“Papa, you would investigate Jesus Christ and find him a charlatan if He wanted to marry me.”
“Pearl! Don’t blaspheme.”
The young woman looked abashed at what she had said, but she stood her ground and did not apologize. Instead, she asked, “Did you hire a detective agency to look into my mother’s background before you married her?”
“How dare you!” Charlie lunged forward over the desk with his hand raised, and only at the last second did he control himself and not strike his daughter. He stood there a moment, then looked at his hand, shame on his face, and slowly sat down. “Frank Curry has turned you into a shrew.”
“No, Papa,” Pearl said, leaning forward and looking at her father intently. “He has awakened me. He has made me aware I have abilities I did not know about, and he has taught me not to be afraid. He’s opened up the world to me. Why, he’s promised to take me to New York and New Orleans, perhaps on our bridal tour, and maybe one day we’ll go to Egypt.” Pearl gripped her hands together, because confronting her father was difficult. She had never done it before.
“And haven’t I offered to do the same, but you turned me down?” Charlie sighed. “Was your life so bad before you met him? Is there anything I did not give you, any request I refused? I thought you were happy.”
Pearl was conflicted. “I was happy. I thought I was. But now I am so much happier. You’re making a muddle of things.”
“No, Pearl, Frank Curry has done that. He’s driven a wedge between us.”
Pearl turned away from her father, looking over her shoulder through the partially open doors of the parlor at the stiff furniture, worn with age, the red wallpaper, the walnut table with its now-faded shawl, the formal portrait of her mother above the mantel, the dried flowers that had crumbled into dust under their dome. She knew every object in the room, had known each since she could first remember. Nothing had ever changed, and suddenly, she felt as if the room was as dead as the stuffed bird caught in its glass prison. Her eye caught a movement, and she realized that Mrs. Travers was sitting there. Pearl rose and said, “Papa, I intend to marry him. There is nothing you can say to dissuade me.”
“Then I have a proposal. Tell Mr. Curry that if he marries you, I will disown you. You will be penniless. Then see what how much he wants you to be his wife.”
“I won’t!” Pearl said.
“Are you afraid of what he’ll say?”
Pearl did not answer, but swept out of the study into the parlor, closing the doors behind her.
Mrs. Travers stood, and said, “I know it isn’t something of my business what went on in there, and I’ll keep quiet.” Before Pearl could respond, the older woman added, “Your father didn’t know any more about Nealie Bent when he asked her to marry him than a pig knows about Sunday.”
* * *
The wait for Frank Curry to arrive in Georgetown now seemed interminable to Pearl, who divided her days between heavy household chores and needlework, although none of that improved her state of mind. She would have liked to hike in the mountains, but the weather had turned cold, and snow covered the ground higher up. Besides, she was afraid that if she left the house, Frank would arrive and thus would have to face her father without knowing that Charlie despised him. Since she had no address for Frank in the East, she could not send him a warning letter. Frank wrote her again, saying he had been delayed another day or two. It was a missive that seemed to her more like a business communication than a love letter. But she prized it and read and reread it a dozen times a day, lingering over the closing, “My tenderest love to you, dearest Pearl.”
So more than three weeks passed following Pearl’s return from Denver before Frank Curry appeared in Georgetown, on a blustery day when snow threatened the town. He came on a Wednesday, the day that Charlie Dumas usually went to Denver, perhaps expecting only Pearl and Mrs. Travers to be at home. But Charlie had not left Georgetown since he’d confronted his daughter, so the young couple was not to have time to themselves, and Pearl would have no way to prepare Frank.
Pearl answered the door, gasping in surprise when she saw Frank standing on the porch, although she had expected him every time the bell had rung. They stared at each other a moment. Then Frank said softly, “My dearest. I’ve missed you.” He stepped inside and took her hand, raising it to his lips.
Pearl glanced toward the study doors, which were not quite closed, and snatched back her hand.
Frank frowned and asked, “Is something wrong?”
