Jubilee Bride

by Jane Peart

  "I don't blame Davida," Jonathan continued eamestly. "You see, her New England roots go very deep." He shook his head. "If Davida could have found a friend in Mayfield, perhaps she could have made the adjustment more easily. But she complains that Southern women are different from her friends in the North, and I suppose she's right—"

  He turned to Druscilla. "You have to understand Davida's background, Dru. You've heard of the Peabody family of Salem, haven't you? Elizabeth Peabody is famous throughout New England for her progressive educational ideas, especially in the education of women. Davida attended Elizabeth Peabody's school."

  He sighed. "Well, Davida says she just doesn't fit into our way of life in Virginia. She doesn't ride, thinks fox hunting is barbaric, and won't even attend the social events held during that season!" Jonathan shrugged. "Honestly, Dru, I don't know what to do. Somewhere along the way . . . we seem to have lost each other."

  Dru sincerely wished there was something she could say to help. But what would that be? She herself understood too well the sad consequences of marrying someone with an entirely different background, set of values, thought, and philosophy.

  Her mother, Dove Montrose, had warned her about marrying Randall: "You don't just marry the man, dear, you marry the life." Dru had not been able to change Randall. He still gambled occasionally, though not recklessly, the way he used to. But he had never been able to resist the thrill of taking a risk, of trying to win against all odds. Her mother had been right. It was useless to marry someone, expecting to change him . . . or her. One should marry for love, then be prepared to take the bad with the good.

  She knew there were things in her own marriage that could not be shared, things she and Randall never talked about. She had wanted so much to give her husband a son, someone to carry on the Bondurant name. She had suffered the heartbreak of a stillborn child with her first pregnancy, then two subsequent miscarriages before their daughter was born. Then she had been told that there would be no more children, and this had been the cruelest hurt of all.

  Each marriage had its own secret sorrows, she knew, so although Dru could sympathize with Jonathan's particular burden, there was nothing she could do to assuage it.

  He took her hand again and pressed it. "Come on, let's not be gloomy. I didn't mean to burden you with all this. Look, here come Blythe and Rod—if ever there was a happy couple, they certainly seem to be. Let's go join them."

  "Isn't it too bad Davida and the children couldn't come?" Blythe was saying to Rod as they walked briskly toward Dru and Jonathan.

  "Couldn't or wouldn't?'

  "What do you mean?"

  "From what I gather, without Jonathan's being specific about it, his wife preferred spending the summer with her father to making this trip.'

  Blythe looked at her husband in surprise. "You don't think she wanted to come?"

  "That was my impression."

  Blythe's hand tightened possessively on Rod's arm. "I can't imagine being separated from you for months."

  "You and I have had enough separations to last a lifetime," he said quietly. Then he added, "If you really want to know what I think, it's that Davida is not very happy in Virginia, at Montclair. And, of course, that means Jonathan is not all that happy, either."

  "Oh, I hope you're wrong, Rod! What makes you think so?"

  "Just a feeling—" He smiled ruefully. "I know, I know. Women are supposed to be the intuitive ones. But Davida has appeared restless to me from the first time I saw her again after they moved to Montclair—a totally different young woman from the happy bride I met at their wedding."

  "But Jonathan is the perfect husband—kind, considerate, loving—" protested Blythe. " What makes you think she is restless?"

  "To be truthful, it was Mother who noticed it first and brought it to my attention. She remarked on very much the same things you've said. How could Davida be unhappy when she has everything any woman could want—beautiful home, a caring, affectionate husband, children?"

  "The same things I have, all of which make me sublimely happy!" exclaimed Blythe.

  "That's just it. There seems no visible reason and yet, there it is. I think she is so attached to her father and her own family tics that she simply could not make the transition to another kind of life."

  Blythe considered this possibility for a moment. "I suppose I should understand that. I was desperately unhappy when I first arrived in Virginia from California—"

  "But that was entirely different, my dear. Your circumstances were not in the least like Davida's," Rod reminded her. "Come, let's not dwell on the past—it's too painful for both of us. Let's just do what we can to make Jonathan's summer without his wife and children as happy as possible."

