The Bridegrooms: A Novel

by Allison K. Pittman

  He threw his head back and laughed, a pleasant sound that she hoped to be hearing for years to come. “I bought those pants secondhand just…well, the day before the game. I didn’t even know I had buttons in the pocket.”

  Then she laughed too, all the way into the kitchen, but when Hazel asked her to share the joke, she couldn’t. Not without telling the whole story, and she couldn’t do that yet. Luckily, Eli seemed content to go along with her explanation of, “Nothing, just some silly thing not worth telling.”

  Molly had indeed outdone herself on a Friday lunch, serving three kinds of salad along with slices of cold ham and enormous soft rolls.

  “These are from Moravek’s,” Vada told Eli, who was soon ready to eat his second.

  Dave Voyant seemed equally comfortable for his first meal in the Allenhouse kitchen. He joked with Hazel and teased Molly, asking why a good Catholic girl like her could bring herself to serve meat on Friday.

  “No scandal in servin’ it, sir,” she said good-naturedly. “Just a sin in the eatin’ of it.”

  “Nothing sinful here.” Eli speared his third slice.

  Vada looked at Hazel. “Is Doc out visiting patients?”

  “I don’t think so. At least none were on his schedule.”

  Just then, as if hearing his name called, Doc walked into the kitchen, causing all of them at once to stop their conversation.

  “Doc!” Vada jumped up from the table and ran to her father, barely recognizing the man with the newly clean-shaven face. The whiskers that had sprouted from his cheeks and chin for as long as she could remember were gone, leaving only a tidy, fashionable mustache. “What prompted this?”

  “Well,” Doc said, giving the ends of the mustache a twirl. “I figured we are on the brink of a new century, and I should be ready to meet it.”

  “Or,” Molly said from her place by the sink, “our writer friend wanted a picture for his story and you didn’t want to come off lookin’ like some sort o’ mountain man.”

  “That too,” Doc said before taking his place at the table.

  After lunch, Dave excused himself, saying he had to drop by the newspaper office before cleaning up for the concert.

  “It is formal dress, I presume?” he asked as Vada walked him to the door.

  “For the audience, yes, preferred. But since you’re the press…”

  “I’ll see if I can’t dig up a suit.”

  20

  Vada had reserved five seats for the concert: one for her, one for her father, and one for each of her three sisters. It had been quite the fight to get Althea to agree to take the night off of her telegraph office job, and even a bigger one to convince Lisette to spend a Friday evening listening to an amateur orchestra of mostly middle-aged men. Now, of course, circumstances had dramatically changed. Doc insisted on staying home to monitor Eli, and Althea seemed wounded at the thought of being away from him.

  “You should go,” Eli insisted when the subject came up after lunch. “I believe you have already spent too many nights sitting and watching me.”

  Just like that, he established himself as Althea’s newest authority, and she silently agreed.

  Lisette, however, walked through the door after school complaining. “Do I still have to go to this thing?”

  Vada assured her that yes, indeed, she did have to go to this thing, and that furthermore, Garrison had been kind enough to send her flowers to commemorate the occasion.

  “You can wear one in your hair, that would look lovely with your spring gown,” Vada told her, hoping to sound more enthusiastic herself.

  “Oh, all right. Kenneth was going to meet me there anyway, just in case I couldn’t get out of it.”

  “That’s lovely,” Vada said. “He can have Doc’s seat with us.”

  Promptly at two o’clock, under Molly’s firm insistence, the four girls took to their beds for an afternoon nap before the night out. Eli, exhausted after so full a day, also agreed to take a rest, after a good-humored promise to wake up by next Tuesday at the latest. In the meantime, Molly would pop down to the laundry where their gowns had been sent to be cleaned.

  Up in her room, Hazel stripped out of her corset and down to her chemise and pantalets, but not Vada. She was too weighted with worry to sleep. She took her letter to Garrison out of her pocketbook and read it for the first time that day. Clear, succinct, but no admission of her straying into another man’s arms. She could spare him that, at least.

