Bouquet for Iris

Iris Landon bunched the soft velvet of her new gown into gloved hands as she descended from the family carriage and followed her parents up the steps to Aunt Dolly and Uncle Mac’s home. Most ladies her age would be excited about the evening’s festivities, but she rather dreaded them.

This was not the first of Aunt Dolly’s Christmas Eve galas she had attended, and she knew what lay ahead. She would have to sit through a long dinner, listening to the latest gossip about the elite families of Nashville. There would also be the obligatory inquiries about her plans to marry. Iris had learned over the past year to smile and nod as various relatives offered advice on how to attract the interest of the young gentlemen of the area.

Eventually everyone would move to the ballroom, and she would be forced to spend hours listening to endless chatter from other young ladies when she’d much rather be discussing westward expansion or the plight of the Indian nations. She would endure the usual games, and at least one of the more enterprising young men would seek to steal a kiss from his dancing partner by maneuvering her underneath a sprig of mistletoe while it still held kissing berries. She had half a mind to pull off the berries herself just to make sure no one tried anything that silly with her.

Iris lifted her gaze to the clear night sky, and her breath caught. Against the horizon, a single star rose, and for a moment she was transported to the days of Matthew’s Gospel. What a miraculous sight the star must have been on the night Christ was born. Had the wise men been weary when they arrived in Bethlehem? Or had their anticipation wiped out all the long, fearsome months of travel? She closed her eyes for a moment as the creak of a harness was transformed into noises from burdened camels. Golden light pressed against her eyelids like the torchlight from inside Mary and Joseph’s humble home. Her flight of fancy ended when the opening of the front door and her great-aunt’s greeting brought her back to the present.

Aunt Dolly practically glowed in the light pouring out of her foyer. She wore a rose-colored dress with crimson piping and a scattering of decorative gold bows. She might be diminutive, but from the peacock feathers perched atop her graying hair to the tips of her shiny black slippers, Aunt Dolly looked as regal as European royalty.

“Rebekah, you become more beautiful every year, dearest.” What Aunt Dolly lacked in height, she made up for with enthusiasm, catching Iris’s mother in a warm hug before turning to her father. “And Asher, don’t you look as distinguished as ever. I’ll never understand why you didn’t stay with President Jackson. He certainly needs better advisers—someone to convince him that the poor Indians shouldn’t be forced out of their homes.”

The others might not have noticed, but Iris saw her father grimace slightly at Aunt Dolly’s remark before he bowed over her hand. “I doubt anyone could change the president’s mind once he has made a decision. The only person who might have done that is no longer with us.”

Aunt Dolly sighed. “I really miss Rachel, too. Not only was she a gentling influence on her husband, she was one of my dearest friends.” She shook her head as if to clear it of gloomy thoughts before turning to the tall man who hovered in the hallway behind her. “Look who has arrived, Mac. It’s the Landons.”

“So I see.” Robert “Mac” McGhee raised Ma’s gloved hand to his lips. He always made Iris think of a wrestler, with his widespread stance and thick chest. He didn’t look very comfortable in starched trousers and a long-tailed coat. He straightened, and she noticed that the collar of his shirt was already beginning to droop a little, as though he’d been tugging at it before their arrival.

As he turned toward her father, Iris saw the glint of his pistol handle peeking underneath his coat. She wondered if Aunt Dolly realized that her husband, the retired sheriff of Davidson County, was armed.

“Iris, child, come here so I can see you.” Aunt Dolly pulled her forward into the pool of light thrown by dozens of candles in the foyer. “I declare, you’ve grown a foot since I saw you last.”

Uncle Mac tossed a wink at her. Trust the dear man to bolster her confidence. He was one of the few men who stood head and shoulders taller than she and therefore knew how awkward it felt to tower over others. He bent to kiss her cheek and helped her remove her brown wool cloak. Glad to be relieved of its weight in the warm house, Iris shook out the folds of her skirt.

“Whatever were you thinking, dressing your daughter in lavender, Rebekah?” Aunt Dolly’s voice practically quivered with dismay as she caught sight of Iris’s new gown. “All the young men I’ve invited will think she’s in mourning.”

Iris wanted to roll her eyes but kept her gaze firmly fixed on the floor. She did not want to embarrass her parents by showing disrespect toward her aunt. She refused to believe, however, that her choice of dress color was important to anyone but her.

“You know how our Iris loves shades of purple.” Ma unbuttoned her black cloak and slipped it off her shoulders, bringing into view the golden brocade dress that reflected the rich color of her hair. The generous skirt swirled around her ankles as she handed the wrap to Uncle Mac before turning back to Aunt Dolly. “I blame it on her father, who insisted we name her after his favorite flower.”

