The Bridegrooms (12 page)

Just as she asked for healing for the stranger in her bed, she realized she had no idea what the man’s condition was. With a quickly uttered “Amen,” Vada was up on her feet and reaching for the dressing robe she’d draped over Hazel’s bedpost last night.

“Amen to you too.” Hazel stood just inside the doorway, dressed, her hair haphazardly pinned at the nape of her neck. “Molly sent me to ask your highness if you would like your breakfast sent up on a tray.”

Vada debated for a moment which would rouse greater anger in Molly—showing up at the breakfast table in her dressing robe or taking even more time to go downstairs. “I just need a few minutes.” She tied her belt. “Have you checked on…?”

“Doc’s in there now. I don’t think there’s any change.”

“I guess we’ll have to take that for good news.” She gave Hazel a quick hug in the doorway. “Tell Molly I’m on my way.”

The door to Vada’s bedroom was partially open, and she tapped on it before poking her head around the corner. “Good morning, Doc.”

Her father was standing at the foot of her bed, his hands in his pockets as he studied the still form. He looked up at Vada’s greeting and beckoned her inside.

“No change?”

He shook his head. “But his pupils are responding better to light—less sluggish. Heart rhythm is good. I have to admit, I’ve never treated a patient in this condition before.”

“What else could you be doing?”

“Could be a thousand things. Maybe nothing. I just don’t know.”

Vada sidled closer and linked her arm in his. “Do you think maybe you should call in another physician? As a consultant?”

He patted her hand absently. “I gave those men my word I would treat him here and that I’d do it privately. No need to make a scandal out of it until…”

“What can we do?”

“Just keep watch. And pray.”

“Of course.” She let go of her father’s arm and leaned in to look closely at the patient. A fine layer of beard formed along his jaw, though his cheeks were still quite clean. The mask of bruising had taken on a greenish hue, and the lace marks on his forehead were starting to fade. His breath was slow but even.

Molly had left him in a state of undress with the blanket pulled up over his chest. But his thin, white shoulders were exposed, as were his long, thin arms. Nothing muscular about this man. No sign of a life of hard labor. Yet his clothes were nothing like those of a man of privilege.

“I wonder who you are.”

“Pray to God that he’ll tell us soon enough,” Doc said behind her. “When he wakes up.”

“Of course.”

They were quiet for a moment together. Had her father meant for them to pray right at that moment? She bowed her head and kept her eyes closed until she heard his uncomfortable shifting behind her. “Amen,” she whispered.

“Amen, indeed.”

He walked out of the room then, leaving her alone to sift through her armoire to find a clean shirtwaist and skirt. Once those were decided upon, she moved to her bureau, constantly checking over her shoulder as she chose her undergarments and stockings.

She clutched these close to her, covering them with her other clothes, and backed out of the room, keeping her eye on the gentle rise and fall of the blanket folded across the man’s chest, and nearly collided with Althea in the hallway outside the door.

“Still no change,” she said, responding to Althea’s inquisitive glance
toward the door. “Come with me into Hazel’s room.” When she spied Lisette at the top of the stairs, she motioned for her to follow them in.

“Girls,” Vada said, closing them all inside the room, “we need to have a plan.”

Lisette immediately reached for the door. “I don’t have time for a plan. I have school.”

Vada took a deep breath before answering. “Well, when you get
home
from school, we’ll need you to take a shift.”

“Shift?”

Hazel jerked her thumb in the direction of Vada’s room. “With him.”

Lisette cringed and whispered, “Is he still here?”

“Of course he is,” Vada said.

“Then I’ve got to go. That crazy Kenny Cupid said he wasn’t going to leave this place until that guy wakes up.” Lisette nudged Althea out of the way to peer at herself in the mirror hanging over Hazel’s dresser and fingered the curls on her brow. “‘Night and day,’ he said. So I’m leaving now before he gets here, and if I see him on our front porch, I’m not coming home.”

“Oh no you don’t, Lissy. You come straight home from school. Now I have to be at the theater first thing this morning, and Hazel and Althea can split up the day, but Althea has to work at the telegraph office tonight, and I have to be back at the theater for rehearsal. So we need you.”