  Oh, Lord, there’s still time for You to change his heart. If I thought he really loved me. Loved me like…like he couldn’t bear to live another day without me. And that’s it—I hurt. Lord, let him see how he’s hurting me. Show him, Father, today. Because my heart is set. I cannot wait for three years to finally be worthy. I deserve better than that.

  A nagging voice behind her heart dared to ask Why? But she ignored it. That meant revisiting those moments with Louis, and she couldn’t do that. After all, didn’t Garrison betray her a little every day that passed without a proposal? He may as well have pushed her into LaFortune’s arms.

  She read the letter one more time before sliding it back into the envelope. On it she wrote, Garrison—to be read after the concert. She owed him that much. Before she could change her mind, she opened her violin case and placed the note within. She would take both tonight.

  That evening’s concert was the first spring social outing for the Allenhouse sisters, and whatever hesitation any of them may have had about attending disappeared within the excitement of preparing for it.

  Hazel spent the day with her hair in rag curls. Even Vada put on a brave enough face to keep any misgivings at bay, and Molly hardly grumbled about spendin’ an extra evenin’ with her girls with nary an extra dime of pay.

  Each bedroom door—save Vada’s, of course—had a newly pressed and steamed spring gown hanging from it. Molly kept vigilant command of the curling tongs heated on the kitchen stove, and each sister took a turn in her chair, nibbling on cheese sandwiches intended to tide them over until the late postconcert supper.

  Lisette was the first to get her hair done, as she had decided to wear it up this evening. Vada, Hazel, and Althea sat at the kitchen table and watched Molly’s masterful handling of their baby sister’s long, luxurious tresses. She divided the hair into three thick strands that she intertwined into a knot right at the crown of Lisette’s head. The ends of those strands were left loose and were curled into ringlets that seemed to spill from within the bun. As a final touch, she took one of the white roses Garrison sent and set it at the top of the cascading ringlets, securing it there with the oyster comb Lisette received for her sixteenth birthday.

  The end result was breathtaking, even with the girl wearing her pink cotton wrapper. Moments later, she walked into the kitchen wearing a gown of white satin with a sage green lace overlay. The neckline extended from one creamy white shoulder to the next, with the lace flounce at the bust creating a more modest silhouette for her generous figure. Capped sleeves fluttered at the top of her bare arms, and the skirt swirled perfectly around her feet.

  “Saints preserve us.” Molly held a handful of Althea’s hair. “You look like you just walked off a fashion plate.”

  “Do you think Kenneth will like it?” For the first time ever, Lisette carried an air of insecurity.

  “He’s going to love you,” Vada said, thinking how beautifully she would fit into the Chentworth world. “More than he already does.”

  “What do you think, Papa?” She did a twirl for Doc, who had just walked into the kitchen.

  Doc was speechless for a second; Vada could see the valiant fight against tears being waged in his eyes and his throat. Finally, he said, “This cannot be my little baby girl.”

  “Oh, Papa!” Lisette wrapped her arms around him, careful not to mess her hair. And when she looked up, Vada had a perfect view of the two of them, just as if she were looking at a new set of pictures in a double frame. With Doc’s whiskers gone, the soft planes of his face
were exposed, including the tiny bump of a chin. An identical profile between father and daughter. In fact, in forty years’ time, she would look just like him—minus the mustache if she was lucky. The thought of that would probably make Lisette furious, but it brought a certain peace to Vada’s heart.

  When the tender moment was interrupted by an insistent knock on the front door, Lisette leaped out of Doc’s arms. “I told Kenny to meet me at the theater, but I suppose he couldn’t wait.”

  She skipped out of the kitchen, until Vada called after her to remember she was a lady.

  Molly returned to her task at hand, fixing Althea’s hair in a much more subdued, conservative style, creating a pretty twist that ran from her crown to the nape of her neck and pinning individual curls at her temples.

  “Now you know I’m not a one for meddlin’, Dr. Allenhouse, but it seems to me you’d better get that one married off soon as you can. For the sanity of all of us.”

  Doc took a cheese sandwich from the platter and munched it thoughtfully. “I’ll certainly take that into consideration, Molly.”

