Harmony (53 page)

The others laughed; Crescencia blushed to the roots of her hair.

Someone handed another present to Cressie, and Edwina sipped her punch while gazing out the window. Snow fell in tiny specks. The pine trees in the yard looked like green spires with white icing. Her mind wandering once more, Edwina recalled her conversation with Mr. Fletcher. She'd asked him, quite adamantly, to please auction off her things in Waverly or Alder. She couldn't bear having her friends buy her belongings. She would take with her what was practical . . . but the rest, the furnishings and other household items, would have to be sold so she could try to pay off those bills that remained.

Wistful and feeling utterly alone and lonely, Edwina brought her attention back to the party. A wan smile remained on her face until the last of the presents had been unwrapped and Crescencia sat with a pile of tiny treasures at her feet. When Edwina had come, she'd forgotten to place hers on the center table with the others, so now she opened her pocketbook to take out the small gift wrapped in a white handkerchief and tied at the top with pink ribbon.

“I'm sorry . . . it slipped my mind to put mine with the others.” Edwina rose and handed the present to Crescencia. Then she returned to her seat.

Cressie pulled the bow free, then gazed inside. “Oh . . . my, Miss Edwina.”

“Let's see!”

“Show!”

“What is it?”

The girls were all curious. Crescencia lifted out the rolled gold bracelet, hand engraved and enameled. Oohs and aahs resounded as the bride-to-be tried it on. The band gleamed prettily from her wrist when the light reflected off it.

“Why, Miss Edwina . . . it's just lovely.” She fingered the handkerchief that had been its wrapping, lifted its soft cambric to her eyes to dab the tears that had gathered, then paused to examine the teaberry-threaded monogram on one of the corners. “C. L. D. Crescencia Louise Dufresne.”

“It will be one of many handkerchiefs which will bear your new initials,” Edwina explained.

“But I'll cherish this one most because it's the first.”

With the room having gone from cheerful to sentimental, Edwina hated to have to break her news. But the time had come.

“Girls . . . I have something to tell you.”

“What is it, Miss Edwina?” Ruth Elward asked, sitting with ankles crossed on the settee beside Hildegarde Plunkett.

With all the expectant eyes on her, Edwina had to hold onto her courage. “I'm afraid I won't be able to continue the school after Christmas.”

Camille cried, “What?”

“No . . .” Johannah brought her hands together at her waist. “I'm not ready to graduate.”

Lucy murmured, “That can't be.”

“You have to.” Meg's hands slid down the arms of the chair in which she sat.

“Miss Edwina . . . no.” Crescencia laid the handkerchief on her lap.

“My mother said good manners will land me a husband.” Hildegarde frowned. “How can I ever hope to get one if there's no school?”

Edwina felt as if her emotions were fine bone china.
If she said the wrong words, she would splinter and break. “I'm sorry girls . . . I'm moving to Denver to take another position.”

“But what about us?” Johannah stood and rung her hands. “Dr. Teeter may be close to asking for my hand. He's told me I have teeth like the Mona Lisa—only she never showed hers. But he can tell by the composition of my lips when my mouth is closed. He told me to bite down and I did, and he was very complimentary. I nearly swooned. If he asks me to marry him, what'll I do? What'll I say?”

Edwina smiled softly. “You'll say whatever's in your heart. If you love him, you'll tell him yes.” Only Edwina knew it wasn't as simple as that.

“I suppose. . . . He did go on about my bicuspids the other night. Right in front of my parents, too.”

“What's a bicuspid?” Ruth asked.

“It's the teeth behind your incisors,” Camille explained.

Ruth folded her arms over her small breasts. “I don't know what an incisor is either.”

“They're these teeth, you boob.” Hildegarde opened her mouth and pointed. “I get brittle candy stuck in my bicuspids.”

“Oh, who cares!” Meg cried. “Miss Edwina is moving to Denver and we won't have a school anymore. This is awful.”

“No, it's not, girls.” Edwina gave them all a hopeful gaze. “You've come so far since September. What you've learned will get you through life.”

“But what about the dancing?” Camille asked.

Lucy seconded her. “Yes, the dancing.”

