She looked out the window and saw the man with a dozen hot pretzels stacked on a stick and a green grocer’s display of fresh fruit. No doubt Molly had prepared a lovely dinner, but they had already told her not to expect them, and to show up unexpectedly was sure to set Molly in a fiery temper.
But in just that minute, the pang of hunger twisted, and she couldn’t imagine taking even a bite to fill it.
“I’m starving,” Hazel said, pouting.
“Just shut up.” They weren’t children after all.
“Now, Vada…” It was the voice Garrison used every time it seemed her mouth was about to run her into trouble. Sometimes she resented the stifling, but now—poised at the edge of falling to a real fight—she surrendered to the gentle rein and came to a shuddering verbal halt.
For the first time since they got in the cab, she looked at him. He offered her a warm smile through the dim light until the cab hit a jarring bump sending him sideways in his seat. When he righted himself again, his long legs stretched farther across the width between them, and she could feel the boniness of his knees through her skirt. As usual, when some unforeseen event brought them into such close physical contact, he begged her pardon and resumed his unnaturally erect posture in his seat.
That was Garrison, gallant and proper to the extreme. Usually she basked in his chivalry. But right now she inwardly cringed at his decorum. Given the circumstances of the afternoon, had she somehow been tainted by Mr. Triplehorn’s revelation?
“Oh, Garrison.” She covered her face with her hands. “What you must think of us.”
“It certainly was…enlightening.”
“I guess I never told you about our mother.”
“You told me she died.”
“She did,” Hazel said.
“But she actually left us before that.”
“So, she left with this Triplehorn fellow?”
“I don’t know,” Vada said, more to herself than to him. “We woke up one morning when Lissy was just a baby, and she was gone. Maybe she left both of them.”
Garrison brought his hand to his chin and gazed at a point just above the sisters’ heads. “Now why would they run off and leave their baby?”
“Lissy isn’t their baby,” Vada said.
“She doesn’t exactly look like the rest of us,” Hazel muttered.
“That’s because we look like our mother.” Vada didn’t often allow herself to dredge up painful memories, but from the moment Mr. Triplehorn said her mother’s name, she’d been haunted by that final image of the woman, sitting in the rocking chair next to her marriage bed, knowing her lover waited in the carriage on the street.
“We might look like her,” Hazel shifted in her seat, “but Lisette certainly behaves like her. All those boys. Hanging off the arm of one with another following behind like a puppy. Next day, same scene, different boys. Both of them, no more morals than a couple of cats.”
“Don’t talk about our sister that way,” Vada said. “Besides, how much better are you, running down strangers who answer a newspaper advertisement?”
“There’s no comparison—”
“You have five pictures pinned to that armoire door—”
“Ladies, please!” Garrison actually waved his hand between them to get their attention. “We aren’t going to solve anything by arguing this point.”
“Well, we aren’t going to waste any time speculating about such nonsense,” Vada said. “I don’t want to speak another word about it. Not a word.” She pointed a finger in Hazel’s face.
And while Vada couldn’t bring herself to repeat the gesture for Garrison, he seemed to understand. The rest of the ride passed in silence, until she looked out the window and saw they were little more than a block away from home.
“Stop here,” she said, relegating the actual task of communicating with the cabbie to Garrison. “If we pull up to the house in a hired cab, everybody will want to know how we’ve spent the afternoon.” She looked pointedly at Hazel’s shoes. “We’ll walk the rest of the way.”
Garrison poked his head out the window, and soon the cab slowed to a stop. He got out, folded down the little stepstool, then reached his hand inside to help Hazel descend. For just those few seconds, when the little door was filled with Hazel and her skirt, Vada allowed herself to take one deep, shuddering breath.
“Oh, dear Lord,” she said, speaking out the window. “What are we going to do?”
