me, ye pernicious gudgeon!”

  Stopping short so abruptly that she bumped into him, Jason muttered, “Sorry.” He turned to glower at her. “What the devil were you doing with that ridiculous jackass?”

  With a step back and a tug at her vest-like waist, Marjorie matched him glower for glower. “We sing in the choir together, ye daft nyaff. And he’s’na ridiculous jackass!” Casting a glance around, she hoped no one else had overheard her indelicate speech. Drat Jason Abernathy forevermore!

  “Bah. Come here.” Taking her hand, Jason pulled her toward the back of the room. “Damn it, now everybody’s staring at us.”

  “I wonder why.” Marjorie might have toasted the words before handing them to Jason, they were so dry. “I’m sure we’re all accustomed to seeing men yank women all over church halls.”

  Jason stopped, turned, and released Marjorie’s hand. He threw a guilty glance around Fellowship Hall. Sure enough, at least half the congregation was staring, shocked, in his direction. Hamilton St. Claire scowled at him from across the room. “Sorry, Marjorie. Guess I got carried away for a minute.”

  “I’m the one who got carried away,” Marjorie pointed out. “And if you want to speak to me privately, I might suggest you be more subtle next time.”

  With a roll of his eyes, Jason said, “Yeah, yeah. I said I was sorry. But listen, Marjorie, we really do need to talk.”

  Marjorie’s chest lurched suddenly and painfully. If he was going to chat about that kiss, she might just have to hit him with her handbag, ruining her forever in the eyes of her church. If he wanted to discuss the problem of Jia Lee, she could survive without doing violence to his person. “About what?”

  “About what?” Jason goggled at her, something Marjorie resented greatly.

  “Yes, ye haggis-headed gudgeon, about what? That poor—” She broke off speaking when she saw Jason’s hideous grimace. He was right, drat him. She shouldn’t speak of Jia Lee in public, even at a whisper, which she hadn’t actually been doing. Trying to make up for it, she hissed, “I meant, do you want to talk about the lotus?”

  “Let’s get out of here.” Again, Jason grabbed her hand.

  She managed to shake him off with some difficulty. “Let me say good-bye to my friends first. If you don’t want to stir up interest, you’re going about this rather the wrong way, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, for . . . you’re right, damn it.”

  “And don’t swear in church.”

  “We’re not in church anymore. We’re in . . .” Jason looked around and waved his hand. “Whatever this place is.”

  “It’s the fellowship hall, ye daffle-brained gudgeon.” And with that, and assuming an air of confidence she was far from feeling, Marjorie smiled graciously, as if she were taking leave of a friend for a moment, and headed back into the fray. It was a very embarrassing thing to do, thanks to Jason’s having called unwonted attention to the two of them, but she braved it out.

  Naturally, Hamilton and Ginger wanted to know what the fuss was about. “And why did he grab you like that?” Ginger giggled slyly. “Don’t tell me you’re secret lovers, Marjorie.”

  Marjorie refrained from kicking the infuriating, nitwitted, bird-brained twit with her pointy-toed shoe. “Don’t be daft, Ginger.” Her tone was more curt than usual. “I’ve been helping Dr. Abernathy at his clinic, and he needs my assistance today.” It wasn’t too much of a lie. She had helped him there once. And he did need her assistance.

  “I thought you were talking about the Quarleses’ children,” Hamilton said, confirming Marjorie in her opinion that he was rather a pest occasionally.

  “That, too,” she said through her teeth.

  Ginger’s pretty little nose wrinkled up. “I don’t know how you can bear to do work like that, Marjorie. And on Chinamen, too.”

  “No,” said Marjorie coldly. “I’m sure you don’t.”

  “I think Miss MacTavish is a noble soul,” Hamilton said. Although she appreciated the sentiment, his tone of voice was somewhat too syrupy for Marjorie’s taste, and she glanced at him sharply. He appeared to be sincere. “But what’s this I’ve heard lately about trouble in the Chinese district, Marjorie? Are you quite sure you’ll be safe there?”