Johannah nodded. “The ragtime.”

“Well . . . perhaps your mothers can find another teacher qualified to give you the lessons.”

“But she won't be you, Miss Edwina,” Crescencia said quietly.

“It's what I have to do.” Edwina was having a hard
time battling the tears in her eyes. “I'm sorry . . . I just have to leave.”

Crescencia rose, went to Edwina, and stood beside the chair. “Girls, we have to stand by Miss Edwina. If she wants to go to Denver, we have to be happy for her. Let's not make her feel guilty about it. We'll get along.”

“I suppose.”

“If we have to.”

“My mother says getting along in life isn't easy.”

“I was so looking forward to the ragtime.”

“We can . . . I guess.”

“Of course. We'll try.”

Edwina gathered her mettle and gave them her best and most ardent smile of encouragement . . . but inside, she wept over the loss of these dear, dear girls.

•  •  •

The inside of the church smelled of hot beeswax and ladies' perfume. At the organ, some woman played “Oh, Promise Me,” the notes wafting to the wood-pitched rafters of Harmony's General Assembly. Tom stood at the altar beside Shay, gazing toward the double doors that Crescencia would come through with her father. The pews had been done up with swaths of some kind of sheer fabric that reminded Tom of curtains. At the center of each pew side, a cluster of holly leaves and bright red bows decorated the aisle; the aisle itself had been covered with a runner of white cloth that nobody had been allowed to step on. Clovis Lester, a seven-year-old kid who, for the first time in Tom's recollection, was out of overalls and wearing a suit, had made an attempt at walking on the runner but had gotten a yank on his ear by his mother.

The church fell quiet; coughing and sniffing and sneezing and all those noises that people seem compelled to make in a church all stopped as the organist went from the sentimental ballad to the wedding march. Attendees rose, gazing at the double doors when they opened. The first out was Edwina. Tom's pulse thundered in his head. She was so incredibly beautiful, he ached to hold her.

The silk and lace trimmings of her dress fit her as if they had been made to be a second skin, hugging every luscious curve of her body. Her hair—that combination of reddish brown and dark brown—had been left down in a cascade of curls, some of it pulled back with a peach-colored ribbon that rested behind her ears. The creamy softness of her pale complexion seemed translucent and ethereal. She held a sprig of greenery, more ribbons tied around the stems. Her eyes downcast as she walked, she kept observing her slippered feet as if worried she might step on something wrong.

Watching her, desiring her, and wanting her in his arms, Tom was torn by the conflicting emotions that clenched hard in his gut. Should he just love her for the way she was and not inflict his ideals of marriage on her? But if he did, he'd compromise himself, his values. Not that he had a whole hell of a lot of them.

In his mind, women, once married, did not hold a position of employment. If they did, it looked as if their husbands could not support them. That was what he believed. That was how things were. He didn't want to defuse any of the success Edwina had had with her school, but once she was his wife, she'd be a wife in the true sense—domestic. Not a teacher. Not a dancing instructor. Not a bookkeeper.

Didn't she realize he wanted to give her the best kind of life? One in which she had no worries, having only to make her house the way she wanted it and visit with her lady friends—the things his mother hadn't been able to do.

As Edwina came closer in a slow march, her chin lifted and their gazes briefly caught. Tom felt as if he should be stepping forward to claim her . . . that this was their wedding instead of Shay's. Two more steps and she would be within his reach. One more. He could smell the fragrance of rose petals . . . almost feel the silk of her dress beneath his caress. But as soon as he could have held his hand out to her, she went in the other direction, just the way they had gone for real.

She turned, her head held high and her gaze fixed on the open doorway that filled with Crescencia and her father. Forcing his attention from Edwina, Tom did his best-man duty by giving his all to the bride as she walked down the center aisle. She did look very pretty in her wedding dress, with her hair piled high on her head and a multitude of red curls fanning her face. She'd removed her glasses, and she had to squint as she traversed the white runway. Once, she stumbled, and Stykem had to grip her arm tighter; but her expression remained full of smiles and plain-as-day adoration for Shay Dufresne. Tom was glad for his friend. Really. If ever there was a man who deserved to have a loving wife beside him, it was Shay.

