by Freda, Paula
He sat a respectable distance from her. "I've carefully thought over your proposal." Herb noted a tremble to her lips. She seemed frightened, as if dreading his reply. He asked, "Your proposal still stands?"
She met his gaze. He saw a glimmer of hope enter her green eyes. She hadn't changed her mind, he thought gratefully. "For all the wrong reasons," he said, "and for all the right reasons — I accept your proposal."
Her eyes widened felicitously and her lips smiled her appreciation. He was glad she couldn't read his thoughts, his determination not to consummate the marriage until he was certain that her friendship had turned to love, giving them both the freedom to annul their vows if they augured unhappiness.
CHAPTER NINE
One month to the day that Herb accepted Carol's offer of marriage, she waited in the vestibule of the Basilica of our Lady/Notre Dame, watching her bridal party move up the nave of the small Cathedral toward the Altar, to the tune of the Wedding March, to join Herb and his Best Man and closest friend, Jonathan, along with the Priest in his gold and white chasuble. Alouette, in her pink scoop-necked frilly gown adorned at the waist with a large satin bow, her dark brown curls piled princess-like at the top of her head, stood in front of Carol. Beside Alouette, the best man's bored six-year-old son, stiff in his child's tuxedo, toyed with the white silk cushion dented at the center where the wedding rings were to be placed for the blessing at the altar.
"Stop fidgeting," Alouette told the boy. "You'll wrinkle the pillow."
Andrew wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue at her. Alouette ignored him and turned to admire her new mother in her white silk wedding gown. A-Line shaped from below the off-shoulder bodice down to her toes, the gown was covered in mini white rosebuds and mother of pearl beads that matched the adornments on the tiara and the long veil with the detachable blusher temporarily covering her face. Alouette, particularly proud of their similar hairdo's, would have loved dark amber blonde hair like Carol's.
The organist paused playing, then upped the volume to indicate the bride beginning her walk down the aisle. Alouette smiled at her new grandfather as he offered his arm to Carol. Grandpa Mark, she thought, so handsome and debonair, silver-grey-haired. Grandma Cybelle waited at the front of the church, in the pew with the bride's side of the family, along with aunts and uncles, whose names she hadn't yet learned. With them were her closest friends from the orphanage, with Sister Ambrose in charge.
In the pews on the groom's side were her father's parents, Grandpa Thomas and Grandma Helen, and more uncles and aunts. Alouette beamed with joy. Her gaze shifting to the statue up high above the Tabernacle, she thanked the Mother of Jesus whom the image represented. Her prayers had been answered beyond all expectations. The miracle had been set into motion.
"Okay, sweetheart, let's go," Carol said. She adjusted her bouquet of white roses to lie evenly in front of her gown. "Andrew, you follow Alouette. Hold the pillow straight in front of you, as you practiced at the rehearsal. As soon as we reach the altar, your dad will place our wedding rings on the pillow for the Priest's blessing." She winked at the two children. "Let's go," she said, slipping her arm under Mark's and matching her steps to his.
All had gone well, Carol contemplated as she walked slowly with her father down the aisle toward the altar where Herb waited. They had obtained their marriage license at City Hall; the adoption papers had been signed.
Alouette was now, under the law, officially their daughter. Herb's legal skills had shortened the adoption process considerably. The wedding bands had been read in their respective parishes at home, and all that remained for Herb and herself to be fully considered married under their religious convictions, was the ceremony about to happen. All had gone smoothly, but what surprised her the most, was her calmness and resolve this past month. She'd felt no pre-wedding jitters, in complete control of all the wedding arrangements. Her father had insisted on organizing a lavish wedding reception in Geneva, at an exclusive banquet hall of seventeenth century ambiance. Except perhaps for Cybelle, exercising her mother's prerogative of giving her daughter a bounty of advice and instruction in the marriage state, which Carol bore patiently, her nerves in regard to her upcoming wedding felt comfortably numb.