  Since she discerned nothing but honest concern in the question, Marjorie smiled when she replied. “Indeed, I’ll be quite safe there. Dr. Abernathy and his assistant will be at the clinic, you see, and the Chinese in the neighborhood appreciate their work very much.” She didn’t add that, at the moment, she considered Chinatown a good deal safer than her home with the Quarleses in the upper-crust Russian Hill district.

  “Dr. Abernathy’s assistant is another Chinaman.” Ginger sniffed. “What good will he be?”

  Marjorie didn’t react to Ginger’s statement. Rather, she turned to Hamilton. “What have you heard about the troubles in Chinatown, Mr. St. Claire? I’m surprised you’ve heard anything at all.”

  Hamilton waved a well-manicured hand in the air. “Oh, you know, I’m a lawyer. We hear all sorts of things. And the situation has been written about in the local newspapers recently, too.”

  “Really? I don’t recall seeing anything about them.” Marjorie tried to recall articles concerning the tong troubles, but couldn’t.

  With a chuckle, Hamilton said, “Oh, my office subscribes to many papers and journals I’m sure you ladies have never heard of.”

  A spark of resentment rose in Marjorie’s breast, no doubt as a result of her association with Loretta. She didn’t offer Hamilton a sarcastic rebuttal of his implied slur against women’s abilities to comprehend social problems, as Loretta would have done. She merely smiled and said, “I’m sure.”

  As soon as possible after that, she made her escape. Jason had been leaning against the back wall of Fellowship Hall, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression black, and his foot tapping impatiently. He did speak civilly to the Proctors, but he didn’t extend himself any farther than that. Marjorie joined him, with a frown as dark as his.

  “If you want to keep your dealings wi’ me a secret, Jason Abernathy, you’re going around it in a very queer way.”

  “I don’t want to keep my dealings with you a secret, for God’s sake!”

  “Shhhh.”

  Lowering his voice, Jason said, “I only want to keep one aspect of them a secret.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Anyhow, why should we try to hide our relationship? We’re in the play together, aren’t we?”

  Their relationship? Marjorie squinted at Jaso
n. Did they have a relationship? What kind of relationship? Although she was dying to know what he meant by the comment, she didn’t dare ask. “Where are we going?” she asked instead.

  “I’m taking you to lunch. We can be private in a booth at a restaurant I know nearby.”

  She didn’t object. In fact, the notion of being private with Jason held a strange—and dangerous—appeal. She didn’t even object when he led her down the street and toward a restaurant that obviously served Chinese fare. After all, she’d eaten Chinese before and lived through the ordeal.

  Besides, she’d survived piroshki, hadn’t she? Could chow mein be any worse?

  Chapter Twelve

  The aroma of Chinese food should have made Jason’s mouth water. It usually did. Today, he couldn’t stir up much appetite for anything but the woman seated opposite him in a tucked-away booth of Quan Den’s Chop Suey House.

  Gilded Chinese paintings hung on the wall, and a scratchy gramophone played recorded Chinese music. Jason wondered where the owners had found such things. Hong Kong or Shanghai, probably, imported via ship, as were most Chinese goods. Including girls. Most recorded-music shops didn’t carry much in the way of Chinese music, even here, in San Francisco.

  “So what do you propose?” Marjorie sat, stiff and prim, in the seat opposite his. Her lips scarcely moved when she asked the question, and she hadn’t made a move to pick up her spoon. This boded ill.

  Jason also wished she hadn’t used that word. It was too close for comfort to what he’d been wanting to. Not, naturally, that he’d ever ask Marjorie, of all people, to marry him. No matter how much he lusted after her.

  “I don’t know.” He scowled into his bowl of egg-drop soup. Better than scowling at Marjorie. Each of the booths in this small restaurant were made private by a screen of hanging beaded strings. A few tables were set in the middle of the restaurant for those who didn’t need or want to be private. The dim electrical lights on the ceiling made colors dance across Marjorie’s face, giving her a mysterious air. Not that she wasn’t mysterious anyway, given her aloofness and defensiveness, but she looked even more so today.