The Bridegrooms: A Novel

by Allison K. Pittman

  The cozy light from the single candle warmed the room. The pie was flaky and delicious, with the tartness of the apples buried deep within each baked slice. They made no conversation other than satisfied “mmms” until Hazel pointed her fork at Vada and said, “When are you going to tell us about your day?”

  Vada looked first to one sister, then the other. “Did you already tell Althea everything about Mr. Triplehorn? About that afternoon at the restaurant?”

  Hazel nodded. “Her and Molly—no, it’s all right. Molly won’t say anything. She loves Doc too.”

  “But did you mention that he thought he might be Lissy’s…?”

  This time, Althea indicated that, yes, she’d heard that. But she didn’t believe it.

  “He doesn’t believe it anymore either.” Then, between bites of pie and sips of milk, she relayed the entire parlor conversation—from the moment she walked in until the closing of the door behind him.

  “Do you think we should tell Doc?”

  Vada looked to Althea for confirmation before saying, “No.”

  “So, we just keep it a secret?”

  “Not all secrets are bad, Hazel. Besides, who are you going to tell? The sheep and buffalo?”

  “And moose. Don’t forget moose.”

  Althea splayed her fingers out from the side of her head and stuck out her lips in a very impressive impersonation of a moose. She was giving a kind of wild-eyed expression when her face stretched into a mask of terror while her mouth formed a silent scream.

  Hazel followed the direction of Althea’s gaze and she, too, let out a yelp.

  “What on—” But when Vada looked, her throat was too clutched with fear to scream. There it was, a face on the other side of the darkened window. No, two faces. The pie was threatening to come up, bringing her heart along with it, and she clutched at the table to keep upright.

  Then Hazel was out of her chair, storming across the kitchen toward the door. Vada wanted to cry out for her to stop, but she couldn’t make a sound. She could only watch in horror as Hazel yanked open the door, ushering in the intruders.

  “Lisette Marie Allenhouse!” Hazel grabbed the girl’s arm and pulled her through the door, to be followed by one Kenny Cupid who looked twice as terrified as Vada felt just seconds ago. “Just what were you doing out there?”

  The boy crushed his cap in his hands. “We were just out for a walk, ma’am.”

  “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  “I know it’s past midnight.”

  “We don’t have to answer to her, Kenneth,” Lisette said. Then to Hazel, “We don’t have to answer to you.”

  By this time, Vada had sufficiently recovered her breath and joined the little gathering at the door. “Yes, it’s well past midnight. And no, you don’t have to answer to us, but you do have to answer to our father. Both of you.”

  Kenny’s eyes grew wide, and now he looked about ready to eat his hat.

  “Now, I have no doubt that this late-night stroll was entirely Lissy’s idea, but you have to remember that she is just a girl. A young girl. Seventeen. And it’s very important—”

  Vada’s thought was interrupted by a sound from upstairs. A footstep? Surely Hazel’s scream hadn’t been loud enough to waken their father. To be certain, though, Vada lowered her voice, feeling much more threatening in doing so. “I don’t know what kind of girl she herself has led you to believe she is, but she simply isn’t—”

  There it was again, more distinct this time. A voice, unfamiliar in this house, and then a long, clattering thump.

  The feeling of the recent fright coursed through her, but then it was clear just where the sound was coming from. Her room. The man in her room. She turned to Althea. “I think your man’s awake.”

  That ended the last relatively peaceful moment in the kitchen. Hazel snatched the candle and led the way, her soft bulbous body undulating beneath her gown. Althea followed on her heels, and even Lisette looked mildly interested. Vada grabbed her hand, telling Kenny, “Wait down here,” and dragged her through the darkened house.

  “Slow down!” Lisette protested. “I don’t even care about this guy.”

  Vada kept up her pace. “I know. I’m taking you to your room. And I want you to stay in it until morning.” She gave Lisette a little push in that direction and waited, hands on her hips, until the door was closed. Then she turned to her own room, where Hazel waited just outside the door.

