The Bridegrooms: A Novel

by Allison K. Pittman

  “Oh, and doesn’t my quiet one look lovely? And cheer up, girl. Your young man needs his rest.”

  Unconvinced, Althea held out the corsage she’d created from Vada’s roses. Four of them were arranged on a bed of pink satin and lace threaded with a thin, wine-colored velvet ribbon. She held up her hand and indicated that it was intended to be worn on the wrist, which best suited Vada’s gown.

  “Thank you,” Vada said, wondering how she’d ever bear the weight of it. “If you like, why don’t you sit upstairs with Eli until it’s time for us to leave? We still have an hour, at least.”

  With a grateful expression, Althea stood, took a sandwich, then another, and bounced out of the kitchen.

  “Oooh,” Lisette said, admiring Vada’s corsage. “That gives me an idea. Are you finished with Hazel?”

  Molly stepped around to observe her handiwork and declared that yes, she was.

  “Then come on!” She grabbed Hazel’s hand and dragged her away.

  “That’s how it’s to be then.” Molly returned the curling iron to the stove. “One after the other just flyin’ out.”

  “We should take a photograph.”

  Molly snapped her fingers. “The very thing! They say that’s the time to sit for a photograph, when you’re sittin’ on the brink of life changin’. I’ll make an appointment tomorrow.”

  “Sounds marvelous,” Vada said, trying to sound brave.

  She took her place in Molly’s chair, imagining an evening one year hence with just the three of them—the spinster, the Irish maid, and Doc—sitting around the table, perhaps playing cards. The infuriating aspect of that picture was its inevitability. No matter if she ended her relationship with Garrison or not, she was guaranteed to be a free woman long after her sisters settled down with the men of their dreams.

  May this night be the night of our dreams…

  “What are you scowlin’ about? You’re goin’ to ruin your face etchin’ in all those lines.”

  “Nothing.” She grabbed a sandwich and sunk her teeth into the soft bread and cheese.

  “Feelin’ sorry for yourself, are you, that you don’t have some dashin’ young man in here sweepin’ you off your feet?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “I ain’t bein’ silly, and don’t think I don’t know about the sweepin’ that’s been happenin’ with you of late. That Lissy’d tell a secret to a stone just for the joy of speakin’ it.”

  “Oh, Molly. I’ve ruined everything.”

  “I doubt it’s as bad as all that.” She pulled the brush through Vada’s hair, the feeling oddly familiar and comforting. “You’re a good girl, after all. I’m sure nothin’s been…undone.”

  The weight of Molly’s statement hit home. “Of course not! I just feel like my affection has been… It’s just not the same. Just not as strong.”

  “Nonsense.” She gave Vada’s hair a painful tug, eliciting a yelp. “Sorry, had a bit of a knot. It’s just as much as it’s ever been. What you’re feelin’ is sorry for yourself after you had a little taste of somethin’ new.”

  “It’s not that…well, not only that. I just worry that Garrison doesn’t love me. Not really. Because if he does, why won’t he marry me?”

  “He will, lass. In his time. And o’course he loves you, much as any man ever loved any woman. Some fires burn slower, is all. Doesn’t mean they don’t burn as hot.”

  Thirty minutes later, at precisely quarter past six, Vada was the last Allenhouse sister to descend the staircase fully dressed for the evening. Her gown was a pale pink chiffon, falling in four tiers, with a bodice trimmed in burgundy velvet. The neckline wrapped around the tops of her arms, with narrow jeweled straps over her shoulders.

  Where most young women would carry an elegant silk clutch, she clutched the handle of her violin case. She wished she had the spirit to carry the regal nature of the gown, but not even the admiring gazes of her family puddled at the foot of the stairs could lift them. Not even Doc, who took her hand as she descended the final steps and gave it the most gallant kiss.

  “Planning on joining them onstage?” he asked.

  “Hardly. Just makes me feel better.”

  “Then it’s the music world’s loss.”