  Joining Dru and Jonathan, the two couples strolled the length of the deck, keeping their conversation lively as they anticipated their family reunion in England.

  But Blythe could not put thoughts of Davida Montrose out of her mind. This shipside lull in the busy routine of her life had given her rare time for contemplation. For one thing, it was good to see her stepson again. She had not known Jonathan as a child since he had grown up in Massachusetts, reared in the family of his mother's brother, John Meredith. In fact, she had not even met Jonathan until he brought his own bride to be the new mistress of Montclair.

  Blythe had liked him on sight, though she had been startled by his resemblance to his father, Malcolm. His gentle spirit and courteous demeanor reminded her of the man Blythe had married out West. But when she and Malcolm moved back East, her husband's personality had quickly disintegrated. Their marriage had never been the refuge that Blythe, as an orphan, had expected and needed. Nor was there much visible support from the Camerons, whose plantation adjoined Montrose land.

  It was only much, much later that she realized how much her neighbor, Rod Cameron, had guessed about her tragic life with Malcolm, and how much he had come to love her. Blythe reined in her wandering thoughts. What was to be done about the young couple whose love seemed to be dwindling?

  Perhaps when they returned to Virginia in September, she could help Davida in some way. At least she would make a real effort to become friends, to see that their children, all of nearly the same age, got to know each other better. Surely there must be something she could do. Who knew better than she what it is like to feel lonely and isolated?

  chapter

  13

  THE MEETING HOURS for the Sunday morning religious services on board were posted on the ship's Bulletin of Daily Events. A Catholic Mass was to be celebrated at nine, and a non-denominational service was scheduled for eleven in the main salon on A-Deck. The latter was to be conducted by the Reverend Mark Dennis.

  At quarter to the hour, the Bondurant family joined the Camerons already seated in the row of chairs placed in a semicircle around the large room. With a rustling of her apricot taffeta skirt, Lenora settled herself between Lally and Evalee, conscious that Victor had come in only minutes behind them and had found a place at the back.

  Her heart began fluttering strangely, and she hoped his presence would not distract her during the service. Quickly she closed her eyes and prayed for composure.

  When she opened them, the Reverend Dennis was standing at a podium up front. To her surprise, she recognized him as the same young man that she and Lally had often seen striding briskly on deck- In his cable-knit, roll-necked sweater, his sandy hair tousled and his face ruddy from the sun and wind, he looked more like the athletic coach of a college than a minister of the Gospel. When Lenora felt a pinch on her arm, she knew Lally was having the same startled reaction.

  Without risking a sidelong glance at her sister, Lenora tried to concentrate on what Reverend Dennis was saying.

  "First I would like to say how very happy I am to have the opportunity to hold this meeting. On this, my second Atlantic crossing, I am as much in awe of God's magnificent creation as I was on the first trip. More thrilling and, may I say, humbling is that this is the first time I have been
asked to conduct a Sunday service on board.

  "You may find this an unconventional place for worship—no stained-glass windows, no kneeling benches, no altar. And the fact is that those of us gathered here probably represent a half dozen or more denominational backgrounds. Still, we are here for the purpose of glorifying God together, so as unorthodox as it may seem, this is holy ground.

  "In England, you will be seeing churches of every description—from great cathedrals to small ivy-covered chapels. But when you enter the church of St. Clement's Dane in London, you will see the following sign:

  WELCOME TO GOD'S HOUSE, WHOEVER YOU ARE, OF OUR HOUSEHOLD OR OF ANOTHER FAITH OR A WANDERER OR A SEARCHER. BE WELCOME HERE. PRAY FOR US, AND FOR ALL SINNERS, ALIVE OR DEPARTED, THAT GOD'S MERCY MAY DRAW US ALL ONE SMALL STEP NEARER TO LOVE'S UNVEILED AND DAZZLING FACE.