  “Is he?” Vada said, approaching.

  “Yes. Doc’s in there with Althea. Here, hold this.” Hazel thrust the candle into Vada’s hand.

  Nervous, Vada surveyed the scene that had become so familiar, but it was gone; her bed, empty. It seemed he’d fallen to the floor, and there he still was, pale and thin, but undeniably awake. Doc was crouched down, his arms hooked under Eli’s. Althea stood to the side, her hands clasped to her heart, her eyes filled with tears.

  “Hazel, help me get him back into bed.”

  “No, no! Please!” His voice was weak, but he seemed strong enough as he clutched at the blanket and pulled it down in an effort to cover himself. In doing so, a dozen or so small papers fluttered up and down to the floor, sending Althea to her knees in a frantic effort to collect them.

  “On second thought, girls, why don’t you all wait outside?”

  Vada set the candle down on the bureau before joining her sisters out in the hall. They gathered together just as they had a few days ago, right outside this door, waiting to hear news from Doc. But this time, instead of hopeful anticipation, they embraced each other in joyful relief.

  “Thank You, God, for the healing You have brought to our home.” Vada knew her prayer spoke for everyone, and Hazel echoed, “Thank You, Jesus.”

  Vada took Althea into a special embrace. “Sweetie? Isn’t this wonderful? What we’ve all been praying for?”

  Althea pulled away, nodding, and Vada could tell she was a different girl. In the harsh gaslight of the hallway, it was plain to see that the undercurrent of fear ran deeper and more powerful than it had that day. Althea clutched the papers she’d gathered to her breast, and with her hair loose about her shoulders, she looked almost mad.

  “What have you got there?” Vada reached for a paper, causing Althea to clutch it tighter. “Show me, darling. Why are you so upset?”

  With an insistent tug, Vada managed to loosen a sheet and opened it from its careless folding. The edges along one side were rough; it had obviously been torn from her journal.

  Lord, I pray that it might be

  His soul remaining here with me.

  And the moment he once again sees light,

  ’Tis I he’ll seek with this new sight.

  For in Your hands—

  “This is your poetry?”

  Althea nodded.

  “Everything that you wrote for him? To him? Have you been reading these?”

  Althea acknowledged each question to that point.

  “Not reading, exactly, but…giving them to him?” She could picture it, all those still, quiet hours. No sound but her pen scratching on the page. The verses, once perfected, torn from their seclusion and slid under his hand. Next to his heart.

  “You’ve never shared your poetry with any of us. You really do love him, don’t you?”

  As an answer, Althea threw herself in Vada’s embrace, and the reason for her fear became clear. If Eli could walk, he could leave.

  The door opened and Doc walked out. Even in his nightshirt, he managed to look the part of the authoritative sage as he wiped his glasses on his sleeve.

  “So, he’s awake?” Hazel asked. “For good, you think?”

  “I’d say so, yes,” Doc said. “At least until it’s time to sleep again. But it’s impossible to know for sure.”

  “And he’s…” Vada searched for the correct word, “…functioning? Mentally, I mean?”

  “Oh yes. Sharp as a tack, as far as I can tell. He was able to let me know his name, where he came from, where he li
ves—”

  “So, who is he?” It seemed a safer question than whether or not he still pined for Katrina.

  “A better question is, what is he? And what he is, is easily tired and extremely hungry. So if one of you ladies would please, go downstairs and make him something to eat. Nothing heavy. A scrambled egg, maybe. Or oatmeal and a cup of weak tea.”

  “I’ll take care of it, Doc.” Vada quietly handed the journal page back to Althea, who was sorting and straightening the little bundle.

  “And he shouldn’t be alone for long; I’ll need one of you to go in and sit with him while I get dressed. He needs a more thorough examination, which I’d rather conduct with pants on.”

  Althea moved behind Hazel, nudging her toward the door.

  “Now, I’m not sure exactly what this means,” Doc said, “but he asked me about the girl who wrote poetry. Was that from a dream, I wonder? Or could that possibly be one of you?”