The next minute her hand was gripped in a pale, smooth, capable one, and he held it long after both of her feet were firmly on the ground. Then, after she gave Garrison a little squeeze and a little smile, he paid the driver, offering up an uncharacteristically generous tip. “It’s still cheaper than lunch.”
Hazel was already several steps ahead, moving at a flustered pace that might have been close to running had she not been so hobbled by her borrowed shoes. Vada and Garrison strolled, arm in arm behind her. With the noon hour long waning, the neighborhood was nearly empty. They said “Hello” to a little boy playing with a set of tin soldiers on his front stoop and greeted another woman pushing her baby in a tram.
“We moved here when I was ten, you know.” Vada watched door after door pass by. “We had to move after Mother left. We had to; people aren’t always…kind. At the time I didn’t really understand what they were saying about her, but later on…”
“It must have been hard on your father.”
“On all of us. You know, Lissy’s the only one who calls him Papa. He hired a nurse for her and didn’t really speak to the rest of us for years.”
“Can I ask you a question, darling?”
“Of course.” She loved it when he called her darling.
“Did you ever hear from your mother after she left?”
“Not a word.”
“Then how do you know she died?”
“Just what I’ve told you. One evening Doc brought us all into the parlor, sat us down, and said our mother had taken ill and died.”
“How soon was that after she left?”
“Not long.” They passed a lilac bush in bloom, and Vada stopped to lift a bunch to her nose and inhale its sweet scent. “About a year.”
“So that’s why you never told me that she’d left you.”
“It’s not something I—we—talk about.”
Garrison looked surreptitiously up and down the street before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded knife. After one last peek over his shoulder, he sliced the bunch of lilacs from the bush and handed them to Vada with a bow.
“You deserve flowers today.”
“But—”
“Ah.” He held up his hand to stop her protest. “If the owner comes out of her front door in the next twenty seconds, I’ll gladly give her a nickel for her blooms. Ready?”
They stood on the sidewalk, Garrison quietly whistling a little tune as he rocked back and forth on his heels.
“See anybody?”
Vada giggled. “No.”
“Then they are yours, m’lady.”
She smiled and held them close, breathing in their sweetness. No doubt Garrison believed this simple gesture could erase the shame of Triplehorn’s intrusion. Right now she never wanted to lift her nose from the blossoms, never wanted to leave the sweet simplicity of this man, this moment.
Soon, however, she felt the slightest tug on her elbow and looked up into his eyes—their pale blue somehow diminished in comparison to the vibrant blooms in her hand.
“Better, darling?”
All she could offer was a brave face.
They walked a little farther, and as they got closer to home, Vada pulled her feet slower and slower.
“How do you think your father learned of her passing?”
“I don’t know.” They came to the corner and turned it.
“And is she truly dead? Or did one of the parties in question simply concoct this story to dispel any hope of her returning home?”
Vada stopped short, crushing the
lilacs in her hand. “This isn’t a case for you to sift through the evidence. We’ve never heard a word—not a single word from her. What kind of woman could walk away from her children for a lifetime?”
“I only thought, if she were capable of such, mightn’t your father want to spare you knowing?”
“He would never give up hope.” Again, the burning sensation in her throat at the memory of her father, all those nights sitting at the window, the way he refused to let any of them touch the mail when it dropped through the slot in the door, even if it had to sit there for hours.
“He loved her, Garrison. There’s never been another woman in his life. Ever. But not because he’s waiting for her to come back. That night, when he told us she was dead, he died a little too.”
There was no holding back the tears now. Vada buried her nose in the flowers and sobbed.
“There, darling.” Garrison’s arms wrapped around her, and she allowed herself to collapse into them. “Of course you’re right, and it was awful of me to have said anything at all.”
His shoulder was warm from the afternoon sun, and she felt so safe there. His hand pressed tight against her back, his thumb moving in small, regular strokes. After a time, she matched her breathing to the movement of that thumb and felt the only thing holding her up was the frame of this man. If he released her, she might surrender to the sidewalk. Or float away.