  "This morning I welcome you to this unique hour of worship. The Lord Jesus Himself has said, The time is coming when true worshipers will worship the Father in Spirit and in truth.' Wherever there is a hunger and thirst for the living God, whether in humble cottage or vaulted cathedral or on a ship in the Atlantic Ocean, there is true worship.

  "Join with me in singing the beautiful hymn, 'Amazing Grace,' for it is surely by His grace that we are all here this morning."

  From a corner of the room, where one of the ship's officers was seated at a small organ, the haunting melody of the beloved hymn rose in tribute to the one God who brings all believers together in unity.

  Then Reverend Dennis led them in a Communion service, reminding them that the taking of the bread and wine was commonly held to be the same enriching ritual for all believers, and all were invited to partake.

  "Let us go now in peace and take the Lord's blessing with us throughout the rest of the day," the Reverend concluded. "Wherever we go on this ship, whomever we may come in contact with, let us remember that we have all been created in the image of God to praise and worship Him and to love one another."

  Lenora felt deeply moved by the sincerity of the minister's words, and her heart lifted in response to the call to a common sense of awe at God's majesty. In fact, she couldn't help thinking that before Dru had come into their lives with her deep faith and loving example, there had been no one to point them to God. She felt a rush of gratitude at the thought of all she owed her stepmother.

  In spite of herself, Lenora felt an irresistible urge to turn her head slightly and in so doing met Victor's penetrating eyes. With the impact of his gaze strong upon her, she caught her breath.

  Then the service was over, the spell broken. Dru was touching her arm and Evalee was tugging at her sleeve. As they merged with the other passengers lining up to speak to the minister, Lenora lost sight of Victor. Had he slipped out?

  The room was abuzz with conversation as people chatted about plans for the rest of the day, and the stewards moved among them, serving coffee. Lenora smiled woodenly and spoke when she was spoken to. But the room seemed empty to her without the one person who was missing.

  The next morning Victor's note accompanying a white rose confirmed her belief that they had shared the same reaction to the Sunday service:

  "Beauty is Truth, Truth, Beauty, That is all we know on earth, And all we need to know." Keats. How wonderful that when we cannot find the words to express our deepest feelings, God has inspired the great poets and scribes of the ages to do it for us. I thank God for the miracle of meeting you, knowing you—that is a part of His truth for me.

  Ever devotedly, Victor.

  Lenora was glad that Lally had already left their cabin to take Evalee to breakfast and that thus she was alone to read what Victor had written. She and her sister had always been so close but—this was different. Was this love? Could it have possibly happened to her, this unexpectedly, this soon?

  chapter

  14

  THE LAST NIGHT on board before landing in England, a gala costume ball was to be held. Since it was to be a masked affair with no one revealing his identity until midnight, there was a great flurry of discussion over what disguises would be worn.

  "What fun!" exclaimed Lally excitedly. "But whatever shall we wear?" she asked Lenora, not knowing that her sister already had an idea.

  The only problem with Lenora's plan was finding the costume she had in mind. It was one of Victor's daily notes that had planted the idea in her head:

  My dear Lenora,

  Sometimes I feel like the legendary "Harlequin," the poet who, in love with the fair Princess Columbine, disguised himself as a clown. Feeling unworthy to approach her or reveal his feelings, he loved her from afar. And so he wrote poems and left them in the palace garden for her to find. Dear heart, read between these lines and imagine why I place myself in the role of the unfortunate Harlequin.

  Later that same day, when Lenora had met Victor on deck for their usual stroll, she had tried to reassure him that the distance he imagined between them did not exist. But he had simply shaken his head.

  "You are too young, too naive, or maybe just too American to realize it, Lenora. I am sure, however, that your father and stepmother would agree with me."

  "Please don't say that, Victor!" Lenora protested.

  "We won't talk about it any more if it makes you unhappy. Let's just enjoy what time we have left—"

  Lenora, however, was troubled. That is why the idea for her costume seemed so appropriate. When Victor saw her in it, he would know that their ages, their nationalities, his sophistication, her inexperience—none of these made any real difference.