Once at the altar, Stykem placed Crescencia's hand in Shay's, mumbled a few words Tom couldn't make out, then fumbled for his handkerchief to loudly blow his nose while walking to his seat in the front pew. A few of the schoolboys snickered and were rewarded with reproachful looks from their mothers.

The ceremony began and Tom kept his head bowed for most of it. As the words of love and commitment were spoken by the Reverend Stoll, he felt like a bull elk out in the open and in the rifle sight of every man in the church. Although they couldn't know about the affair he and Edwina had had, he sensed they knew from the language in his body that he was ready to tell Shay to step aside so he could claim his girl. But since he didn't make a move, they were probably sitting there and muttering to one another,
“Wolcott could have had himself a good woman, but he let her go. What a jackass.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched Shay place a gold circlet on his bride's finger. Then Stoll proclaimed that the ring was confirmation of their marriage promise. Tom absently lifted his hand to his coat pocket to get his cigarettes, then reminded himself where he was. If ever he could have used a smoke, it was now. When the hell would it be over? He was suffocating.

With another glance at Edwina, he viewed her profile. So lovely. Her lashes were longer than those of any woman he knew. Her nose . . . just pert enough not to be saucy. Her mouth . . . ripe and pink. Perfect.

How was he supposed to get through the reception at the Stykem house? The Harmony Odd Fellows orchestra, sorry as it was, had been engaged to play for as long as the guests wanted to dance. Tom didn't want to step to music with anyone but Edwina. But it was unlikely she'd ever put herself in his arms again.

Not soon enough for Tom, the couple was pronounced man and wife. With fingers entwined, they turned and faced those present as Stoll introduced them as Mr. and Mrs. Shay Dufresne. Applause and a few whistles sounded, then they went down the aisle together. Edwina walked from the altar next, then Tom.

Once in the narthex, Tom drew up close behind her, breathing in the fresh sweet smell of her perfume.

“Congratulations, my dear.” Edwina leaned forward and gave the bride a soft hug. “You look radiant.”

“Thank you.” The blush on her cheeks could be attributed to nothing but an awe-filled love for her husband. Even Tom could decipher that.

Edwina then expressed her good wishes to Shay, who had no trouble bringing her into a bearlike hug, even going as far as kissing her cheek. “Thanks for standing up for my Cressie.”

Tom followed suit by extending his hand to his longtime friend. “Well done, Shay. Stay happy.”

Shay, with his warm and frank eyes crinkled at the corners, gripped Tom's hand hard. “No problem, Wolcott. Never been more happy in my life.”

Then to Crescencia, Tom expressed his sentiments. “You're a fine woman, Mrs. Dufresne. I can see you've put the spark of love in this man's eyes.”

“And he in mine.”

The narthex began filling with guests and Tom held back. As witnesses, he and Edwina were supposed to sign the license the minister had. The crush of glad tiding
givers had Tom taking Edwina's hand in his and guiding her back through the church and down the aisle. Taking such a sacred walk, even if it wasn't for real, gripped Tom in a profound and solemn quiet. Was Edwina thinking the same thing?

He had no opportunity to read her expression when Stoll, who'd remained at the altar, dipped a quill in ink and greeted them.

“Ah, the witnesses. If I can have your signatures here.” He pointed to the legal document. “And here.”

Rounding the lectern, Tom allowed Edwina to take the pen first, noting how she wrote her name in fluid motions with exact heights on all her lowercase letters. Then he took the quill from her; their fingers brushed for a second, sending a jolt to his heart. He wrote his own name in the haphazard why he'd always done: barely discernible, but Tom Wolcott just the same.

That completed, Tom remembered to give the minister the envelope from his coat pocket that had the five-dollar wedding fee in it. “Thanks, there . . . ah, Stoll. Good job.”

“Weddings and baptisms are my favorites.” The man of the cloth beamed, then capped the ink. “I think it's time to adjourn to the festivities.” Then he left, and Edwina and Tom remained together at the altar.

She began to turn away, but he touched her hand.

“Ed . . . you've never looked more beautiful.”