“I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Oh, of course not.” The effort of wrapping the apron strings and tying them behind her left Molly a little breathless, and she sat in the chair opposite Vada to continue. “Known ya goin’ on fifteen years now, isn’t it? Even when you were just a little bit of a girl, you was always fearless. Protectin’ everyone. And ya know what?”
“What?”
Molly leaned close and rapped her knuckles on the table. “You didn’t fool me then either.”
If only she were ten years old. She’d crawl into Molly’s ample lap, nestle down in her soft bosom, and talk and weep and sleep. Not that Molly would ever allow such piffery.
“I guess I am worried about Eli.”
“Him? Now how is he goin’ to add a single day to your life?”
“Althea loves him.”
“And that’s naught to do with you.”
“Were you there to witness Lissy’s change of heart in regards to our young Mr. Cupid?”
“I think ’tis a matter of your own heart you’re wrestlin’ with. Like Jacob with the angel. ’Bout to break your own leg too, from what I can tell.”
“I’m fine. At least I will be once I have some coffee.”
“Well, then,” Molly braced herself against the table to rise to her feet, “let me put the pot on.”
Vada buried her head in her arms and let her loose hair form a dark cave around her. Outside of it, a match was struck, a stove lit, a kettle filled.
“What d’ya say I make us a special breakfast this mornin’? Maybe those French puffs you like so much.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll let you dip them in the sugar.”
Molly’s tone was wheedling, almost playful, making Vada wonder if the woman used up all her softness in the first hours of the day, before anyone was awake.
Vada lifted her head high enough to peer through the strands of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. “Can I lick the bowl?”
“If you help me get them stirred up before your sisters come down. I don’t want any fussin’ over it.”
It was the same bargain they’d struck since Vada could remember, and she hauled herself up from the table, though she wouldn’t be much help. The measurements proved too complicated for her sleep-deprived brain, and in the end she did little more than shuffle from the pantry to the counter where Molly whisked the ingredients together with a swift, strong arm.
“Now,” Molly waved that same arm inside the oven to test its readiness, “while these are bakin’ up, why don’t you go upstairs, wash your face, and comb your hair.”
“What about the bowl?”
“You’ll enjoy it more if you’re cleaned up a bit. Coffee’ll be done then too.”
“All right,” Vada said, “but do you mind if I just wash up down here?” Being in this kitchen was the safest, the warmest she’d felt in days, and she was reluctant to leave.
“’Course not, dearie.”
Molly stepped away from the sink, leaving Vada to turn on the tap and cup her hands beneath it to capture the cool water. At first she simply stood, staring at the tile on the wall, as if she’d never seen the delicate blue designs scrolled around the border of each square.
Eventually she splashed her face, feeling immediately less fuzzy, and even took in two or three great gulps to soothe her throat. Refreshed, she ran her wet hands through her hair, smoothing it away from her face. She gathered it in one hand and fastened it with a bit of ribbon she’d found stashed in her wrapper’s pocket.
“Better, then?”
Vada nodded, truly feeling a bit brighter than she had when she first stumbled into this room.
“Then come on, coffee’s ready.”
Vada made her way back to the table where the large mixing bowl sat with Molly’s favorite tall wooden spoon. A generous amount of the muffin batter had been left along the sides, and Vada dragged the spoon around the rim until it was covered. The taste of the sweet batter flavored with nutmeg instantly made her feel like that little girl again. She washed it down with a sip of Molly’s good, hot coffee and wished for just a minute that she could spend the rest of her life—or at least the rest of this day—right here, eating nothing but what she scraped from this giant bowl.
Apparently she made some sound of contentment, prompting Molly to say, “Good, is it?”
“Wonderful,” Vada said, her mouth full of batter.
Then, to her surprise, Molly came around behind and embraced her, planting a firm, dry kiss on her cheek.
“You’re a good girl, Miss Vada. Always have been.”