  Of course, in the end, Lenora had to confide in Lally and they went together to the ship's costumer for help. There was a wide selection of costumes to choose from, and although Lally found one right away—a bright Indian sari, trimmed with an ornate gilt border—Lenora took longer. Having consulted the ship's library earlier, she had found a picture of Columbine in a book about operas, filled with sketches and photographs of the leading ladies known for various roles. Under the heading of "Italian Opera," she had read the story of "Pallachio," a variation of the classic romance of Pierrot and his hopeless yearning for an unattainable love.

  With that picture firmly in mind, Lenora searched through the racks for a garment she could adapt to the character of Columbine. Among them, she came upon a ballerina costume. Layers of white net billowed out from its fitted black satin bodice into an ankle-length skirt. In a box of accessories, she found black lace mitts, satin dancing slippers, and a mask beaded with sequins and trimmed with maribou.

  "You must pull your hair straight back and into a rounded club at the nape of the neck, then tie it with a bow as the French dancers do," instructed the costume lady.

  When she tried it on later before the mirror, Lally, enthusiastically entering into her sister's scheme, clapped her hands. "On you, Nora, that style is so becoming! But only a person with dainty ears and a perfect heart-shaped face could get away with it!"

  When Dru looked in on them before the party, however, she seemed a little startled by Lenora's choice of costume and tactfully suggested a wide black velvet ribbon for her neck and a lace scarf to cover her bare shoulders.

  When they went into the Grand Salon for the ball, they found the ballroom extravagantly decorated with colorful streamers floating from the chandeliers and balloons sailing on the ceiling. Almost as soon as Lenora entered the room, she saw a Harlequin and her heart almost stopped. It was Victor, who had even shaved off his beard to enhance what he had hoped would be the perfect disguise. His trim build complemented his black-and-white diamond-patterned costume, complete with black net ruff, velvet tricorn hat, and black mask.

  How extraordinary and yet how understandable that Victor would choose the very character in which he has placed himself Lenora thought. His eyes met hers and instantly, irresistibly they moved toward each other. He bowed before her and held out his hand and, before she knew it, she was in his arms on the dance floor. They moved effortlessly, as if buoyed by invisible wings.

  It was an eve
ning that spun and shone with brilliant clarity, yet everyone and everything else blurred into an obscure haze in the background. Only Victor's eyes behind the black mask was etched in her memory.

  At fifteen minutes before midnight, Victor took Lenora by the hand and led her through the passageway up onto the deck. "I have to talk to you alone, privately," he had whispered, much to her bewilderment, since they had been dancing together almost exclusively all evening.

  Up on deck Lenora saw other couples who had fled the crowded ballroom to stroll arm in arm or to sit, heads close together, for a moment of quiet conversation, Victor found a secluded corner and, leaning on the rail, he stared out at the glimmering, moonlit ocean. When at last he spoke, she was surprised at the tremor in his voice and the apparent agitation in his manner.

  "My dear Lenora, I have something of great importance to say to you and I don't really know how or where to begin."

  She felt her heart thudding. "But what on earth could you tell me that would be so shocking?" protested Lenora, not sure she was ready to hear. "Since I've come to know you, Victor, there's nothing you could say that would alter my feelings—"

  "Then I've misled you. Oh, not intentionally. But by what I've done over the years before I met you, before I dreamed anyone like you existed... or that I'd ever be lucky enough to find someone like you—so unspoiled, so sweet—"

  "But, Victor—"

  "Please, my darling Lenora, listen to me before you say another word. First of all, I am not a gentleman." He heard her gasp and waited for his first shocking statement to settle in her mind. "Oh, I pass for one, and most people are kind enough to consider me one . . . but I come from the part of society that knows nothing about country weekends, hunting, dinner parties, or fancy dress balls. Would you believe I learned all that . . . from my valet? Yes, a man who had worked for a member of Parliament, whom I wooed away from his former employer with the offer of an extravagant salary. It was this "gentleman's gentleman' who taught me how to disguise myself as a gentleman. But down deep inside, I remain the cocky cockney who dropped his ch's' and didn't know a teacup from a tea cozy!"