“Papa’s the doctor.”

“He has other patients,” Hazel said. “And I have work to do with him down in his office.”

Sensing Lisette’s growing anxiety, Vada went over and stood behind her, their eyes meeting in the mirror. Any other day, the image presented to her would mean nothing, but today, even while trying to ignore her own disheveled hair next to Lisette’s youthful, fashionable coif, Vada was
struck by just how little the two resembled each other. For a fleeting moment, the image of Alex Triplehorn joined their reflection.

“Listen,” she shook the thought away, “there’s nothing to be nervous about. You don’t have to do anything but sit in the chair. Just be there.”

Lisette muttered something that could be taken as an affirmative response as she spun herself around and breezed out of the room.

Vada devoted the next few minutes to getting ready. Hazel stepped in to help lace up her corset, and by the time she finished brushing and pinning her hair, Vada looked upon her own reflection with almost as much appreciation as Lisette looked upon hers.

Later she sat at the kitchen table buttoning her shoes, grimacing her way through a plate of cold scrambled eggs and biscuits already slathered with blueberry jam—her least favorite—under Molly’s watchful eye.

“I’m hopin’ you’ll see to it you’re home in time for lunch today.” Molly eyed the last bit of egg until Vada stabbed it with her fork.

“Don’t worry.” Vada swallowed. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

She opted not to go upstairs for one last check, knowing the sooner she got to the theater, the sooner she could get back. There were ticket receipts to reconcile with the cash box, the ushers to schedule, and Herr Johann’s suit to drop off at the laundry. She prioritized her tasks as she pinned her hat and hollered to the house in general that she’d be back before noon.

The first thing she saw upon opening the front door was the figure of Kenny Cupid on the front step, sitting with his arms braced on his knees.

He jumped up immediately, clutching his cap in his hands. “G’morning, Miss Vada.”

“Why, good morning, Kenny. What are you doing here so early?”

He looked up, almost pleading, seeming even shorter given that Vada was several steps above him. “How is he?”

It was a terrible thing to see such pain on his youthful face. She attempted a reassuring smile. “How long have you been here? I hope you didn’t spend the night.”

Kenny grinned. “Nah, just awhile this morning. I was waiting for someone to come outside so I could ask.”

“Didn’t Lisette tell you? She’s already left for school.”

Again the grin, and he smoothed back his unruly hair. “She opened the door, took one look at me, and turned around. I think she snuck out the back.”

“Well,” she said, pulling on her gloves, “there’s no change, and we have everything well at hand. Now, I’m sure you have better things to do with your day beside sit on our front porch.”

“Is that your way of telling me to leave?”

He looked down at the cap in his hand, turning it over and over as something akin to melting happened inside Vada’s heart.

“Have you had breakfast yet?” Molly would certainly succumb to his artless charm.

“Not yet, ma’am. No.”

“Then go around to the kitchen door. Tell Molly I sent you. And don’t be surprised if she asks you to empty the ash can before she cooks breakfast for you.”

“Thank you, Miss Vada.” He scrambled down the steps, practically running to the side gate.

“What a sweet boy,” she muttered in his wake and began to make her way down the steps.

“Tell you what. I’m a sweet boy too. Think I could get some of Miss Molly’s breakfast?”

She recognized the voice but saw no one until she got to the bottom step and turned to see Dave Voyant, little notebook in hand, lurking in the alcove under the stairs.

The surprise of seeing him here, at her home, knocked her into stunned silence for a moment until, for the second time that morning, she found herself saying, “What are you doing here?”

“Just happened to be passing by.” He came out into the sunlight. “Thought I’d drop by to see what the story is.”

“There’s no story here.” She looked anxiously up and down the street before moving closer. “So you can just go home.”

“I’m not sure I agree.” He flipped back a few pages in his notebook. “Had a buddy at the game who said there seemed to be some sort of disturbance. Guy got hit with a ball. Carried him out of the stands, then it seems like he just disappeared. Next thing we know, both team managers and a handful of players are seen heading down this street.”

“There you have it. Your story. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Come now, Miss Allenhouse.” He leaned in uncomfortably close. “You know no story is complete without the happy ending.”