  Hazel stepped aside. “Well, what do you know?” Grinning broadly, she nudged Althea. “He was paying attention all along.”

  In her excitement, Vada had forgotten all about Kenny until she walked into the kitchen to see him dutifully waiting at the table, finishing off the last of the pie in the dish.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Vada,” he said, his mouth full. “I eat when I get nervous.”

  “And just what do you have to be nervous about, Mr. Cupid?” She filled the kettle and lit the stove before moving to the icebox for eggs. “Should I be in fear for my sister’s reputation?”

  “Oh, no ma’am. It’s nothing about that. I was just worried about him upstairs.”

  “Well, you and your team will be relieved to know that he’s fine. He’s up, and awake, and hungry.”

  “Oh!” He quickly crossed himself and, hands folded, said, “Thank You, Lord!” before crossing himself again.

  “You really are a nice boy, aren’t you, Kenny?” She cracked two eggs in a bowl and began whisking them with a fork.

  “I try to be, ma’am.”

  “Then stop calling me ‘ma’am.’ I’m not quite six years older than you.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’—, sorry.”

  “So with that settled, tell me why I don’t need to worry about my sister. My baby sister, just seventeen years old.”

  “I can hardly explain it.” He had one of those smiles rarely seen on men, full lipped and wide, with corners that actually turned up. His dark hair curled around his head, and his eyebrows danced with expression. “The first time I saw her, it’s like the rest of the world just disappeared for a second. I mean, I’ve devoted my whole life to playing baseball, even though my parents hate that I do it, but the moment I saw her face, I didn’t even remember being on a field. I feel bad for the consequences, but my mother always said the good Lord works all to the good.”

  Vada listened, adding a splash of milk to the eggs and melting butter in the pan before pouring the scrambled mass in, creating a satisfying sizzle.

  “This might seem unusual, but Lisette’s really not the one I’m worried about.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I’m not sure quite how to put this, but you should know that Lissy has had—shall we say—several suitors. I’m afraid you might be one of her more passing fancies. And on the other side of it, well, she’s not always, er…kind.”

  “I know. The first real conversation we had, all she did was tell me about all those other guys who took her dancing and bought her stuff.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  “No, not really. I’m confident I can give her more than they ever could.”

  Vada turned away from the stove and gave him a leveling glare. “As a baseball player? No offense, Kenny, but I have some insight into the salary you fellows make.”

  “I don’t exactly mean that. I mean love. I love your sister, Miss Allenhouse.”

  She turned back, scraping the wooden spatula along the edges of the pan. “Isn’t it a bit soon to be talking of love?”

  “It’s never too soon for love. It comes across you in a moment. Hits you right between the eyes.” At that, he smacked his forehead with the heel of his palm, then cringed. “Oh, sorry. Horrible analogy.”

  She couldn’t help it; she laughed, and he did too.

  The kettle started to make the sounds of boiling, just as the eggs made their final fluffy transformation. She filled the pot and dropped in a packed tea ball before scooping the eggs on a plate. She put the plate, the pot, and a sturdy cup onto a tray and Kenny, ever the gentleman, offered to carry it upstairs.

  “No, I have another errand for you.” She set the tray down on the table and ran upstairs, returning with her pocketbook. It took a little digging, but she finally found the small business card with Dave’s address carefully printed on the back.

  “Go to this address, and knock on the door until somebody answers. Ask to speak to Mr. Dave Voyant, and when you see him, tell him that his story just woke up and seems ready to talk.”

  Kenny looked confused. “It’s one o’clock in the morning.”

  “Tell him I’m a woman who keeps her promises.”

  When she got back upstairs, Vada found her door closed but not latched, so she combined a knock and a nudge before walking in with the tray.

  He was wearing pajamas—her father’s, she believed, the very pair she’d given him for Christmas two years ago. They billowed about his spare frame, but the pale blue stripes seemed to bring a little life to his face. Althea sat in her customary chair, though it was now turned to fully face the bed. Their hands were clasped, causing Vada’s heart to leap to her throat when she noticed that his fingers were intertwined with Althea’s, rather than lying limp and heavy at his side.

