Harmony (29 page)

A tongue lolled to the side.

“I should have known your trick capabilities were dead.”

At that, Barkly lowered himself onto his haunches, half rolled, and raised his legs, the front paws folded. He went quite still. Even the tail.

Edwina couldn't contain herself from bursting out
laughing. “Of course! He taught you how to play a dead animal!” She picked up a tiny sandwich quarter. “Well done.” She praised him in her teacher's tone. “I suppose you've earned it.”

By now Barkly had gone back to sitting and glaring and salivating. A long trail of wet spittle drooled from his mouth. She held back a shiver of revulsion over his sloppy deportment, then tossed him the morsel of ham and cheese. He caught the piece in midflight by raising up on his back legs and diving into the air. The tidbit was swallowed whole. Not a single chew. Her precious baby kitty cat would never have been so vulgar—a few sniffs, perhaps walking away as if not interested, then circling back around, a finicky lick here and there, then finally, acceptance. And it would be a good several minutes before the sandwich would be disposed of—sans the bread.

After that singular swallow, Barkly shot back to his begging position.

Edwina shook her head at him. “You'd have to show me something else before you could be rewarded, and since all you know is hooves up, I'm afraid you're out of luck.”

“You didn't ask him the right things.”

With a start, Edwina turned her head. The door slipped closed behind Tom as he came onto the stoop to join her. He must have been watching through the half window for a while. She tensed, debating whether to rise and go back inside. But before she could think of an appropriate excuse to leave, Tom had slid the plate to the side and sat down next to her.

“He knows a few tricks, but none of the ones you asked him.”

Tom made no inquiry as to why she was sitting outside in the dark when her home was filled with party guests she should have been seeing to. She was grateful that he didn't. Explaining herself wouldn't be easy. For she had no answer other than pure melancholy—and over what?
Him.

To keep her mind off the proximity of his thigh to hers, she asked in a tone that she hoped was conservative, “What other things does he know?”

Reaching for the sandwich plate, Tom said, “He does better when there's a reward. Can you spare a few?”

“A few.” She couldn't meet his eyes. It appeared as if he were reading every inch of her. She hated when he undressed her without even so much as touching a single button on her person.

Tom glanced away and held a wedge of bread to Barkly. “Squirrel.”

Edwina's brows rose, but even more so when the dog's two front legs came up to his chest and he pressed them together, as if mimicking a squirrel gnawing on a nut. Then going a step farther, the hound made a chittering noise with his teeth. She had no idea how he did it.

“Good boy. Good squirrel.” Tom tossed the sandwich, which was consumed in the same manner as before.

Edwina smiled. “I wouldn't have believed it if you told me.”

Tom gave her a conspiring wink that sent an avalanche of shivers cascading through her body. “Watch this. Barkly: duck.”

The dog got up and proceeded to waddle around in a figure eight, legs loping left and right.

“Good boy. Good duck.” Another sandwich wedge flew through the air.

Edwina hugged her knees and good-naturedly said, “I don't suppose he knows how to imitate President McKinley.”

“No, but he can salute to Walter Zurick.”

A musing curve held Edwina's mouth. Walter Zurick, otherwise known as the Old Soldier, was a Civil War veteran who walked weekly with the aid of his cane to the mercantile for pipe tobacco. Never mind that the store was a square block from his residence; it always took him a solid half-hour to reach his destination.

“Truly?” Edwina queried. “Let me see.”

Tom picked up another ham and cheese. “Barkly: salute.”

The dog lifted his paw and put it to the length of his nose while lowering his head.

Delighted, Edwina clapped. “I take back half the mean things I said about your dog.”

Giving her his most charming grin, Tom said, “What about the other half?”

“He hasn't won all my good grace. He eats like a pig and has no manners. But I do concede he can be . . . amusing.”

Tom laughed. Edwina wanted to laugh, too. But not with him. She couldn't. It would be encouraging him. She didn't want to do that . . . but she didn't want to push him away, either. She was torn.

When Tom's laughter died, a spark of purpose lit his eyes. “Edwina,” he said and laid his hand over hers. She didn't move. She didn't breathe. “I've missed you.”