Why, when a woman had a man who offered this kind of strength, would she ever leave?
“Come along.” His lips moved against her hair. “Let me get you home.”
“I don’t want to.” Her voice was muffled by his jacket. “I can’t face them.”
He stepped back but kept his grip on her shoulders. “Now, you’ll be fine. You’re a big girl.”
“I hate being a big girl.” She gave a playful pout.
“Nonsense. You love bossing people around.”
“I’m tired of it, Garrison. I’ve been bossing people around all my life. I get tired of being in charge all the time.”
“You know, dear, it might be that you need not be so hasty in jumping in. Perhaps you need to step back and trust the Lord to take care of you.”
“Of course.” She brushed the comment away with a wave of the lilacs. “I just mean that—just once, I’d like to run away. Throw caution to the wind and embark on some wild, crazy journey.”
He grinned. “We did that this afternoon, didn’t we? And that didn’t turn out too well. But maybe next time.”
“And you’ll go with me?”
“Of course I will, darling. But, alas, not now. I have things to finish up at the office.”
“But you took the afternoon off.”
“That doesn’t make the work go away, unfortunately. And if I want to come to rehearsal tonight with a clear head, I need to finish some things.”
“And you’re sure you’re not upset about missing the game to go with me?”
As an answer, he leaned forward and kissed her. No sooner had her lips reacted to the fact that they were being kissed than he’d drawn away, pink cheeked. “Couldn’t very well do that on your front stoop in broad daylight, now could I?”
Her heart gave the tiniest flutter, and she was glad he still held her up. “Yes, you could.”
“Hmm…well, we’ll see when we get there.” He turned toward her house and held out his arm.
“No,” she said, unable to bear the thought that he might not kiss her again. “I’d like a few minutes to collect my thoughts.”
“Very well.” He leaned forward again to give his customary kiss goodbye to her cheek, and she hoped she imagined the hint of relief behind the gesture.
She continued alone the few steps until her house came into view, checking over her shoulder, just once, to see if Garrison was there for a final wave, but he’d already disappeared around the corner. She should have asked him if he loved her. He did, of course. He’d told her so dozens of times, but to hear it once more might have set her shoulders straighter.
Oh, how she dreaded that first step through the front door. Her father’s face—questioning where she’d spent the afternoon. Wondering why Hazel was in such a state.
Hazel!
What if she’d already blurted out the whole story? Certainly Hazel could be sly and secretive when it suited her purpose, but as upset as she was when they left the restaurant—
Oh, Hazel, please, please let me tell Doc. Let me take care of everything.
Just as Vada began to formulate exactly what to say when she walked through the front door, the door itself flew open, and there was Lisette flying out of it, her caramel-colored curls bouncing behind her.
“Vada!” She tore down the sidewalk without the least glance to the left or right. “Vada! Thank goodness you’re home! Oh, it’s the most terrible thing ever! Or most wonderful—I can’t tell…”
Once she closed the gap between them, Lisette grabbed Vada’s sleeve and tried to tug her along behind.
“Lissy!” Vada wrenched her arm away. “What in the world—”
“Shhh!” She held a finger to her lips. “It’s supposed to be a secret.”
“What’s supposed to be a secret?” Vada planted her feet. “I’m not moving one more step until you tell me.”
Lisette glanced over her shoulder with a mischievous grin. “Then you’ll never know. But trust me; you’ll want to see this.”
6
Vada could hear the commotion before her foot even touched the bottom step. Lisette had left the front door wide open, and from it emitted a low, rumbling sound punctuated by the fearful voice of an irritated Molly Keegan.
“Get out! Out o’ my way ’fore I toss the lot of you to the street!”
Vada followed her bounding sister up the front steps but stopped short at the Allenhouse threshold. In truth, she had no choice but to stop, as the narrow entryway was packed full of men—all different shapes and sizes—dressed in varying shades of white and gray. They wore short pants with dark socks, and it would be several seconds before the shock of the scene wore off and left Vada with a clear, if unexplained, definition of the scenario in her home.