  She hesitated, not sure exactly what to say to a man brought back from the brink of death, finally settling on, “Hello.”

  “Hello.”

  “I’m Vada. I’ve brought you something to eat.”

  “I am Eli. Eli Prochazka, and I am very grateful because I am very hungry.”

  His voice was pleasant, perhaps softer than usual because of his weakness, with the faintest Czech accent hugging the corners of his words. He seemed instantly friendly, as if the days spent sleeping under their roof allowed him to bypass the formalities of introduction. Eli was already a fixture; now he was simply one who spoke.

  “Well then, I hope you enjoy this.”

  He was already sitting straight up in the bed, well-propped with pillows. By the time Vada made it to the side of the bed, he had dropped Althea’s hand in preparation for the tray soon to be set on his lap.

  “It looks delicious.”

  “Just scrambled eggs. And tea.” She turned to Althea. “And be careful. The tea is hot.”

  He picked up the fork, but it became immediately evident that he lacked the strength, or perhaps just the powers of concentration, to manage feeding himself. Althea took the fork from him, separated a bite of egg, and speared it onto the fork’s tines. After a sheepish grin, Eli opened his mouth, allowing Althea to feed him like a child.

  But there was nothing childlike about the atmosphere in the room. Vada felt every bit the voyeur, and she backed out, determined to stay away until she was invited back.

  It seemed impossible to imagine that half the night remained for sleeping, yet Hazel was already well on her way there when Vada came back to their shared bed.

  “Aren’t they adorable?” Hazel whispered.

  “Who? Althea and Eli?”

  “They already look like an old married couple. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have a man look at me that way.”

  “Scoot over.” Vada crawled in. “Did you learn any more about him?”

  “I helped Doc a little bit, not really cleaning him up, but just helping, you know…and Doc told him what happened at the ballpark and that he’s been here unconscious for four days—”

  “But did you learn anything about him?”

  “He’s lived here since he was fifteen. Then he went
back to his home country for a while and just came back.”

  “Did he mention Katrina? Anything that might explain the letter?”

  “No, but Althea was in the room part of the time, and he kept looking over at her. Like he didn’t want to talk in front of her. Anyway, he says he rents a room down on Harper Street and that he’s trying to save money to finish his last years of school. Engineering.”

  “My goodness! You managed to find out quite a bit.”

  “Doc kept asking him questions, I think to keep him alert and to check his memory.”

  “Did Doc ask how he knew about the poetry?”

  “No. But he didn’t have to. It was in his eyes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was like he read those poems before he ever opened them.”

  Vada lay there, awake, desperate to sleep. The clock downstairs chimed three o’clock. Her body didn’t know what to do, though her eyes burned and her mind begged for respite. Every time she felt the first faint tugs of sleep, she’d hear Eli’s voice, sweet and low, coming from across the hall.

  Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

  Maybe, if she could shut everything out, sleep now, and stay there through dawn, through breakfast, she might wake up in love.

  Or, at least, in love enough.

  Suddenly, she had to know what it felt like to be in the path of that much passion. Not the lust she’d felt in the throes of LaFortune’s embrace, but true, pure desire. She slid out of bed and crept over to Hazel’s desk. After a modicum of searching, Vada found the letter Hazel had been reading the last time Vada had fallen into any true, restful slumber. And, certainly, Hazel wouldn’t mind. She’d read most of the letter to Vada herself.

  Positioning her body so the page could be illuminated by the streetlight, Vada allowed the words written in the precise, strong hand to tell their story—of Barth’s longing, his love, and finally his urgent promise. By the time she came to the signature—With all the love I dare send right now—her own heart was racing by proxy.

  Maybe she and Garrison had it all wrong. Too much talking, too much familiarity. Maybe if they spent hours in silence, or sent letters, or threw caution to the wind to be together—no matter what the hour. Maybe…