While the muffins baked, their sweet, spicy aroma gave way as Molly fried slices of bacon on the back burner and on the front, scrambled a pan full of eggs to a golden fluffy mass. She left the bacon draining on sheets of newspaper and covered the eggs with a dishtowel to keep warm until the rest of the family came down for breakfast. Once she determined the muffins were done, she took the pan out of the oven and, with a deft flip, dropped them onto a large oblong platter.
“An’ you’re sure I can trust you to finish them up?” Molly untied her apron.
“Of course. I do have some culinary skill, you know.”
“All the same, I’ve measured out the cinnamon and sugar, and the melted butter’s on the stove. Now I’m off to the market before the best o’ the fish are gone.”
Once Molly was out the door, Vada set to work, dipping the top of each muffin in the melted butter, then rolling it in the mixture of cinnamon and sugar. It was hard to resist eating one right there and then, but the lingering sweetness of the batter still satisfied her tongue.
Just as she placed the last muffin on the plate, Lisette came traipsing into the kitchen, perfectly coiffed and ruffled for the day.
“Mmm! What smells so yummy?”
“French puffs.” Vada carried the platter to the table. “Baked fresh this morning.”
“How astonishingly appropriate.” Lisette picked up a muffin and licked the top before taking a big bite of the steaming muffin. “Ooooh! S’ot!” She formed her pretty mouth into a perfect oval and waved her hand in front of it, making no attempt to either chew or spit out the bit of pastry inside.
Normally, Vada would have found this sight endlessly amusing, but she couldn’t forget what Lissy had said just before the bite.
“What do you mean by appropriate?”
Once fully recovered, Lisette planted her coyest smile, now rimmed with sugar. “Seems like there was a lot of French puffing going on last night.”
Vada may just as well have stumbled from her sleepless bed into this very moment. Every bit of warmth gathered during this cozy morning dropped far and away. Molly’s comforting food and healing words vaporized like steam.
“Oh, look at you,” Lisette said, teasing. “Your face! If you could see it…but better you can’t, because you look kind of a mess. I could pack groceries in the bags under your eyes.” Then, as if seized with genius, she clapped her hand over her mouth to contain a squeal and spoke through her fingers. “Don’t tell me you snuck out again last night!” She leaned in close. “Did you sleep at all?”
There didn’t seem to be a point in arguing. Indeed, the strength to do so had long since fled. Vada attempted a casual pose, leaning against the table, and would have picked up her coffee for a nonchalant sip if she’d trusted her hands not to shake.
“How do you know about—What did you see?”
Lisette pouted. “Not much. I heard the knock at the door and thought it might be Kenneth. By the time I got into the hall, I saw that guy practically haul you outside. And oh, Vada, he’s such a—”
“He came to check on Eli. He’s concerned, just like Kenny.”
“Of course he is.” She made no attempt to soften the sarcasm. “But then when I went to the window to spy on you the way you did on me, the two of you were nowhere to be seen. Not on the steps, not on the sidewalk. Which leaves only one place.” She pinched off anot
her bite of muffin and said, “In-the-alcove,” before popping it triumphantly in her mouth.
“What do you know of the alcove?” Vada hoped to redirect the conversation.
“I know it’s dark. And small.”
“We were talking.”
“And I know you have to stand really, really close to talk in there.”
“Well, it seems you’re quite the expert, then. Doesn’t it?” Desperate to escape, Vada turned away, walking briskly to the cupboard to take down plates and cups to bring to the table. Hopefully, Lisette’s short attention span would kick in the minute she saw the bacon.
“Now don’t worry, sis.” Lisette met her at the cupboard and took the plates from her hands. “I’m not judging you. In fact, I think it’s marvelous that you’re giving yourself a break from stuffy old Garrison.”
“I’m not—oh, Lord.” She tried to gather her thoughts. “Lissy, shut up.”
“Relax, I’m not going to tell anyone. Ooh, is there bacon?” She lifted the top plate from the stack and dropped her half-eaten muffin on it before moving to the stove, where she picked up one, then two slices of bacon and scooped a heap of eggs from the bowl. “Secrets are fun, aren’t they? Kenneth and I were going to keep our—shall we say, truce—a secret, but I guess you found us out, didn’t you?”