Herb also had shown no worries about the upcoming wedding. Cool as a cucumber, was the expression that came to her mind. Once he accepted her proposal, he went contentedly along with her plans and that of her parents. Even now, as he waited for her at the altar with his best man at his side, he appeared tranquil and contented. Wasn't a groom supposed to show some kind of nervousness?
It hit her, in one fell swoop, all the wedding pre-nervousness and pre-jitters cascaded over her like the torrents of a river pouring over the edge of a waterfall.
She stopped walking. Mark felt the tug of her arm. "Carol, what's wrong?"
"Dad, what am I doing?"
"Sweetheart, you're marrying a wonderful man who's loved you forever."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"As sure as any father can hope to be," Mark replied.
"Do you think he'll make me happy?" she asked, her mind suddenly not thinking clearly.
"Aren't you in love with him?"
She didn't answer. The organist in the choir turned, aware of the sudden palpable silence among the congregation, and missed a note.
Carol was close enough to see Herb's face. Not an ounce of worry on his face. And then, he simply nodded, and smiled reassuringly. The torrent of nerves flowing over her quelled. His smile had told her, it's okay, Carol. You're okay. I'm here, I'll protect you. I'm not Evan. I'm your Herbert DeLuca.
She became aware that the organist had stopped playing, and everyone stood watching her with puzzled expressions. Cybelle at the front had slipped from the pew to come to her. Carol took a deep breath. "I'm fine, Dad. Sorry about that. Temporary amnesia," she chuckled to reassure him. "Let's go." They resumed walking. A concerted sigh filled the church and the organist resumed playing until father and daughter reached the altar.
Mark exchanged a benevolent glance with Herb, then turned to his daughter and lifted the blusher tier over her head. He studied her face, as if imprinting her wedding image indelibly on his mind. He kissed her on the cheek and then turned to Herb. "Here she is, son." He placed her hand into Herb's. "Take good care of my daughter."
"I will," Herb said.
Bride and groom faced the Priest standing below the life-size Jesus crucified hanging from the frescoed ceiling above them.
CHAPTER TEN
Carol and Herb opted for the traditional wedding vows. They both agreed that anything more, considering their history, would feel unrealistic. Once the momentary panic Carol experienced as she walked down the aisle arm in arm with her father had passed, her poise and self-control returned. Like Herb, she spoke her vows without hesitation.
Cybelle, relieved, whispered to Mark when he'd rejoined her in the pew, "What happened?"
"A momentary brain freeze. She's alright now."
Cybelle said, "I caught the reassuring smile Herb sent her. He is the right man for her, I'm sure of it."
"I agree," Mark said. "She just hasn't quite determined that as yet."
Cybelle sighed. "Oh Mark, I hope she realizes it before she loses him."
"She has to fall in love with him, first," Mark said.
"She is in love with him. Just hasn't realized it yet. I know my daughter."
Mark chuckled under his breath. "You ought to know her," he teased. "She's a lot like you. Remember?"
Cybelle's chin rose a tad haughtily. "Yes, I remember. But I had the common sense to know we loved each other, way before you did."
Yes, he remembered as well. For a moment, he forgot his kin in the pews around them, and saw only the lovely face of his wife, not so young anymore, the grey streaks in her chocolate-brown hair attesting to her age, but she retained the impish smile, the flashing dark eyes, the popcorn character so opposite his colonial reserve that had disarmed him completely. He kis
sed her gently on the lips, a quick kiss, wishing he were home with her, alone.
The haughty tilt to her chin eased and he read the love for him in her eyes. Content, he shifted his attention back to the altar, where Carol and Herb were exchanging wedding rings and finishing their vows.
With a final blessing, the Reverend Father made the sign of the cross over the couple, as he announced, "I now declare you husband and wife in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
A Nuptial Mass followed. Cybelle had pleaded with her daughter to celebrate the wedding with the Holy Mass. "You and Herb will need all the spiritual help you can get," she told Carol.
