The Bridal Veil Page 12

  Tata-tata-tata!

  She jumped back and pointed triumphantly at a place above the white iron headboard. “There! It’s up there!” She turned to look at him. “Will you attack from here or get it outside?”

  Luke rubbed his chin again, trying not to laugh outright at her proud proclamation and her question. A body would think she was discussing a military maneuver. “Emily, that’s not a rattlesnake.”

  She backed away from the noise, her eyes wide. “Of course, it is! I’ve read all about them. They have big fangs that pump poison into their victims. A person dies a gruesome, agonizing death!”

  “It’s a woodpecker.”

  She gaped at him and then swung her gaze back to the wall. “A woodpecker! You mean a bird?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Not a snake?” She seemed disappointed.

  “No,” he laughed and folded his arms over his chest. “There aren’t any rattlesnakes around here. It’s too cold for them. There are some down by Albany, but that’s about seventy-five miles south.”

  She let the umbrella fall to her side and wilted a little more. “Well, of all the . . . ”

  “That bird is just looking for something to eat. He’ll give up after he figures out he hasn’t bored into a tree. I’m sorry he scared you.”

  “A woodpecker,” she repeated, plainly amazed at her own gullibility. She glanced at the wall again. “You must think I’m just a foolish, city-born ninny.”

  He stepped closer and took her upper arms in his hands. Her shawl had slipped to the crooks of her elbows. “No, I don’t think that at all. I think you showed real bravery.”

  She tipped her face up to his, and the hopefulness he saw there was almost too painful to look upon. “Really?”

  “Sure—not everyone would try to do battle with just a parasol for a weapon.”

  Now she smiled, a bit unwillingly at first, but then let go with a full-fledged grin that he felt all the way to the grieving core of his heart. “It was the first thing I could think of.”

  The morning sun highlighted her brows and lashes, and turned her eyes to jade. She wasn’t a classic beauty, but there was something about her pink, soft-looking mouth, her straight nose, the smooth brow—oh, a lot of different little things that added up to make her a handsome woman. Beneath his hands, he felt the warmth of her skin radiate through her thin gown. It would be so easy to kiss her. She was right here, tall enough to reach without giving him a crick in his neck, yet vulnerable in a way that made him feel protective of her.

  Then from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the unmade bed. It was covered with a quilt that he’d slept under many times, in this room for many years. Memories of Belinda gripped him like a cold hand. Along with them came a raging sense of guilt and disloyalty to his late wife. Instantly, he released Emily’s arms and stepped back.

  “I’d better get to my chores. Farmwork is a dawn to dark job, and I’m already getting a late start.”

  The spell between them was broken and self-consciously, Emily covered herself with her shawl again. “Oh, of course. Thank you for coming to my rescue. I’m sorry I got you in here for nothing.”

  Her turn of phrase sent his mind down a dangerous path again, although he knew she wasn’t aware of its double meaning.

  Damn it, how long would this go on? Once again, he wished there was some way to finally put the past and its pain behind him. To move forward instead of letting his years drift by like dry autumn leaves. Right now, he felt stuck in a place where it seemed that all of life’s clocks had stopped.

  Just as he was heading out of Emily’s room, Cora’s door opened. The astounded expression on her face would have given Luke a good laugh if circumstances had been different. He knew very well how it looked—Emily in her nightgown right behind him, the unmade bed, and Luke barely dressed, himself.

  “Well, this is a cozy turn of events, isn’t it?” Cora said, putting a last hairpin in her bun. “And what would Rose think if she saw this?”

  He spoke the first words that came to him, not thinking about how they would sound, only that they were the truth. “She would think that her father and stepmother share the same bedroom, Cora.” He brushed past her and went back to his own room to finish dressing.

  ~~*~*~*~~

  Although the woodpecker rapped on the wall a few more times after Luke left Emily’s room, the sound receded to the back of her mind. All she could think of was the thrill that had coursed through her when Luke had touched her. And what Cora had apparently thought when she saw him come out of Emily’s room—that they had spent the night together. It was a wicked notion, but one that she couldn’t seem to banish to that place where unladylike thoughts were supposed to be dismissed.