“Everything is wrong,” Pearl whispered. “Papa is opposed to the marriage.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
Pearl clutched the cameo at her neck. “You must be careful or you’ll put him in a rage. He is already very angry.”
“Have you changed your mind?”
“Oh no,” Pearl breathed.
“Then that’s what matters. I don’t mind facing your father.”
At that moment, Charlie called from the study, “Who is there, Pearl?”
The young woman stiffened her back and slid back one of the study doors, replying as evenly as she could. “It is Mr. Frank Curry, Papa.”
“Is that so? Very well. Ask him to come in.”
Frank and Pearl looked at each other for a long time, until Frank said, “Well, I must give it a go. There is a great deal at stake.” He gave her a reassuring smile and whispered, “My very life is at stake.”
Pearl pushed open the other door then and entered the room, Frank behind her. As she glanced back at him, she noted how dashing he was, dressed in a stylish overcoat and felt hat, leather gloves, and his walking stick. And despite herself, she wondered where the money had come from to purchase such clothing. Charlie’s investigation had affected her more than she wanted to admit. Frank removed the glove on his right hand and held the hand out to Charlie, smiling as if he was as welcome as he had been in the past.
Charlie shook it cordially, saying, “Won’t you take a seat. My daughter tells me you have been traveling. I hope you had a pleasant journey.” Pearl realized then that one of the reasons her father was such a good negotiator in his dealings with mine owners was his amiable manner, his ability to hide his true feelings. Others found him pleasant and agreeable, not understanding until it was too late that his manner covered up a crafty and sometimes devious nature when it came to investing his money.
“Quite pleasant, but I have been anxious to return.”
Pearl started to sit beside Frank on one of the two chairs, but Charlie said, “My dear, would you excuse us? I believe Mr. Curry and I should speak alone.”
Pearl started to object, but she feared she would anger her father, making things even harder for Frank. So she left the room, closing the doors behind her and tiptoeing out onto the front porch, where she sat as close to the window of the study as she could. But the walls of the house were thick, and she overheard little of the conversation.
The two men talked for a long time, while Pearl shivered in the cold, but she would not leave her post to fetch her shawl. At times, she heard the men’s voices rise and made out the words. Once Frank said, “I guess I have a higher opinion of your daughter than you do,” and Charlie replied, “You believe you know her better in a few months than I who’ve lived with her for thirty years?” Later, she heard Charlie boom, “Fool with me, young man, and there’ll be a new face in hell tomorrow.”
After a while, Mrs. Travers, who had gone to the market, came home and went up onto the porch and sat down beside Pearl, who cautioned her to be quiet, telling her that Frank Curry was inside.
“Listen to that carryings-on. The two of them would wake snakes,” Mrs. Travers whispered when they heard an outburst from the study. “Has your father softened?”
“It appears he has not.”
Mrs. Travers, who was not a demonstrative person, suddenly took the young woman’s hand. “I never knew Charlie Dumas to be so hard. Once with Nealie—” Pearl looked up, and the older woman shut her mouth. “It has to do wi
th that other man. That’s as true as gospel. I believe Mr. Curry brings him to mind.”
Pearl could not think what the older woman meant by “that other man” and said, “No. I believe Papa doesn’t want me to marry anyone, and I have told him as much. He says he is looking out for me, but he wants me for himself.” She thought that over and nodded. “It doesn’t matter, because I intend to marry Mr. Curry, even without Papa’s blessing.”
“You’d be poor as Job’s turkey.”
“I don’t care about money.”
“That’s because you’ve never been without it.”
Pearl stared at Mrs. Travers.
“It’s not a thing you’d want, being poor. Nealie was.”
“But she married Papa, when she thought Papa had no money.” Pearl had been told a hundred times the story of Charlie letting Nealie think they were going home to his cabin the day they were married, when instead, he took her to the Bride’s House, how shocked and delighted the new wife had been to learn the house was hers.