  She ran the backs of her fingers over the new smoothness of his face, still not accustomed to this visage. In many ways it seemed the past few days had brought a new man into this role, and part of her longed to forget about the evening that lay ahead and fulfill her destiny of long, cozy nights at home.

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “I’ve ordered the carriage for you.” He led her to the door. “Pete’s waiting outside, already paid and tipped, so you all just enjoy your evening.”

  Sure enough, parked in front, the Allenhouse carriage waited, with young Pete Darvin himself gussied up for the evening with a black jacket and top hat.

  “Good evening ladies,” he said from his perch. “Gentlemen.”

  He made no move to come down from his seat, so one by one, Barth and Doc handed the girls up, before Barth settled into the place beside Pete. The springs groaned under his weight, and for a moment Vada worried Pete might be sent catapulting over the roof of the house. From the look on his face, Pete seemed to have the same concern.

  “And no worry thinkin’ you need to be home by midnight!” Molly waved vigorously from the porch. “I believe our Pete would do just fine drivin’ a pumpkin!”

  The sisters laughed, remembering their favorite fairy tale. It was the one Molly used to tell them, leaving off with the moral: ’tis better not to have a stepmother at all than one who treats you wicked. As little girls, it was an odd comfort to be found at the end of a long, sad day.

  With the first few turns of the wheels, a voice cried, “Althea!” and Vada looked up to see Eli leaning through the second-story window. “You’ll tell me all about it when you get home?”

  Althea blew him a kiss, which he feigned to catch in his outstretched hand.

  21

  The lobby was a teeming mass of beautiful people. Or at least, people beautiful for that evening.

  The hems and trains of pastel gowns graced the carpet, making Vada glad she’d taken the time to give it an extra sweeping. The cloakroom did some bustling business, though many of the women chose to keep their wraps—colorfully embossed velvet shawls and light wool capes.

  Interspersed within the colorful sea, men in black evening suits and tuxedos dotted the crowd, filling the air with the smoke from thin cigars and lending a low, steady rumble to the sound of countless conversations.

  Vada made her way through, smiling and greeting all those she knew, and even a few she didn’t. Hazel and Barth peeled away the moment they entered the lobby, as Barth claimed he’d never seen so many people gathered in one place. Sheep, maybe, but sheep knew enough to walk in one direction. All this milling made him nervous. Because of this, Vada recommended the two of them take a seat toward the back—last row, if possible—so they could be the first ones out when the concert was over.

  Althea, too, expressed discomfort at being a part of the multitude, and Vada offered to escort her to her seat—fifth row, marked with one of the pretty “reserved” flags—but Althea mentioned that she could find it on her own and disappeared through the middle set of doors.

  Lisette leaned close to Vada’s ear. “Where’s Garrison?”

  “Backstage, I imagine.”

  “Shouldn’t you go find him? Wish him good luck, or break a finger, or whatever?”

  “I’ll stay with you until your escort arrives. As pretty as you look, you need a chaperone.”

  It was true. Lisette had drawn more than one interested eye. Only Vada’s protective glare served to keep them at bay.

  “I’m afraid I’ll miss him.” Lisette craned her neck and looked around. “He’s so short.”

  But then Vada spotted him, making his way purposefully through the crowd. What a difference a jar of pomade and a three-hundred dollar tuxedo made on a man.


  She caught his eye and sent him a wide, approving smile; he held a finger to his lips and continued walking, right up behind Lisette. He stood to her left and tapped her right shoulder, drawing her to look over it, only to see no one.

  Meanwhile, he moved in front of her, so when she turned around, Vada had a full view of her delight. Although she looked quite the woman with her piled hair and sophisticated gown, Lisette’s face took on the expression of an enchanted child.

  “You look beautiful, Lisette,” he said before kissing her offered cheek.

  “So do you, Kenneth. You’re sure your manager doesn’t mind that you aren’t taking the train tonight?”

  He took her hand and tucked it up into his arm. “It doesn’t leave until nine, but I told him I’d take the next available tomorrow. They’ll get along fine without me for one more game.”

  The two stood, drinking each other in, until Lisette, in a surprising display of etiquette, cleared her pretty throat and said, “Kenneth? My sister?”