  It had been innocent enough, Luke’s hands on her arms, nothing a lady could really object to. But her heart had fluttered in her chest like a trapped bird, making her breath short. Then for one horrible, wonderful instant, she’d actually thought he might try to kiss her. Not that she had a lot of experience in that regard. She didn’t know the “signs.” Oh, she knew all the rituals and procedures of courtship—proper but romantic love letters, carefully worded and mindful of spelling and grammar, the giving of an appropriate gift such as a book of poetry or a box of sweets, the language of flowers. But no man had ever come calling or courted her.

  This morning, though, an inborn instinct that transcended experience or book-learned ritual had hummed within her, as if it had awakened from a deep sleep. She crossed her arms over her chest to put her hands where Luke’s had been. It wasn’t the same. His hands were bigger, almost large enough to encircle her arms. There had been the way he smelled—of sleep and cotton sheeting. And the way he looked, almost as he had in her shameful dream. Emily ambled around the room, lost in the reverie. Nothing had ever felt like that, and she’d wanted the moment to go on and on. But he’d pulled away suddenly, and she’d almost been disappointed. As she passed the dressing table, she caught a glimpse of herself in the square of mirror hanging above it and dropped her hands to her sides. Of course, he’d pulled away. He’d been married to a beautiful woman and he was a handsome man. He had not wanted to marry dull-looking Emily, and had done so simply to help Rose. He’d made no promises about love or affection. In fact, he’d told her that there would be none of that between them.

  She turned from the mirror, feeling more foolish for her old maid’s daydream than she did for mistaking a woodpecker for a rattlesnake.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The morning sun was fully up and cast a bright rectangle on Emily’s bedroom wall as she stood staring at her black crepe dress spread out on her bed. Wearing her corset, camisole, and drawers, she’d reached for the garment where she’d hung it in the wardrobe last night, expecting to find a clean, fresh garment.

  Yesterday afternoon, she had carefully scrubbed each spot with the cleaning cream she’d mixed, expecting to wear the dress today. But her tried-and-true concoction of ammonia and castile soap, which had worked so well in the past, had not only removed the chicken spots, it had also lifted the dye out of the fabric. Blotches of dark orange now streaked the skirt and bodice. The dress was a ghastly ruin, reminding her of a tiger-skin rug she’d once seen in one of her pupils’ homes. The girl’s mother had invited her to tea, and on the floor of the parlor lay the big cat’s striped hide. Its head laid at one end of the rug and the mouth was wide open, frozen in a permanent snarl that revealed enormous teeth. For the whole of her visit, Emily’s gaze had kept straying to the tiger’s unseeing, green glass eyes, and oddly enough, she had thought it seemed more creepy in this unnatural state than it would have if the beast had crouched live before the fireplace.

  But the tiger had long been out of its misery. She, on the other hand, had to deal with this striped atrocity. Although she’d brought her entire limited wardrobe with her, she had many weeks of mourning left, and now only one black crepe dress that was whole. She couldn’t continue to wear it, the same one, day a
fter day. Still, years of reduced circumstances had made her frugal and careful of expenditures, and now she found it difficult to justify buying fabric for another black dress that, God willing, she would wear for only a short time and then put away.

  Emily eyed the orange-spotted dress with a sigh of frustration. The rules of etiquette were very specific and rigid when it came to mourning. Maybe she could buy black dye and try to cover the blotches. In any event, she would have to continue to honor Alyssa’s memory with the clothes she had, and that meant putting on this dress today.

  As she pulled the dreadful garment over her head and settled its heavy folds into place, she allowed herself to remember, just for the briefest instant, the dream of wearing only her gossamer bridal veil and seeing the proof of her new beauty reflected in her lover’s eyes.