The photo shoot on the steps of the Basilica, the congratulations and the family hugs, and the reception at the gala hall overlooking the Lake. It all went as planned. A bit of blur with so many faces and well-wishes. Most vivid in Carol's mind, her mother, her father, her two brothers, Henry and Richard, younger than her, both college grads, and her sister Jessica, who had recently graduated high school. All wishing her happiness, along with Herb's mother and father, the offspring of Italian immigrants who had come to the United States shortly after World War II, attained their citizenship, and only recently passed away. Herb's parents, brought up steeped in Italian tradition, in turn had reared Herb and his siblings in like fashion. So the hugs and kisses from his family were extra tight and heartily affectionate. And as most receptions where the majority of guests were of Italian descent, theirs did not lack for good food, American contemporary, as well as Italian music and dancing, good natured, spirited fanfare that included the traditional tarantella.
Not until they entered their hotel late in the evening, still in their wedding clothes, and the clerk at the desk greeted them with, "Welcome Mr. and Mrs DeLuca. Your Honeymoon Suite is all ready for you, along with your Do Not Disturb sign," did Carol tense. Glancing at Herb didn't help this time as it had when she'd panicked on her way to the altar. Herb, not drunk, but definitely feeling no pain, wore a grin of anticipation that made her feel as though her heart were plummeting into her stomach.
She tried to smile as she joined Herb in a thank you to the clerk, while loathing the epicurean wink he sent Herb. The smile died on her lips and she swallowed nervously. Inside the elevator, Herb placed his arm around her waist in an affectionate hug and nearly undid any sliver of composure left in her.
As Herb used the keycard to open the door to their suite, Carol poised herself to run for the bathroom, and lock it securely behind her. Before she could put one foot in front of the other, Herb swept her into his arms and carried her over the threshold. Nuzzling her ear and whispering, "My sweet wife," he carried her into the bedroom and placed her gently on the large heart-shaped bed.
I'm finished, Carol thought, my life is over. She closed her eyes and waited, a lamb to the slaughter.
The ornate clock on the dresser clicked the seconds. Carol counted them, along with Herb's footsteps padding softly on the plush carpet. She heard him undressing. Finally, "You really should change to your nightgown. Sleeping in that gown is sure to give you a backache."
She didn't reply. She envisioned his coming over to remove the gown. She kept her eyes closed and waited. He was after all her husband, and this was their wedding night. He'd done everything she asked and she owed him. She wouldn't expect him to know that she had never slept with a man due to her moral upbringing and her desire to save herself for the man she hoped to marry, in her case, Evan. She bit her lower lip. Mustn't think about him now. He belongs to Julie, and I belong to Herb. Small comfort, when all she wanted at this moment was to pass out and blame it on exhaustion.
"Well, as for me," Herb went on, "I'm tired. It's been a long day and I need my rest."
She heard him slip under the covers, and yawn sleepily. "This is a most comfortable bed. Goodnight sweet wife."
Another hundred ticks of the clock and all she heard was the steady rhythm of his breathing.
Carol opened her eyes and sat up, turned and gazed at her husband fast asleep. Stomach churning and hackles rising, she gasped. "Well, I never —"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Married six weeks, Carol studied her reflection in the mirror over her vanity. She hadn't been sleeping well and looked it. If I keep this up, she pondered waifully, I'll grow bags under my eyes and become even less attractive to Herb. She sighed, turning to glance at their recently purchased queen-sized bed. For the present, they had chosen to live in Herb's garden apartment, not far from her parents' home in Garrison, New York.
Herb was in the bathroom, shaving. It was a Saturday, and Alouette was still asleep in the guestroom they had redecorated into a nine-year-old's toy-filled bedroom with dolls and games she had never believed to own during her years at the orphanage. At least Alouette was happy and daily expressing her gratitude to her new parents. Herb had easily fallen into the role of a father. Unfortunately, not so easily into the role of a husband. And that made no sense to her, Carole thought, mouth tightening into a pout. And this from the man who had professed to love her as long as he could remember.