“Why is there a baseball team in our house?”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Lisette was still clutching Vada’s sleeve, and now she pulled her close. “It’s not a whole team, of course. But honestly, sis, there’s more than enough to go around.”
“Don’t tell me they followed you here?”
“You are so silly.” Immediately Lisette’s attention was drawn to a tall, thin man stationed at the doorway leading into the front parlor. She smiled her widest smile, the one that brought her shoulders up to her ears. He, in response, twirled the corner of his overgrown mustache.
“Well,” Lisette lifted her hand in a delicate, finger-wagging wave, “maybe one or two…”
“Then what—”
“Ah, now here you are, missy hoit-n-toit finally decidin’ to come home.” Molly Keegan thumped down the final step and made her way through the crowd, dispersing the men like so many nine pins. “And haven’t I told you more’n a dozen times that the noon dinner finds its way to the table at precisely noon? But I suppose after a fancy outin’ downtown, you’re just like your sister, expectin’ me to keep it waitin’ for ya on the off chance you’ll make an appearance.”
“Molly, what is going on?”
“Well, ya might know if ya’d been here at noon like you’re supposed to, now wouldn’t ya? But go on back to the kitchen where your Hazel is. I made some stuffed cabbage rolls, and if you’re wantin’ to eat today I’d make it quick. Never seen the girl tuck into nothin’ like I seen—”
The woman’s oblivion to the fantastic scene around them proved too much for Vada’s patience. “Molly! Answer me!”
Nobody—not even their father—ever spoke to Molly Keegan with anything other than subservient gratitude, and Vada immediately regretted her outburst.
The Irish woman swelled up before them, like some mythic Celtic giant in a
lace cap and starched apron. Her hands became meaty red fists at her side, and her eyes sparked, as if ignited by the tiny licks of flame at the tips of her ears.
Vada felt Lisette cower behind her back.
“And now you think ya can take that tone with me, missy? Well, I’ve got this to say to the lot o’ ya!” Her voice boomed above the din, and there was an immediate drop to silence, as if someone had lifted the needle off a phonograph cylinder. “It is my job to see to the needs of these four girls and their father. Do ya understand me? I’m not taken in this house to care for a bunch of ill-bred hooligans the likes of you. So don’t any of ya dare to ask me to fetch you this or tote your that. If you’re hungry, make your way back to the trough that slops ya, ’cause not one of ya’s under my lovin’ care.”
By the time she had finished, her face was nearly the color of her famous strawberry compote, and her fisted hand was held high, as if inviting Irish maids everywhere to follow her cause.
The skinny man at the parlor door dropped all pretense of making eyes at Lisette. In fact, he was staring at the brass spittoon in the corner when Vada noticed the telltale bulge in his cheek.
“And as for this,” Molly said, making a straight line for him, his eyes growing wider with each approaching step until she was right in front of him. “I didn’t sign on here to spend my days washin’ your filthy tobacco stains. So you’ll not be spittin’ any of it near this house, and that includes the porch. Do ya understand?”
She took her thick finger and pointed, then poked the man’s distended cheek, causing him to swallow, choke, and turn ghastly pale. There was a low ripple of laughter at this, and Molly’s face was a mask of triumph as she made her way back to the kitchen. Before leaving the hall, though, she turned to make one last stand.
“One final thing.” She was no longer yelling, as by now even her softest whisper would probably strike fear into the hearts of anyone in the room. “If I catch any one of ya layin’ so much as a finger on any one of my girls, I’ll strip ya down and grind ya up for sausage. Startin’ with your feet so ya can watch the whole thing. And if you doubt me, poke yourselves into my kitchen and see how handy I am with a cleaver.”
The Bridegrooms: A Novel Page 6