  ~~*~*~*~~

  “Miss Emily, what happened to your dress?” Rose stared at Emily with wonderment as she sat down for breakfast.

  “Now Rose, remember it’s not proper to ask questions like that,” Cora said, thumping down a big platter of fried eggs and potatoes in the center of the kitchen table. “Maybe black and orange dresses are the latest fashion from Chicago.” The tinge of mockery in her voice was unmistakable.

  The low fire that had begun burning days ago in Emily flared in her chest, just as smoldering flames jumped to life when a flue was opened. She made a herculean effort to stifle a sharp reply, both for Rose’s sake and because a remnant of civility remained in her heart for Cora. But she refused to be the butt of the woman’s sarcasm.

  “Mrs. Hayward, I would appreciate it if you confined your remarks to—”

  Before Emily could finish, Luke came in the back door. A big, craggy male in the midst of females, he seemed to fill the room with his presence. He wore a work shirt with blue and white pinstripes and the dungarees she’d seen earlier. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and Emily found herself wishing she could see the rest of his arms again. He studied both women, obviously realizing that he’d walked in on a strained moment.

  “I was hoping to get the plowing finished while this good weather holds,” he said to no one in particular. He snagged a blue enameled tin cup from a shelf and poured himself some coffee from the pot on the stove. “But that damned hip strap on the harness broke again. I mended it but it’s not likely to hold much longer. I’ll have to go into town and order a new one.”

  He flopped into his chair and reached for the platter of eggs and potatoes, scraping half of each onto his own plate with a knife. As he put the dish down again, he looked across the table at Emily. His dark gaze swept over her dress, and without thinking, she busied herself with buttering a piece of toast, feeling as ugly as she ever had in her life. First thing this morning, he’d seen her at her worst, with her in just a nightgown and shawl, her hair sleep-mussed and undone. Now this. When she took a bite of bread, she had to force herself to swallow Cora’s rancid-tasting butter.

  “Is this the dress that got ruined in the henhouse?”

  Emily’s head came up, but Luke wasn’t talking to her. He was looking at Cora.

  His mother-in-law touched her thick, work-reddened fingers to her chest and wore a haughty expression of the wrongly accused. “You’re asking me? How should I know? Ask Mrs. Becker. I don’t know why I’m always the whipping post around here—if something is wrong, it must be Cora’s fault. Cora did this wrong, Cora did that wrong.”

  Luke seemed ready to say more but a glance at Rose’s wide eyes must have stopped him. Thank heavens he’d taken Emily’s words to heart. Like a sea sponge, the girl was absorbing the tension in this house.

  Instead, he poured a long drizzle of cream into his coffee and took a big drink. He followed that with a forkful of eggs and potatoes, all mixed together. Swallowing, he said to her, “Rose, since I’m going into town, you can hop a ride to school, if you want.”

  Rose, who’d finished eating, shrugged and nodded.

  “Go get your books.”

  She pushed herself away from the table and went upstairs.

  Luke sighed, and the rest of the meal was finished in silence, and not a moment too soon for Emily.

  As she helped clear the table and put the dishes in the sink, she occasionally peered out the kitchen window, watching for Luke to bring the wagon around. She had a favor to ask of him.

  “Rose, let’s get going!” he called.

  Emily wadded up the dishtowel she held and hurried outside to the porch. There Luke waited on the high wagon seat.

  He grinned at her and the sight of his smile nearly made her forget what she meant to ask. Why did he have to be so handsome? she wondered, annoyed. His good looks only underscored her own sense of self-doubt. “Emily” he greeted. “I meant to ask—did your snake finally leave?”

  She didn’t like being teased. In her experience, teasing was just a thinly-disguised form of ridicule that made her feel inadequate or foolish. How many times had she been asked about the air “up there”? Her own stepfather had been unsparing with his little jokes and backhanded compliments.

  We don’t know where Emily got her height. Maybe an ostrich brought her instead of the stork, eh, Emily?