“Yes. None of us knew he had money. I don’t know to this day where it came from. Still, it’s one thing to pretend you don’t have money when you do. It’s quite another when you pretend to have it and you don’t,” the older woman said, and Pearl wondered if Mrs. Travers had read the detective’s report when she was dusting Charlie’s desk. Or perhaps Charlie had attempted to gain her support.
More than an hour after Frank went into the study with Charlie, the two women heard the sound of the heavy doors sliding open. Mrs. Travers scurried around to the back of the house, because she did not care to have her employer know she’d been snooping. But Pearl went into the front hall and watched as Frank emerged from the study, his hands shaky, his face splotched red. His hair was mussed, his brow damp. Charlie followed him out of the study, looking gray and tired. “Mr. Curry has something to say to you, Pearl,” Charlie told her, and turned and went back into his study. She heard the chair squeak as her father sat down heavily. He stared at his desk.
The house seemed too small for all of them. Besides, Pearl did not want her father listening to Frank’s words, perhaps bringing them up later and twisting their meaning. So she snatched her shawl and said, “I would like to go for a walk.”
Frank nodded and held the door for her. He did not take her arm until they were on the street, and neither of them spoke until they were out of sight of the Bride’s House. Then Pearl stated instead of asked, “It did not go well, then.”
“No.”
“You did not change Papa’s mind?”
Frank shook his head. “He believes I am the devil incarnate.”
“Well, I do not. And it is my opinion that matters.”
They did not talk again until they reached the little park and stood on the steps of the bandstand, the very bandstand where Nealie and Charlie had sat so many years before. And although Pearl would not have known it, Nealie had worn the same rose shawl with the picklelike designs. “What did he say?” Pearl asked at last.
“Not only does your father oppose the marriage, but he said he would disinherit you if you married me.”
“He threatened me with as much.”
“Will he carry through with it?”
“Oh yes. Papa never says a thing he doesn’t mean.” They stood quietly a minute, then Pearl boldly took Frank’s hand. “But I don’t care. Money doesn’t mean a thing to me. I am thoroughly practical. We can go only to New York on our bridal tour instead of taking in Chicago and New Orleans, and I can have a seamstress make my clothes instead of buying them at Daniels & Fisher. Why, look at this shawl.” She indicated the faded rose wrap. “I have had it all my life and believe it is as good as the day my mother bought it. I think you will be surprised at how frugal I am.”
“You don’t know what it means to be poor,” Frank said.
“I wish people wouldn’t keep telling me that,” Pearl told him, a little annoyed.
“But it’s true. Being poor doesn’t mean having a sewing woman make your clothes. It means buying no dresses at all, and as for a wedding tour, we would be lucky to stay in a shabby hotel in Denver. I’ll grant you know about housekeeping, but you don’t scrub laundry on a board until your hands are raw or carry buckets of water from a town pump. Have you ever slept in a house so poorly built it has rats? Or lived on onions because you didn’t have money for anything else?”
Pearl was taken aback. “But surely you don’t live that way.”
“Don’t I? Your father was right when he told you about my debts. I have spent a great deal of money keeping up appearances with mining investors. He’s right about the rest of it, too. My father was a thief. I was thrown out of school for fistfights with fellows who mocked me about it. My brother was no better. He stole money from a mine where we both worked and let others believe I did it.” Frank removed his hand from Pearl’s and sat down on the steps of the bandstand, looking out at the mountains. “I can deal with all that, Pearl, but you can’t. I won’t let you.”
“I can live with it, and I will. Besides, that’s my decision to make, not yours.”
“No, it’s mine.” Frank said. “It would kill me to see you live in poverty, and I believe in time, you would grow to hate me.”
Pearl didn’t protest. Her knees felt weak, and she sat down beside Frank. “Then Papa has talked you out of it.”
“No. He has made me realize how selfish I am to expect you to endure such hardship.”
“Couldn’t you get a job?”