“Besides, Aunt Dolly, no matter what color I chose, it would not make me appear even one inch shorter.” Iris swept one long arm in a downward arc. “Most men in attendance will want to avoid dancing with a beanpole.”

Uncle Mac handed their cloaks and coats to the housekeeper. “Now Iris, don’t be foolish. I’m sure all the young lads will think you are the most delightful girl in the room.”

Aunt Dolly sputtered for a moment. “Men! You never understand fashion.”

Iris’s father cocked an eyebrow at Aunt Dolly. “I believe you have won Mac’s argument for him. If men have no clue about fashion, then you need not worry yourself about the color or style of Iris’s dress.”

Iris held her breath, fully expecting her volatile aunt to launch into a diatribe about the fundamental importance of fashion and color. She wished for a moment that she had let Ma talk her into purchasing the bolt of green material the storekeeper had said would bring out the highlights in Iris’s brown eyes. But she had never really liked the color green, except perhaps in springtime. And then only because it meant her flower namesake would soon be in bloom.

Every year since she was about five, she had waited impatiently for the irises in Ma’s flower garden to begin showing their colors. Some would be dark and velvety like the night sky, while others bloomed a pale color reminiscent of early morning or late evening. The latter were her favorite blossoms and the reason she’d chosen the material for her new dress.

And why shouldn’t she choose to please her own taste? None of tonight’s guests were likely to go into a decline when they saw she was not wearing white or some other insipid color. It wasn’t as if she would be inundated with dance partners no matter what color she chose.

As she had pointed out to Aunt Dolly, she was much too tall. And it seemed that she would never stop growing. The last time Pa measured, her height was a full eight inches above five feet. When one added her inability to make light, flirtatious conversation, the result was abysmal.

Not the type to simper mindlessly, Iris wanted to debate political issues like the discovery of gold on Indian lands, the abolition of slavery, or even popular literature or classic poetry. It seemed that most men preferred giggling, empty-headed girls. And if that’s what they wanted, then she didn’t want them.

Aunt Dolly stomped her foot. “I should have known all of you would join forces against me.” She held her frown for an instant longer before dissolving into laughter. “And why must you always be right?”

Uncle Mac’s deep laugh harmonized with Aunt Dolly’s delicate notes. “I know better than to answer a question like that.” He shook a finger at her. “Almost two decades with you has taught me when to agree with my adorable wife.”

Aunt Dolly’s ire seemingly melted completely away. She unfolded a lace-edged rose fan and tapped her husband’s arm with it. “You are indeed a very smart man.”

Ma nodded her agreement before turning to Pa. “Asher, while I appreciate your defense of masculine logic, you really should not encourage our daughter to rebel against fashionable dictates.”

He bowed before holding out both elbows, one for his wife and one for his daughter. “I’m certain all the young men will pay enough attention to Iris to satisfy your dreams and raise my misgivings.”

Iris forced her lips into a smile although she wanted to groan as they made their way to the dining room. This was a familiar point of contention for her parents. Pa was willing to let her wait until God led the right man into her life, but Ma was anxious for her to marry and settle down nearby. It wasn’t as though she didn’t want to marry and start a family. What girl wouldn’t? But she knew that a marriage without God’s blessing was a recipe for disaster.

And she had a good idea of the kind of man whom God would send. He would appreciate her unique strengths instead of expecting her to be an imitation of every other girl in the area. He would love her like Pa loved Ma. Until God led someone like Pa into her life, she was more than willing to wait.

Iris was not sure she wanted to live in Nashville for the rest of her life either. Didn’t Ma realize what a big world was out there to be explored? There were so many towns and settlements nowadays and people passing through the area in search of land to the west of the Mississippi River. It was not fair that single women could not join a wagon train. Iris was fully capable of taking care of herself. She had no need of a man to help her drive a wagon or fix dinner. If only she could explore the country and see for herself all the land beyond the Mississippi River. The newspapers promised land enough for all, white and Indians alike.

Some nights after all of her family had gone to bed, Iris would sit at the window in her bedroom and search the horizon for answers. She wasn’t even sure what the questions were, only that God had placed in her heart the desire to leave Nashville and search for a different kind of life.

Iris stood to one side as Pa helped her ma to her seat. Her gaze drank in the long table covered with pine greenery, holly berries, and silver serving dishes. Flickering candlelight from the large chandelier hanging over the center of the table gilded the edges of the delicate china place settings. Not only was Aunt Dolly a fashion plate, she knew how to create a wonderful atmosphere in her lovely home. Even with her limited interest in such things, Iris could appreciate the artistry of the formal dining room.