  “Of course.” He looked truly embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. Good evening, Miss Allenhouse.”

  “Please, it’s time you called me Vada. And good evening to you.”

  “And our victim? Mr. Eli? He is still doing well?” Already, with the change of clothes and a beautiful girl at his side, Kenny Cupid transformed into Kenneth Chentworth, speaking in mature, clipped tones. There was a certain swagger about him, not at all unpleasant, that endowed both the height and the years he lacked.

  “He is well, indeed. Just at our home resting.”

  “And is Dr. Allenhouse here?”

  “I’m sorry, no. He’s home with our patient, keeping a careful watch.”

  A shadow of disappointment crossed Kenny’s face. “I had hoped to see him here. My parents were unable to attend this evening—”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize your parents lived here in town,” Vada said, proud of her ruse.

  “Neither did I,” Lisette added with pure wide-eyed innocence.

  “They do, but they had a previous engagement this evening—a little gathering in our home. I was hoping to ask your father’s permission to take Lisette by after the concert to meet them.”

  Vada fought to keep her face straight. If everything Dave Voyant said was true, Lisette would cap off her evening in a most unexpected way. To her credit, she had a look of mild terror on her face.

  “Don’t you think it’s a little too soon for me to meet your parents, Kenneth?”

  “No, my darling.” He kissed her hand. “No I don’t.”

  “I don’t know,” Vada said, enjoying this bit of power, “that’ll have her out awfully late.”

  “I’ll have her in by midnight. You have my word as a Spider.”

  “Very well. How could I doubt something as auspicious as that?” The couple looked at each other in pure glee, then to Vada in gratitude. “Now, Althea’s in our seats sitting alone. It would be nice if you two would go join her. I’ll be there directly.”

  If Lisette had captured people’s attention alone, her coupling with Kenneth proved even more enticing, and more than one head—men and women—turned to follow their progress.

  One man in particular took note—Dave Voyant. But when he looked up and saw Vada, his eyes seemed full of appreciation for her alone.

  “My, my, my Miss Allenhouse. And how I do wish you were my my my Miss Allenhouse.”

  “You need to be careful, Mr. Voyant, or one of these days I’m going to take you up on your offer and make an honest man out of you.”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t think there’s enough good in you to do that.”

  “And I don’t think there’s nearly as much bad in you as you want people to think.”

  “Yeah,” he said, leaning close and putting his hand right on her bare shoulder, “but wouldn’t it be fun to find out for sure?”

  The shiver that ran through her for a moment made her think that, yes, it would, but when she held up her hand to push him playfully away, she caught the scent of roses from her corsage, taking her back to the last time she fell for such temptation.

  “More fun for you, I think, Mr. Voyant, than for me.”

  He pulled away, thrusting the stub of his pencil into his lapel like an arrow. “Ouch! You wound me, Miss Allenhouse.”

  “Good thing my father’s a doctor then, isn’t it?” She started to walk away but turned around and said, “Stick around after the concert and I’ll see if I can’t get you an interview with Herr Johann.”

  “Please tell me he’s an international jewel thief living as a conductor to escape Scotland Yard.”

  “Sorry. I’m afraid he’s a washed-up Austrian musician trying desperately to keep his delusions of grandeur alive.”

  “Ouch!” The pencil was back. “This time it’s mortal!”

  Vada laughed, as she always seemed to do whenever she talked to him, and she wished they could love each other.

  Her ears quickened to the sound of the tuning orchestra and her heart too. Her feet followed suit as she zipped through the side doors leading backstage. Though the sound coming from the stage was full, a few musicians still milled about like so many wasps in cheap black suits. Some matronly wives were here too, licking their fingers to slick back thin, wayward hair and holding more than one irritated child at bay.

  “Ten minutes!” barked Mr. Messini, the head usher also engaged in the task of managing the backstage. It was the only warning the orchestra would get; from here he would go from one octogenarian to the next, yelling, “Ten minutes!” in their ears too.