Wearing her loveliest, sheerest negligees, babydolls, and her most expensive perfumes, seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever. She refused to accept that perhaps she didn't know him as well as she thought. His occasional dates had always involved elegant women. He'd never been attracted to anyone of his own gender. And he had professed his love and yearning for her since his first of several proposals to her. No, she thought adamantly. Perhaps, according to one of Aesop's teachings, it was a matter of finally achieving his dream of having her all to himself, and, finding she simply did not measure up to his expectations, he was no longer attracted to her.
They needed to talk, but she was afraid to broach the subject. As unlikely as it seemed, what if the problem was only his fear that she might find him unattractive, or that she was solely in this marriage for Alouette, or plain shyness on his part. She might cause him to draw away from her completely.
One thing she hadn't tried. Outside of her marriage proposal to Herb, making physical intimate advances wasn't her style. She expected and preferred he would initiate intimacy. The thought itself brought a blush to her cheeks. Her act of the modern, sophisticated, bon vivant, worldly woman was just that, an act, begun long ago, when she'd developed a crush on Evan and wanted to attract him. She realized too late that he preferred the plain, shy type, like Julie. By that time, she couldn't admit her act for fear of losing face and peer approval. Without the act, even Herb's affection might have dampened, long before the wedding.
Carol shook her head disconsolately. What was she to do? She must be completely truthful with Herb, disclose her deepest feelings. He might not believe her when she told him she finally realized she would never have been happy with Evan. In her case, her wanting Evan and winning his heart, would turn into disaster, when she realized he wasn't the right man for her.
Herb was the man with whom she had slowly, over the years, fallen in love. Unfortunately, the realization had come too late.
She felt a chill course up her spine. The flimsy negligee provided little warmth and this morning, Valentine's Day, the weather was chilly. Like her husband's behavior toward her, she thought, as he came out of the bathroom, shaved, but still in his pajamas and slippers.
"Good morning," she said, turning to gaze at him. Where had her brain been all these years? The man was downright handsome, his brown hair short and layered and combed back neatly; the men's after-shave he'd applied, not heavy or over-bearing, but light, airy, with a touch of musk. He was tall, broad-shouldered, muscular. He could never be referred to as slim, but neither was he over-weight. Robust described him. As the years passed, of course, he'd grow older, his body change, like hers would, and much like her parents' had. That was life. But somehow, she suspected, he'd always look handsome to her.
"Herb, could we talk?"
His brow knit, but he nodded. "Yes, Carol, I think it's time we talked. Time we were honest with ourselv
es and told each other the truth."
Oh God, she moaned, tears welling in her eyes. "I've really lost you, then?" she cried, arms beckoning to him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Herb thought his heart would burst, hearing the misery in her voice and seeing the tears filling her eyes. Had he unwittingly caused her such pain, hiding his love and desire for her all these weeks? The sight of her reaching out to him in such mental anguish, was too much for him to bear. He knelt and buried himself in her outstretched arms.
"Oh my sweet Carol, forgive me," he pleaded. "I thought I was doing you a favor. I knew you only married me to adopt Alouette. I was a good friend and you trusted me. I could never take advantage of your willingness to repay me. I love you too much to satisfy my longing for you in your weakest moments."
Feeling the warmth of his cheek close to her heart, was healing balm to her broken heart. She pressed him closer, holding him as a mother might hold her child. But he was not her child, he was her husband, and she loved him. It had taken her this long to see and admit to that love.
"I love you, Herbert. And I want to be your wife, body and soul.
All his senses cried to him to make passionate love to her. He stood up, pulling her with him, and lifted her into his arms. She closed her eyes and lulled against him in heady abandon. He hesitated, recalling their wedding night and how she'd lain in her wedding dress, eyes tightly shut, hands balled into fists, as if awaiting an inevitable dreaded moment. A lamb to the slaughter.
"Carol," he whispered. "Open your eyes, sweetheart." She gazed at him, eyes wide, questioning. He asked, "Do you want me to make love to you?"
"Yes," she replied, a startled tone in her voice. Wasn't this what they'd been talking about?
