The Bridegrooms (17 page)

Ah yes, that was the seed of it, the essence of what she would profess should Garrison return her inquiry. Make a clean breast of it, she would. Begging his forgiveness, and God’s too, in one sweeping leap of repentance.

Seconds passed, though, and Garrison said nothing. Vada’s heart and head were near to bursting with revelation, but she kept it close, fearing the uninvited pain. There, in Garrison’s embrace, she felt ready to scream or run or die.

Instead she reached her arm around his neck and pulled him close, bringing his mouth fully against hers, leaving little room for doubts, less for questions, and none for confession. There was a clumsy moment when their violin cases collided as the two attempted to wrap around each other. The humor of the moment brought Vada to her senses, and she stepped back, still bearing his kiss on her giggle.

“So much for the passion of Vada the temptress.” She looked to see that none of the neighbors were at their windows. “I think you’re safe to see me home.”

“Ah no.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “You see, that would deprive me of one of my greatest pleasures.”

“And just what would that be?”

His eyebrows did a devilish dance above the rims of his glasses. “Watching you walk away.”

“Why, Garrison Walker!” She snatched her hand away and cooled her face with an imaginary fan before swatting him with it. “And here I was thinking you were such a fine, upstanding gentleman!”

She stepped off the curb, aware of every movement as she crossed the street. When she got to her house, she looked back, and there he was, as always, standing in a pool of light. It was rare for him to wait that long, to see her all the way home, and it wasn’t until she was backing up the concrete steps, offering a wave and a smile—both too slight to carry the distance between them—that he planted his hands in his pockets and turned to walk home.

“Good night, Garrison.”

Now it was her turn to watch him walk away, but she felt no equivalent satisfaction. His footsteps were slow and reluctant, scraping against the pavement. So much so, it seemed odd that their sound would carry this far.

Those weren’t Garrison’s footsteps she heard. Her breath caught as the bearer of those steps emerged from the shadows beyond the streetlight.

“Good evening, Miss Allenhouse.”

She gripped the handle of her violin case, hoping her voice would come across stronger than she felt.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Triplehorn?”

“I’ve come to talk with your father.”

“It’s late.”

“This isn’t a social call.”

“It’s late for any kind of call.”

By now his foot was on the bottommost stone step, his hand, massive and dark, resting on the concrete banister. Vada stretched in his presence, stretching her shoulders to fill the door frame and staring him down, daring him to take another step.

He declined, retreating back to the sidewalk.

“I tried earlier this afternoon, but he was out. Your housekeeper said he was visiting patients.”

“So, you met Molly?” She smiled, remembering the fate of unwanted visitors in Molly’s path. If Molly had been here seventeen years ago…

“I did.” He was smiling too. “She requested that I return tomorrow.”

“So, why are you here tonight?”

“I’m not sure.”

Of course
she
knew why he was here tonight. He, no doubt, felt the same torment that haunted her. But just as she protected Garrison from the pain of such confession, she now extended that shield to her father, her sisters, and stood her ground in the porch light.

“Go home, Mr. Triplehorn. And I don’t just mean back to the Hollenden Hotel; I mean home. To wherever you came from, and leave us alone.”

He chuckled, an oddly comforting, nonthreatening sound, and she puffed up more in defense of it.

“Quite the mother hen, aren’t you?”

“Only because of you.”

He had the good grace to look ashamed and stepped farther away, taking his hand off the banister completely. “I can see you need more time to think.”

“I’ve had a lifetime to think,” she said. “Nothing is going to change.”

“Perhaps tomorrow—”

“No.”

“What I was going to say is that I’ll be in town all week. If you’d like to give me a chance. To talk—”

“I won’t.”

“Very well.” He stepped away then, positioning himself squarely in the glow of the closest streetlight, and raised his hand. Within seconds, a black cab pulled by a prancing black horse arrived, and like a man used to such a conveyance, Alex Triplehorn swung his long body inside.

He didn’t wave as he drove away, but he didn’t need to. Something told Vada this wasn’t the last she would see of him.

ANOTHER SECRET TO KEEP

Hazel still snored her funny, whistling snore when Vada first opened her eyes the next morning. She’d said nothing to Hazel about Mr. Triplehorn’s visit the night before, nor would she today. Some problems were easier handled with fewer hands, and as far as Alex Triplehorn was concerned, her two were completely capable.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Molly sang an Irish ditty about young lovers frolicking in the foam of the emerald sea. Because Molly rarely sang, Vada knew that particular song meant one thing. Pancakes. She’d learned that one morning when, having risen early due to a bad dream, she sat in the kitchen watching Molly prepare the light, fluffy cakes. Apparently the verse was just long enough to cook one side and, after flipping, the chorus long enough for the other.

This morning would have no time for lag-a-bed conversations. She gingerly crawled over the form of her sleeping sister and padded across the hall to draw a bath. While the water filled the claw-foot tub, she peeked through her bedroom door to see if there was any change in Eli.

The room was still dark but light enough to reveal Althea’s form kneeling on the floor, arms folded on the mattress, her head buried in them, sleeping soundly. She still wore the same dress she had when she came home from the telegraph office yesterday evening. In fact, she was still wearing her shoes.