  Your dance card will never be filled, my dear, but your looks contrast so nicely with Alyssa’s.

  But she saw kindness in Luke’s eyes realized that there was no malice in his tone. Only humor. She ducked her chin a moment and smiled back. “Yes, he did. I’m sorry I bothered you about it.”

  “That all right. It’s not often that I get asked to help a damsel in distress.”

  She felt herself flush. This was the kind of polite, flirting banter that she’d heard often enough from her seat along the wall at musicales and dances. Not that it had ever been directed at her. Oh, well, once it had been, when she’d gotten her bracelet caught on the caned side of a chair. Alyssa’s dancing partner had very gallantly disentangled her, then swept her sister off across the ballroom. She had remained behind, for that dance and all the rest, feeling clumsy and graceless.

  But there was no one else here now, and Luke was bantering with her. She clutched the dishtowel more tightly in her hands. “Mr. Becker, I was wondering if you could do a favor for me.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time you started calling me Luke?”

  “Oh! Well, I didn’t . . . I don’t know . . . ”

  “After all, I’ve seen you in your nightgown.” There was that teasing tone again, but this time she felt herself blush to the roots of her hair. “And we are married.”

  She could barely force herself to look him in the face. Her own cheeks felt so hot she thought her head might pop. She twisted the towel in her fingers, hating the fact that no words seemed to form in her head. She didn’t know what to say. If she tried to respond, she was certain that nonsense would be the best she could do.

  Lord, what had gotten into him? Luke asked himself. He was actually flirting with Emily, and embarrassing her to the point that he felt sorry for her. She wrung that dishcloth as if it were a chicken’s neck and her shoulders were rounded. He shifted on the wagon seat and the horses stamped restively. More and more often, he caught himself thinking about her, and now, since he had seen her in her nightgown, he couldn’t get the image out of his head. It wasn’t as if she’d been wearing some filmy little scrap of underwear, the kind of thing he’d once seen on a French postcard his brother had gotten. Emily had been covered by a spinster’s high-necked, long-sleeved nightie and a shawl. Still, even in her dishevelment and wielding an umbrella, she’d carried a curious combination of dignity and allure that he’d never seen in a woman. Or anyone, for that matter. Not even Belinda. His automatic reaction to this last thought was familiar, one that he hauled with him day after day, like dog dragging around a grubby piece of salt pork. That reaction was guilt. But as much as he’d loved Belinda, she was gone and nothing would bring her back.

  “What was it you wanted to ask me?” he said, returning the conversation to less personal territory.
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  She gestured at that lousy-looking dress she wore. “As you can see, my efforts to clean off the dirt were more successful than I’d hoped. I was wondering if you could get me a package of black dye when you’re in town.” She went on to explain the torturous rituals of proper mourning for her sister. He thought she was overdoing it—after all, no one here was watching the calendar, ready to condemn her for not wearing black dresses for six full months. But he felt vaguely responsible for the ruin of her clothes. Cora lived under his roof, and if his mother-in-law hadn’t sent Emily out to that coop, none of this would have happened.

  He interrupted her explanation. “Black dye. I’ll get it.”

  Just then Rose emerged from the house, carrying her school books.

  Emily smiled at her and searched her apron pocket. She pulled out a piece of hard candy, which she handed to Rose. “You may eat this after lunch, but not before. All right?”

  Rose took it and tucked it into her own pocket. “Yes’m. Thanks, Miss Emily.”

  Emily patted her on the shoulder. “Have a good day at school.”

  Watching them, Luke got a funny feeling in his chest, one that he couldn’t readily identify. Gratitude, certainly, that Emily was good to his girl. And she genuinely liked Rose—he could see it in her face. But the feeling went deeper than that. For a moment, he almost had a sense of family, with the three of them together like this.

  “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he said to Emily. Rose took her father’s outstretched hand and climbed up to the wagon seat beside him.

  Emily smiled again and waved as he slapped the lines on the horses’ backs. “Get up now,” he clucked to the team.