“We don’t have a happy ending, Mr. Voyant.”

“Meaning we don’t have an ending? Or not a happy one?”

Vada steeled herself and leaned in even closer. “I guess that’s something for you to ponder throughout the day.”

They were so close now that had either craned their neck, their lips would touch, and something inside her dared him to try while she herself refused to budge. There they remained, locked in near battle, until Dave finally broke their gaze and took half a step back.

“Something else I’ll be pondering,” he said from a much safer distance, “is what Kenny Cupid was doing camped on your front step.”

“He seems enamored with my youngest sister.”

One dark eyebrow shot up. “Is that so? And do you know who he is?”

“Of course. He’s a very nice young man.”

There went the second eyebrow. “Fair enough. He just seemed a little upset, and I thought maybe it was because—”

“Maybe you should ask him.”

He took the pencil stub that had been stashed above one of his ears. “That’s just it. Nobody’s talking. Makes me wonder if someone’s not covering something up.”

Vada thought about the nearly lifeless form in her bed, Kenny’s guilt at not having prevented the accident, and the undeniably strong arms of Louis LaFortune. If the man never woke up, if he—God forbid—
died
in her bed, would that make Louis a killer? Or Kenny? Or her father for harboring the wounded man in his daughter’s fourposter bed rather than taking him to the hospital downtown?

She closed her eyes to clear her head and refocus, not wanting a bit of her doubt to seep through.

“You’re the journalist. Why weren’t you here yesterday?”

Again he flipped the pages of his notebook. “If you must know, I was covering a very important story. Miss Mannaheim’s dance studio was giving their spring recital, and the daughters of several of our city’s finest citizens were onstage performing amazing feats of ballet.”

“Then it seems your evening was equally dull.” She prepared to move past him. “Now if you will excuse me, I have much to do to prepare for Friday’s concert. You remember that, don’t you? Three days ago you were hounding me for information, remember?”

“Of course I remember.” He pushed his hat back off his brow as his face took on a look of surprise and delight. “You aren’t insinuating that I’m making these inquiries in an effort to get closer to you, are you Miss Allenhouse? Especially after you made it so abundantly clear that your heart was spoken for.”

She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again, wishing she’d kept it so in the first place.

“Tell you what.” Dave dropped his notebook into the breast pocket of his jacket and tucked the pencil stub back behind his ear. “A lot can change in three days. Let’s just chalk it up to that.”

“All right. Let’s.”

There seemed to be an implied, if temporary, surrender in his words, and without worry that he would pursue his disturbance, she wished him good morning and turned to walk away. Not five steps down the sidewalk, and he was at her side, cap doffed in greeting.

“May I escort you to the theater?”

“You may not.” She didn’t slow down.

“May I accompany you as far as Moravek’s bakery? It seems my plan to have breakfast in the home of a certain Cleveland physician fell through.”

She turned her head away so he wouldn’t see her smile, and they remained silent with each other for the remainder of the walk. And once they came upon the familiar tables scattered on the sidewalk, she told herself she wasn’t disappointed that he didn’t invite her to stay.

Though it was just past nine in the morning, it may well have been the middle of the night when Vada arrived at the Dresden Street Theater. She let herself in with the key she’d earned from Herr Johann two months ago and found herself to be the only soul in the place.

It was a wonderful feeling to be able to walk up and down hallways without bumping up against another person. Sometimes, when she was alone like this, she would throw her arms out and run full out through the dark corridors, knowing there was no obstacle to cause her to fall.

This morning, however, she felt a need for stillness. She leisurely took the back stairs up to the third floor and popped her head in her little office. Sunshine poured through the skylight, creating a grid over the top of her tidy desk. At least it should have been tidy, but now it was littered with paper—most likely illegible notes scribbled by Herr Johann and tossed through the door in one of his characteristic rants.

She should rifle through them and prioritize, especially after failing to give any of it a second thought yesterday, but Monday’s escape had been anything but restful, and today begged to be put off a little longer. Instead she kept her eyes averted so as not to accidentally read any of the scattered documents as she made her way behind her desk to open the deep bottom drawer.