She hadn't expected him to say that, to admit such a thing. She was touched, immeasurably. As she looked away, the sounds of the revelers filtered through to her ears. “I should go inside” was all she could think to say. That was her problem. She couldn't think. Not when he stroked her fingers with his thumb.

“I know you should, but I want you to myself for a little longer.” He didn't wait for her to reply; she didn't think he anticipated her to have one. She probably would have argued the point; he would have insisted she stay. She would have lost.

She was glad when he stayed on a neutral subject. “Shay and Miss Stykem seem to be getting along.”

“Yes, they do.” The tiny spot where Tom's thumb pad massaged was tingling.

“That's good. Don't you think?”

“Yes.” Even her scalp radiated pleasure from just the very light circles he made on her knuckles.

“Romance is good.”

“What?” she blurted out, half listening to him.

“I said romance is good. Isn't that why you invited all
these doctors here tonight? In the hopes of pairing some of them off?”

“Well, yes . . . that thought had crossed my mind.”

“So why, then, aren't you looking at them for yourself?”

On that, she grew still. She looked askance at him. “You know why. I'm not in the market.” The words came out tight.

“Could be you already found somebody.”

Oh, she knew now where he was leading with this. Abruptly, she rose to her feet, Tom right on her heels. He put his hands on her shoulders and made her face him. “Admit it, Ed. You like being with me.”

“I never said I didn't.” Shrugging from his hands, she bent down and picked up the sandwich plate.

As she faced him once more, Tom reached out and smoothed a curl over her shoulder. “You should wear your hair down every day.”

She kept her chin level, refusing to let him see how he affected her. He could make her melt inside. “I'm not in costume every day.”

“I think you are.” His fingertip came down along her jaw. “Because the real Edwina wears her hair down and dances in her underwear.”

Edwina opened her mouth to contradict him but didn't get a word out. The door opened and Marvel-Anne filled the doorway. Edwina jumped back, trying to hide the guilty flush on her cheeks.

“So there it is!” Marvel-Anne laid a big-boned hand over her heart, relief set on her face. “They've eaten nearly everything in sight and I thought, ‘My heavens, they've eaten Miss Edwina's best English china plate with the pretty bluebirds on
it,
too!' ”

“I was circulating with the sandwiches,” Edwina hastily said, “and I came here to see if anyone was in the back . . . which of course they weren't. Mr. Wolcott was just outside looking . . . for his dog. We happened to run into each other.”

Marvel-Anne waved off Edwina's explanation. “Well
and good. I just worried myself sick over that plate. It was your grandmother's, God rest her soul. I thought to myself, There is a thief amongst us who would steal a treasured plate.' ”

Edwina went for the door and nervously laughed. “Well, now we know that isn't true, don't we?”

“Yes indeed!” Marvel-Anne took the plate. “Miss Edwina, you're trembling. My heavens, you don't have a wrapper. Come in before you catch cold.”

Without a backward glance, Edwina entered the house and left the door ajar for Tom to come inside whenever he wished. She made her way to the dining room, where she came upon Mrs. Calhoon, Mrs. Elward, and Mrs. Brooks chattering like sparrows. Spying her, they ceased their chirping and gazed speculatively at her. A sinking feeling claimed her stomach. Of course, she should confront them and get it over with. Whatever they were going on about wouldn't die away. On the contrary, it would grow bigger and bigger until it lost proportion and definition.

“Ladies,” she said with wax smile on her lips as she approached. “Are you enjoying yourselves?”

“Yes, quite.”

“Certainly, my dear.”

“Splendid evening.”

And then quiet. Quiet as a stone—and just as heavy. Dreading the answer, she asked the question anyway. “Is there something amiss?”

Mrs. Calhoon patted her ginger-colored hair. “Why, no, dear. Should there be?”

“I don't know. You were looking at me as if . . .” She couldn't continue.
As if you know something about me.

“We were just being inquisitive,” Mrs. Brooks said, then gave each of her two companions an exasperating stare. “I see no reason to lie about it.”