  Lisette was back at the kitchen door, an odd look on her face.

  “Why don’t you ask the young man to come back here?” Molly said. “Let him get a snack.”

  “It’s not Kenneth. I don’t know who it is. Some man, tall, dark hair, very sophisticated and handsome. Said he needed to talk to Miss Allenhouse? But not me.”

  Vada and Hazel locked eyes across the table. Molly held the curling tong in midair, and Althea twisted in her chair. They all knew who it was, and the thought of the man here to ruin this evening burned the wick of Vada’s anger to the explosive end.

  “Do you want me to go talk to him, Vada?” Hazel asked.

  “No, I’m sure he means me,” she said, rising to her feet.

  “Girls? Is there something I should know about?”

  “No, Doc,” Vada said. “Just some last-minute concert business, I’m sure. Sit down and finish your sandwich.”

  Her stomach roiled with every step, intensifying at the sight of the familiar silhouette on the other side of the front door glass. What would she say? How could she keep him away from Doc? What if he overpowered her, knocking her down and barging right in? That was the trick. Don’t let him in. Open the door just a crack and slip out onto the front porch. So what if she was wearing her robe? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

  Pressing her face close to the jamb, she twisted the knob and opened the door, planning to ease it open no more than it took to scrape through. But the wider she opened the door, the better the look she got of the man on the other side, and the clearer it became that this wasn’t Alex Triplehorn on the front porch.

  This man was as tall as Triplehorn—perhaps taller—and probably broader across the shoulders. His hair was black as raven’s wings and his hands, clasped loosely in front of him, looked like they could strangle a lion if given the chance. His face, though, was somewhat familiar. No, not his face, his eyes. She’d seen those eyes before. Tonight, standing this close, she could see that they were an icy blue, but it wasn’t the color that was familiar; it was the shade. She’d never seen them in color before, only staring at her from a photograph. And, like her father, this man had taken advantage of a barber’s trade, sporting a perfectly clean-shaven face with just the hint of shadow that must have grown during the train ride from Wyoming.

  “Are…are you…?” She swallowed. “Barth?”

  “At last!” His voice rumbled up from deep inside that massive chest, and all of Vada’s plans to disallow his entrance vanished as he strode across the threshold and grabbed her, both of his hands easily encircling her waist. Before she knew it, she was being held high above his head, looking down into an extremely handsome, smiling face.

  “Mr.—” Not only did she not know his last name, the grip and the angle in which he held her made speaking nearly impossible.

  “Shoulda sent a telegram, but the wires was down, and then—”

  “Put me down!”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Put me down. Now, please.”

  Barth did as he was told, holding her steady until he was sure she’d found her footing.

  “Sorry.” He stepped back out onto the porch. “Been picturin’ this moment in my mind for so long now, and that’s how I always imagined it. Bet your family thinks I’m crazy.”

  “My…” She turned around, and there they all were, packed at the end of the entrance hall, Doc in the very front. “Oh, my family.” Vada could barely see Hazel’s stricken eyes behind Molly’s shoulder.

  “Maybe I oughta leave now and try again in the mornin’?”

  “No,” Vada said. “Come in, and let me introduce you to the woman you’ve been corresponding with all these months.”

  Realization registered on his face, and to her delight, a bright red flush spread from his cheeks to his ears. “You mean, you aren’t Miss Allenhouse?”

  “There are four of us, actually. So, yes, I am Miss Allenhouse, but I am not your Miss Allenhouse. Let me introduce you to Hazel.”

  Behind Molly’s shoulder, a little mass of rag curls bounced.

  “Come, Hazel. There’s somebody here to meet you.”

  Doc, in a fiery moment of authority, reached behind him and grasped Hazel’s arm, pulling her to the front, then giving her a little push ahead.

  Step after step she took, until she was even with Vada, and Vada handed her over. “Hazel Allenhouse, I’d like to formally introduce you to Barth…”

  “LaRoche,” Hazel filled in. “So nice to meet you.” She spoke with the quality of having some other entity forming her words within her, and it wasn’t until Vada prompted that she held out her hand, which he immediately took and kissed, looking straight into her eyes even as he held her hand to his lips.