“He seems like a nice boy.”
“He’s hardly a boy. He’ll be twenty in June. And, no offense, Vada, but he’s nowhere near the rogue that your man is. What’s his name? LaChance?”
“LaFortune. And he’s not my—”
“That’s right. LaFortune. Kind of rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? Well, I guess you would know…” She collapsed into a fit of giggles, not at all fazed by the double entendre of her joke.
But Vada had to turn away, suddenly wishing she were having this conversation fully dressed with her hair properly combed and pinned—anything not to appear as slatternly as she felt.
“What’s so funny this morning?” Hazel’s breezy entrance into the kitchen testified a long night of sound sleep.
Vada meant to say Nothing; in fact, she did say it, but the denial came a bit slow, catching in her throat, and got lost behind Lisette’s exuberant reply.
“Vada had quite the fling in the alcove last night.”
“Lissy!”
“In the alcove, eh? I thought old Garrison always stopped at the corner.”
“Old Garrison does,” Lisette said. “New LaFortune apparently doesn’t stop at anything. Looks like our big sister might find herself juggling two bridegrooms.”
“Lisette Allenhouse!” Vada rarely raised her voice, but she did now, and the effect was immediate as Lisette paused, a forkful of fluffy eggs poised in midair. “I’ve always known you to be a mean, small-minded, heartless snipe, but I never thought I’d see you so stupid and, and—cruel!”
She pushed past Hazel and marched upstairs where Althea came out of the bathroom, looking confused and pointedly asking what the disruption was all about.
Vada mocked her sister’s silence giving only a shrug as she stormed into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her. The repeated knocks were answered with the turning on of water—first hot, then tempered with cold—intending to let it run until it was within an inch of the top.
She took the wrapper off and hung it on the hook on the back of the door, then pulled her nightgown over her head, dropping it to the ground. When she stepped out of it, she looked up and faced her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Her hair, still bound loosely by the ribbon, spilled over one creamy white bare shoulder.
She touched her cheek, where LaFortune had touched her last night. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember every moment spent with him and tried to trace her fingers across every place he’d ever touched. Her face, her neck. She crossed her arms and caressed her shoulders, reaching to her back, her waist.
Here, without the barrier of blouse and corset, her flesh burned with the shame she should have felt last night, and her reflection now revealed a bright red flush reaching to her collarbone.
Hazel pounded on the door and with an impatient voice said, “Vada! What is wrong? Talk to me!”
Did that mean Lisette hadn’t told her? Or that she didn’t elaborate? Whatever, it meant no peace until she spoke to Hazel. She went to the door and pressed her face against the wood.
“I’m going to take a bath, Hazel. Then I’m going out. I promise, I’ll explain everything later.”
“Open the door.”
She did, just a couple of inches, enough to see Hazel’s wide, concerned face.
“Are you—”
“Yes, I’m naked. I’m about to take a bath.”
“No, I just wanted to see if you were all right.”
“I will be.”
Without another word, she shut the door and stepped high into the claw-footed tub. Before sitting down, she reached up and took hold of the rose-patterned curtain and drew it around, encircling her in a floral cocoon. Finally, she sank into the water after lifting her hair up and over the edge. The tub’s rim felt cool on the back of her neck, and she focused on that coolness as the hot water enveloped more and more of her.
When it was in danger of sloshing over the edge, she lifted one leg out of the water and reached for the faucet, turning it off. The act ushered a new silence into the room, save for a few echoing drips, so Vada took the washcloth draped over the tub’s edge and pressed it close to her face before she opened her mouth for the first of many long, shuddering wails.
15
Each step made her feel a little stronger, maybe because each one took her farther away from the house, the stairs, the alcove, the corner. Vada kept her eyes down for the most part, especially in familiar neighborhoods where somebody might make the mistake of reaching out and asking such an innocent question as to how she was feeling that day.