“I agree.” Mrs. Elward plucked at the stiff lace ruching high on her neck. “Mrs. Plunkett told us she saw you and Mr. Wolcott dining out with Crescencia Stykem and a Mr. Dufresne.”

An uncertainty crept through Edwina. Slowly, she replied, “Yes, that is true.”

“We don't mean to pry,” Mrs. Calhoon stated and was quickly seconded by Mrs. Brooks.

“No, we don't mean to pry.”

Mrs. Elward added her disclaimer. “Of course we don't mean to pry. Crescencia has bloomed into a rose these past few days, and we know why: the woman is in love.”

“Never thought it possible.” Mrs. Brooks sighed with a dreamy smile. “She's such a shy thing.”

Mrs. Calhoon nodded. “Yes, very shy.”

Mrs. Elward took up the slack. “We can see why that dear Crescencia is in the throes of true love, but we couldn't help be curious about your relationship with Mr. Wolcott.”

“Curious.” Mrs. Brooks's narrow nose looked even narrower as she looked down it. “After all, you told us you had no interest.”

“No interest,” Mrs. Calhoon repeated.

Then the trio stared at her, all agog to hear her side of things. Surely it did look strange that after claiming to have no regard for Mr. Wolcott, she'd entertained him not a few days later.

Edwina didn't want to say anything they could challenge, so she went about her reply in a sideways manner. “In relation to the teaching of your daughters, how would you feel if I did want to be courted by Mr. Wolcott?”

Mrs. Calhoon's orange brows rose. “For myself, I see no problem so long as your courtship wouldn't interfere with classes. Ladies?”

“He's an upstanding man,” Mrs. Brooks remarked, then added, “as far as I can tell.”

“He is quite the handsome one,” Mrs. Elward concluded with a wide smile on her mouth, as if considering what it would be like were she years younger and not already attached.

“Well, then,” Edwina said, smoothing down the waist
of her chiton, “should I decide to permit Mr. Wolcott to court me, I needn't inform you.” Mouths fell open, as if they realized they'd somehow just been tricked. “I'm so glad we got this all out in the open. I, for one, feel much better. Please make yourselves at home, ladies. And if you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask Marvel-Anne.”

Edwina left them and tried to keep her small smile of victory inside. It was quite difficult.

The rest of the evening passed with a good time had by all. Edwina made sure she occupied herself with guests every moment so she wouldn't have to face speaking any further with Tom. She saw him from the corner of her eyes as she conversed with the doctors, then as she spoke with the girls and told each of them they were doing splendidly with their deportment.

Somewhere around nine o'clock, the parlor games began and the atmosphere grew chaotic. They played charades and Whistling Biscuits—which turned out to be Dr. William Froggins's forte. Edwina had been introduced to him in passing. He appeared dignified but as bland as a head of lettuce. So when he bested them all by quickly eating his allotment of biscuits, then furiously whistling “Where Did You Get That Hat?” she'd clapped joyously with the others. Since Dr. Froggins could not be beat, they abandoned that for Buzz—a mathematical game that centered around the number seven or multiplications thereof. This was received with enthusiasm; and soon all those playing were laughing and patting backs when one missed his or her turn. They never got past the number sixty-nine before all had dropped out.

Edwina stood off to the side, watching and smiling as Crescencia and Mr. Dufresne joked with one another after their turns. On the opposite side of the room, Tom rested an elbow on the mantel. She caught him watching her. She blushed, then turned away.

Much later, parlor games were given up for the apple bobbing tub. Edwina cleared a remaining dessert dish
from a chair in the vestibule, intent on returning it to the kitchen. Afterward, as she passed through the dining room, she came upon Mrs. Calhoon and her daughter, Lucille, speaking in hushed whispers. They were cloistered to the side of the grillwork, out of sight of the parlor.

“Now, precious,” Mrs. Calhoon said in a low voice, “you do this little thing for your mother.”

“But, Mother, really! I've never fainted in my life.”

Stroking the shining red curls of her sixteen-year-old daughter, Mrs. Calhoon insisted, “It's not like you're really fainting. Do you want Camille Kennison to get every man in this room?”

“No.”