  “You,” he said, “are the beauty behind all those letters?”

  The rag curls were shaking again, nodding.

  Without another word, he dropped her hand and walked out the open door, closing it behind him.

  Never, not even as Vada imagined those long comatose nights shared by Eli and Althea, had there ever been such a mass of pure silence in their home as at that moment. Then, a tiny sound broke through—the same tiny sound Vada heard all those days ago at the hotel when Hazel felt the pang of rejection. Her sister’s lip quivered, her whole body shaking, in fact.

  Housecoat or no, Vada was ready to storm onto that front porch and break him in half. That is, if she could beat Molly to it. The Irish woman’s arms were exposed now as she rolled up her sleeves, and only Doc’s restraining hand kept her in her place when once again a knock sounded at the front door.

  “I’ll take care of this,” Vada said. This time, she threw open the door, exposing Mr. Barth LaRoche to the wrath of the Allenhouse clan, but he seemed nonplussed by their presence.

  He breezed right past her, walked straight to Hazel, and said, “At last!” before picking her up in his arms, lifting her high over his head, and spinning in one slow complete circle. Once he set her down and had assured himself she could stand steady, he dropped to one knee and took her hand in his.

  “My darlin’. I could not wait another day to know your answer. I must know now, will you consent to be my wife?”

  Vada looked past them to the family still assembled in the hall, where everybody stood with looks of shock and amazement on their faces. Again, the thick silence until Hazel made that tiny sound once more, only this time it carried with it joy, and later it transformed into, “Yes.”

  He rose to his feet and kissed her gently first on one cheek, then the other. “Now then, my heart, perhaps I should meet your father.”

  “Come, girls,” Molly gathered them like so many chicks, “come to the kitchen and I’ll finish your hair while they talk.”

  The atmosphere in the kitchen was vastly different than it had been before the knock at the door. Althea had gone upstairs to dress, but Lisette asked question after question, chastisin
g Hazel for keeping such a secret for so long.

  “Here I was feeling sorry for you, old maid, and you were sending love letters across the country for months.”

  “They weren’t all love letters,” Hazel said, wincing as Molly pulled out the bits of rag from her hair. “We wrote about all kinds of things.”

  “But mostly love?”

  Hazel smiled at her youngest sister. “Yes, Lissy, I guess mostly love.”

  “Oh, and he’s a handsome thing, isn’t he girls?” Molly said. “Looks just like a paintin’ come to life.”

  “Or like a statue,” Lisette added. “He’s so tall! And strong. Goodness, he picked you up like you were—”

  “Careful,” Hazel warned.

  “Like you were a feather,” Vada said. “You should feel very happy.”

  “Oh, I do. I do.” Hazel cocked her head sideways, easing Molly’s task. “Are you sure I should even go to the concert? It just seems like, since he’s here…”

  Vada thought about Hazel’s dress hanging on the back of the door, a sage-colored silk gown appliquéd with thin black velvet ribbon sewn into a swirling design across the bodice, narrowing at the waist, and cascading down the front of the skirt. Already her jet-bead earrings flickered through the curls Molly arranged around her face. “Of course you should go. If only so Barth has a chance to see you in that dress.”

  “Do you think…is there any chance he could come with us? I’ve never had an escort to anything before. Are there tickets available?”

  “Oh yes,” Vada said, picturing the ledger. “Plenty available. But I don’t know that you’ll be able to sit with us.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Lisette said, “since nobody would be able to see over his head. But do you think he has anything to wear?”

  “Go fetch the iron, Lissy, and put it on the stove. When I’m done with you girls, I’ll have your father send him in and I’ll give that suit a pressin’.”

  Althea made a subdued entrance into the room, wearing a pale blue gown trimmed with a white satin ruffle that crossed her bust at an angle, giving the appearance that the gown was wrapped about her. A length of the same material wrapped around her waist and fell down the top of her skirt. She’d fashioned a corsage from the roses Garrison sent and had it fastened at her waist, weaving the stems through the knot.