She headed north on Huntington Street and felt absolutely absorbed by the city by the time she hit Euclid Avenue. Absorbed, that is, and exhausted, as everything within her began to protest her sleepless night. There were seedier parts of town where people slept flat out on the street, and she didn’t doubt that she herself, given the opportunity to rest her head on a coffee-shop table or even to recline on a park bench, would be snuffed out like a gaslight at dawn.
A large clock outside of the Cleveland Bank and Trust building showed the time to be ten thirty. It seemed like a perfect time to call on a gentleman staying at a fine hotel, although she had no experience from which to gauge this conclusion. It was still a formidable walk—probably more than a mile—and she could only hope to look somewhat presentable when she arrived.
For now, the back of her hair was still damp from her bath, and her crying jag in the bathtub did nothing to lessen the puffiness of her eyes. She’d left the house purposefully hatless, hoping the sunlight and breeze would work a little color into her face, although today’s choice of a somber, fawn gray dress begged to be set off by her black ostrich-wrapped hat. Last she knew, though, Lisette had borrowed that very one to add an air of respectability to an outing for ice cream with Reverend Dickerson’s visiting nephew. After managing to maneuver through the rest of the morning without seeing any of her sisters again, Vada wasn’t about to reignite their questions for want of a silly hat.
After looking at the clock, however, she hazarded a glance at her reflection in the bank’s window and was appalled at what she saw. If anything, she looked worse than when she left the house. She hadn’t noticed, for example, that her hair had been swept up and pinned askew—the carefully coiled knot sitting low behind her left ear.
A glance in the small mirror from her handbag confirmed her suspicion that the brisk morning walk hadn’t infused her face with a healthy dose of color; instead, she had amorphous red blotches standing harsh against the pale. If anything, her eyes had swollen smaller, and the bags beneath them had taken on an almost purple hue. Her actual violet eyes—long considered her most attractive feature—were was
hed away in the red rimming of her lids.
She’d had an idea of exactly the person she wanted to present to Alex Triplehorn. Not the panic-stricken, hysterical female who had to be ushered out of the Hollenden Hotel dining room. And not the pathetic, needy woman whose life had been devastated by his action. No, above all, she wanted him to see somebody strong, confident. A representative of a family of survivors that managed to weather the wake he left behind. No need for his apology. No need for his intrusion. No need for him to think she was protecting their father or her sister. She wasn’t protecting anybody. She wanted to appear to have the upper hand. To be the one assuring him.
For that, she needed a hat.
A quick check into her pocketbook showed her to be carrying nearly six dollars within the lining. She’d had plans for that money—a boutonniere for Garrison to wear at the concert tomorrow night, and maybe, if he didn’t think it too bold, a quick late supper at a restaurant after. But she had more stashed away in a single rolled black stocking in the top drawer of her bureau.
When she came to the street where she should have headed north to the Hollenden Hotel, she continued moving forward. A few blocks more, and she was at The Arcade.
She was infused with energy the minute she walked between the entrance towers. The long, narrow building, four stories of balconies looking down on the open floor—all of it illuminated by a full-length vaulted glass ceiling—hummed with life. Men and women bustled within its wood-and-steel frame like so many bees in a hive, popping in and out of the little shops that lined the walls.
Along with the jolt of energy came a pang of guilt, for this was truly one of Lisette’s favorite places to be, and right now Vada heard the last of her angry words echoing in her head, piercing through the hundreds of partial conversations around her. The sisters had spent countless hours here, sometimes zipping from store to store looking for the perfect birthday gift for Doc, sometimes simply strolling, barely acknowledging the offered wares.
This morning she was on a mission. She bounded up the first flight of stairs at the far end, then took the second set to the left. Four shops down was a small, familiar hat shop, cleverly named Deux Mesdames Chapeaux, though there was only one owner, and she was far from French. The proprietress was actually a middle-aged woman from Kentucky named Elmira Capstone who would suffer each customer exactly ten minutes before sending her away either completely satisfied or empty headed.
The Bridegrooms: A Novel Page 19