  Vada peeked through the back curtain, delighting at the cacophony within. Oboes chased flutes, scales skipped from violin to cello and back. Bows rose and fell with no discernable pattern. Garrison sat among them, erect and proper in his third chair, staring straight ahead.

  Not caring what Herr Johann’s reaction would be, Vada walked onto the stage, crossed behind the seats, and came right up to Garrison’s row, the tap-tapping of her silk evening boots lost in the wayward noise. She ignored the disapproving glances, sat right down in the vacant first chair, and—much to his surprise—leaned across the jowly Mr. Pennington to whisper in Garrison’s ear.

  “Are you nervous?”

  He didn’t startle at the sound of her voice, merely turned his head slowly, his eyebrows rising above the rims of his spectacles as he took in the vision next to him.

  “Darling!” He scrambled across Mr. Pennington, temporarily trading seats, and placed both of his hands on her bare shoulders, his thumbs gracing the straps of her dress. “You’re a vision.”

  “Well, thank you.” She tugged at his white bow tie. “You look quite handsome yourself.”

  His hands shook as he fussed with his jacket buttons. “Look at that. I may need you to take my place.”

  “Sorry, darling. I left my violin in the carriage, just so I wouldn’t be tempted. Don’t tell me you’re nervous?”

  “Not nervous really. I just—” He leaned closer, taking her in confidence. “I just want to do well.”

  “That’s you.” She was surprised at the hint of tears she felt. “Always wanting to do the right thing.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “No.” And she meant it. “It’s quite admirable, actually. But remember, I’ve been listening to you for weeks now. You’ll do fine.” She leaned over to Mr. Pennington. “You all will.”

  Garrison took her hand and noticed the corsage. “You got my flowers.”

  “Oh yes! Forgive me for not thanking you yet. Thank you, from all of us. They’re quite lovely. Lisette is wearing hers in her hair, Althea has hers pinned to her dress, and Hazel…”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s a long story, there. Suffice it to say that Hazel’s escort is wearing hers as a boutonniere.”

  His gaze intensified, seeking more information, but it was clear none was forthcoming. “You’ll have to tell me that story after the concert then.”

  “I hope I will.”

  She c
ould see Erik Vlasek, first chair, glowering from the wings. He tapped his bow against his leg with a simmering impatience, and she knew Herr Johann could not be far off.

  “I’d better be going.”

  “Wait. Where are you sitting?”

  “Fifth row. Seat three. Like always.”

  “Because I look for you, you know. If I get lost, or if I’m not sure—”

  “You need to look to Johann.”

  “I love you more than I love Johann.”

  Vlasek’s expression now could only be defined as furious, and Herr Johann came up behind him, looking Vada straight in the eye as he raked his baton across his throat in a threatening gesture.

  She gave Garrison a quick kiss on his cheek before running offstage in a most unladylike manner. When she reached the wing, she ran right past Vlasek and paused just long enough to give Herr Johann a kiss in kind, then continued running before he could either protest or return the gesture.

  She went through the door that opened out to the back hallway, then out through the lobby, pleased to see the crowd greatly dispersed, and when she walked through the door into the theater, equally pleased to see the house nearly full.

  “Vada!” Her name carried on a guileless whisper, and she turned to give an encouraging wave to Hazel and Barth, who seemed quite cozy in the back row.

  Vada made her way down the aisle, spotting their seats not only by the decorative flags, but also the distinct style of Lisette’s hair set off by the beautiful white roses. Kenny sat on the aisle, and like a gentleman, he vacated his seat allowing easy passage for Vada to take the third seat, in between Lisette and Althea.

  Soon, the curtain opened and the discordant sounds of the orchestra’s tuning continued. She loved that sound. It seemed to herald such an impossibility. How could all those instruments, all those sounds ever come together in anything close to cohesion, let alone harmony? But they always did. Every night, even though from time to time there might be a slight problem. One musician playing too fast, another too slow, another with an instrument out of tune. But those moments were fleeting, and by the next measure, the problem was solved. The difference undetectable. Chaos given over to harmony once more.