“And abandon the molybdenum company?” He thought a minute. “Yes, I suppose I could find employment in one of the mines. We wouldn’t live well, and there would not be the chance to make a strike, because I couldn’t work the molybdenum claim. We would have to accept that we would never rise in the world.”
Pearl considered the words for a long time, and then she knew that while she might be able to live the life Frank had described, she could not ask him to make such a sacrifice. And perhaps she realized that if she did, she would cause him to hate her. “Then we must wait,” she said.
“No. That won’t do. That would give your father time to turn you against me. Besides, I would not ask you to do that. What if the molybdenum prospect never pays off? You could wait your whole life.” He sighed deeply and looked out at the mountains, which were blue in the dusk, the trees standing black against them, the clouds beginning to let go of their snow. “I must ask you to release me from our engagement.”
There it was, then. Her father had convinced Frank to abandon her. Pearl shivered under the worn shawl. Perhaps if she had been wiser in the ways of young lovers, she would have cried and begged, and Frank would have changed his mind. But she was not that kind of woman, and with great effort—for she did not approve of emotional demonstrations—she held back the tears and said, “Very well.” She would have said more, but she did not trust her voice.
“Will you remember I love you? No matter what your father says, I love you.”
Pearl nodded, not able to speak.
“And I will love you for the rest of my life.” When Pearl did not respond, Frank said, “You are like no other woman I know. You—”
Pearl touched his arm, and he stopped. “Go,” she said.
Frank stood and reached for Pearl’s hand, but she shook her head. “It’s starting to snow. I’ll walk you home.”
“No.” Without looking up at Frank, she dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
“Pearl, I love you.”
“No, Frank,” she said, then added formally, “You are released.”
The young man looked at her for a long time, the snow falling on his bare head. Then he put on his hat and strode away. Pearl did not look up. Instead, she sat alone on the steps of the bandstand, much as her mother had once sat in a savage wind and wondered what would become of her. She stayed there for a long time, until her clothes were soaked through. Then she wrapped her wet shawl around herself and made her way back to the Bride’s House.
Mrs. Tra
vers, who had been watching from the upstairs window, opened the door and said, “It’s pouring the snow down. You’ll catch pneumonia. I’ll get some ooze for you.”
But Pearl did not want medicine and shook her head.
“Hot tea, then?”
“No. I’m going to my room. I won’t be down for supper.” Pearl started for the stairs, but stopped then and added, “I am no longer engaged.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Travers said, her face wrinkled in sadness.
“Oh, Aunt Lidie,” Pearl said, longing to throw herself into the older woman’s arms as she had as a girl. But she was a grown woman who was responsible for her own poor decisions.
“Give it time,” Mrs. Travers advised. “The future will not be so dim when the sun comes out.”
“But I have no future,” the young woman said. “I have only the past.” She went upstairs to her bedroom in the house that from that moment on seemed to her a prison.
* * *
Pearl was ill for several days. Her head hurt, and her stomach churned, and she stayed in her room, drinking beef tea and eating nothing more than a little toast and boiled egg. There was no sign of pneumonia, and she was never in any great danger, but Charlie insisted that the doctor visit her twice a day. Once, when she was alone in the house, she got up and wrapped the pink dress from Daniels & Fisher in tissue, placing it in a box and putting it away on a high shelf in the storeroom.
When she finally emerged after several days, she was more haggard than ever. By then, Charlie Dumas had left for Denver, and so father and daughter did not see each other for some time. When he returned, Charlie did not remark on Pearl’s demeanor. Nor did she comment on his aged appearance. She hadn’t noticed before that he was growing older and wondered if he had aged since he had found out about Frank Curry. Charlie said nothing about the engagement, although Pearl was sure that Mrs. Travers had told him it had been called off. In fact, Charlie never again brought up the subject of Frank Curry. Instead, he told Pearl that he and Mrs. Travers had been worried about her health, and he hoped she was feeling better. He was glad to see her at the table again.
The Bride’s House Page 19