Vada thought back to the night before. She never got the chance to lure the man to consciousness with music. She’d sat with him for a while after supper, trying to read her Bible. But the words kept blurring in the lamplight, and by the time she’d given up and was settling the violin on her chin, Althea was standing there, silent at her elbow, and would not be turned away. By the time Vada was ready for bed, Althea was sitting contentedly, scribbling in her journal.

Apparently that was the same image everybody had seen as they popped in to say good night before turning in to their comfortable beds while here the poor girl was merely crumpled on the floor.

Mindful of the water filling the tub, Vada walked into the room and knelt beside her sister, gently shaking her awake. “Althea? Althea, wake up.”

Initially when Althea awoke, there was no change to the peaceful expression she had in sleep. After a few blinks, though, her eyes opened in wide surprise, and she pushed Vada aside, scrambling to lay her head on the sleeping Eli’s chest. She must have found the heartbeat she sought because she closed her eyes tight and released a long sigh.

Vada righted herself. “You’ve been in here all night?”

Althea nodded, not lifting her head.

“Doc didn’t come in to spell you?”

She nodded again, but this time it seemed less a response to a question than a simple sleepy reflex.

Vada stood and looked down at the two, again feeling like an intruder on some sweet, intimate moment. She tiptoed over to her bureau and repeated the previous day’s routine, taking a clean chemise, stockings, and pantalets from the top drawer. Holding these close, she was about to back out of the room but made one last stop at the bed.

“I’m getting a little tired of this, Eli. It’s time to wake up.” She waited,
wondering if maybe that was all he ever needed—a direct command. But neither he nor Althea moved, and the bath water was surely near the top by now. “And we’ll deal with the propriety of this later, young lady.”

Althea merely smiled.

Later, downstairs, smelling of her favorite strawberry-scented bath salts, Vada dug into a pile of hotcakes smothered with warm maple syrup. She ate with a napkin tucked into the throat of her blouse and hadn’t spoken a word since coming to the table.

One by one, other members of the Allenhouse family trickled in. Hazel first, her face freshly scrubbed to a pinkish hue, then Lisette looking like she just came off a magazine page advertising a youthful beauty crème. Finally Althea, listing a bit to the left, her hair in yesterday’s disarrayed coif.

“Ah, what a joy ’tis to see all my pretty maids in a row.” Molly scraped and flipped pancakes, the song long abandoned. “Nothin’ like havin’ you all here at once when I can only cook so many at a time.”

The girls mumbled apologies and settled into their chairs, Hazel with a cup of strong coffee.

“And I suppose your father’ll keep me waitin’ here at the griddle until he decides to make a show?”

The question didn’t warrant an answer, so nobody volunteered one. As each sister saw the plate of steaming cakes placed in front of her, she bowed her head in blessing, then dove her knife into the ball of butter in the center of the table.

“What does Doc have to say about our patient today?” Vada asked, sensing he was waiting for the second floor to empty itself of vulnerable young ladies before conducting his exam.

Nobody answered, in fact Althea wouldn’t even look up. Eventually Hazel broke the silence saying, “It can’t be good. It’s been three days—”

“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be able to sleep for three days.” Lisette broke into a cavernous yawn and stretched her arms high above her head. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful?”

Althea raked her fork across her pancake.

“Lissy!” Hazel hissed. “How could you be so insensitive? That man upstairs is probably not going to live through the day.”

A fork clattered onto a plate, and Althea stood and ran from the table.

“What’s wrong with her?” Lisette asked, reaching for the molasses.

“Both of you,” Vada said. “Can’t you tell? I think she quite likes our Eli.”

“
Our
Eli, is it? Oh, Hazel, isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard?” Lisette rolled her eyes and batted her lashes. “And wouldn’t they make quite the chatterbox pair? My goodness, if they got married, the minister would have to say their vows for them.”

Hazel laughed outright, and Vada waited for the amusement that pinched the inside of her cheeks to fade away before pointing a chastising fork at her youngest sister.

“You, my dear, are truly awful. And you,” she leveled the prongs at Hazel, “should be ashamed of yourself for encouraging her. You’re older and should be wiser.”

“I’m wise enough to know how Doc feels about his patients,” Hazel said. “And I have to say, when it comes to this one, I don’t see a lot of hope.”

“Now don’t you be takin’ it upon yerselves to decide just where your father does and doesn’t have hope.” Molly kept her back to them as she spoke. “I’ve known the man to lose a patient or two in his time, but I’ve never seen him lose faith that God would bring a healin’ he couldn’t bring himself.”

“Molly’s right,” Vada said. “We all have to have that same faith. Do you know where I found Althea this morning? On her knees at his bedside.
She’d been there all night praying. Do any of us have that kind of dedication?”

“None of us are in love with him.”

“I didn’t say she was in love with him, Lisette. I said that she likes him.”

“Like you
quite like
Garrison,” Hazel contributed with a smirk.

“Well, in that case you’re right,” Lisette said. “It’s not love.”

Vada slammed her fist on the table, causing Molly to turn around and give a disapproving scowl.

“Of course I love Garrison! What a terrible thing to say.”

“Relax.” Hazel patted Vada’s arm. “She didn’t mean any harm.”

“Well, the both of you are the last two people on the face of the earth who should be considered any authority on love. You,” Vada looked at Lisette, “with your bevy of boys following you everywhere you go. A bunch of lovesick puppies they are, and if they had any idea what a shallow, meanspirited girl you are, they wouldn’t look twice at you.”