The Bridal Veil Page 14

  She waited now, expecting to see him walk through the back door. But the minutes ticked on, and he didn’t come in. Cora thumped into the kitchen to start cooking lunch, clanking her pots and pans, and still he didn’t come.

  All right, then. Emily would go to him.

  She closed the catalog and said to Cora, “I’m going to talk to Luke.” She told her as a matter of courtesy, a habit she couldn’t seem to break, and wasn’t sure she should.

  “Tell him I’m getting ready to put the noon meal on the table and we’ll be setting down in a few minutes.” The reminder was unnecessary. The whole family had been trained to Cora’s schedule. Rose told Emily that Cora had followed the same routine for the three years she’d been here, and from what Emily could tell, nothing ever varied.

  Still holding the catalog, she opened the door and went down the back porch steps. The morning had turned overcast and the sky looked threatening, with heavy clouds pushing in from the southwest.

  She approached the barn with some uncertainty. It felt as though she was entering Luke’s domain, a place where females might not be welcome. It rather reminded her of the private gentlemen’s clubs in Chicago, where, it was said, men gathered to play cards, smoke cigars with impunity (often not the case in their own homes), discuss business, and put deals together. It was also rumored that some of the establishments had bars with paintings of nude women hanging on the back walls. Emily knew that to even wonder about those places was indecorous, but that rebellious part of her heart, the one that asked more questions than it should, had made her try to sneak a glimpse whenever she passed one and saw men coming or going through the door. It was all so deliciously forbidden.

  As she stood in front of the barn, the atmosphere was dramatically different, but the feeling persisted. She took a step closer and heard a distinct bleating sound. As far as she knew, Luke didn’t keep goats or sheep. She came around the corner and peeked inside. A warm draft of animal scents and clean hay wafted over her. Inside she saw all sorts of equipment and tools hanging on the walls—hoes, scythes, shovels, harness, horse collars—as tidy and well-kept as the rest of the property. The structure was built with heavy timbers, and gray light filtered in through the high, filmy windows.

  “Well, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with you,” Luke said. He stood with his thumbs hooked into the waist of his pants and spoke to a pair of woolly ovines, one grown, the other just a lamb. They eyed him too, from their spot just inside the barn doorway. The lamb baahed back at him.

  “Oh! Isn’t it precious?” Emily blurted, utterly charmed by the baby. She stepped forward into the dark cavern of the barn.

  He looked at her and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, Precious might end up as a good Sunday dinner.”

  “Not if Cora does the cooking.” The words popped out before Emily had the chance to even think of squelching them. Horrified, she clapped her free hand over her mouth and stared at Luke with wide eyes. “I beg your pardon! That was very rude of me!”

  But he only laughed. “Well, Emily. So you do have a sense of humor under there. I wasn’t sure.”

  “Oh, no!” She was genuinely distressed. “It’s not right to gain amusement at someone else’s expense. Especially if the person isn’t here to defend herself! It’s shameful, like, well, like gossip.”

  He laughed again, this time with a conspiratorial gleam in his dark gray eyes. The broad grin lit up his face. What straight, white teeth he had, she noticed irrelevantly. “The only shame is that we have to eat what she puts on the table. Besides, it’s true—Cora is a lousy cook.”

  She dropped her hand to her side. “Perhaps lousy is too strong a word—” she proposed.

  Almost simultaneously, they both shook their heads and grinned at each other. This time Emily didn’t even blush.

  “I’ve offered to help out in the kitchen, but Mrs. Hayward won’t let me. She said she doesn’t need help. And anyway,” she gestured at the sheep, “you aren’t really going to butcher this little thing for dinner, are you?”

  He gestured at the lamb. “I’m no sheep rancher—I don’t know what to do with them.” He told her the story about Chester Manning. “I really tried to discourage him, but I couldn’t turn him down without insulting him.”

  “Well, why don’t you give them to Rose?”

  “To Rose! These aren’t cats or puppies that she can feed table scraps and take to her room. They have to be grazed and watched. A coyote could come down from the hills some night and snatch the lamb, carry him back to her pups for dinner. I’d rather have him on our own table than let a damned coyote get him.”

  “But Rose seems to like animals, and it would give you something to work on together. It might bring you closer.”

  That stopped him. He glanced at the ewe and her lamb again. “Do you think so?” The sudden hopefulness she saw in his eyes made her heart ache.

  Actually, Emily was just guessing. None of her students’s fathers had cared about spending time with their daughters or sharing an interest with them. Luke was different. “It’s certainly worth a try.” She nodded at the catalog tucked in her arm. “I’ve been looking at dress patterns for her. I thought I’d have her choose one or two, and order them and the fabric. Is that all right with you?”

  “Whatever you think is best.”

  She nodded, then added, “I don’t want to keep you from your work. I just came out to get the black dye so I can fix this dress.”

  “Oh, yeah, um—I have it right here.” He walked over to a hay bale and reached behind it to pull out a large, brown-paper-wrapped package tied with twine. A long blade of hay trailed from it.

  She had to tuck the catalog under her arm to take the heavy parcel with both hands. “This is the dye?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged, looking as self-conscious as a boy giving his teacher an apple. “No, well, yeah, it is, but there’s a little something else in there. I saw it and thought you might like it.”

  A gift? She put the catalog on the top rail of a stall, and pulled away the string and paper. A package of dye laid on top of the loveliest material Emily had ever seen. Teal silk grosgrain, yards and yards of it.

  “Ohhh,” she exhaled. Running light fingers over the ribs woven into the fabric, she stroked the texture. She even held it to her face to inhale the scent of the new material. There was no question that it was an expensive gift, one that had cost more than her wedding band.

  “It’s okay?” he asked.

  Her throat closed and she found it difficult to respond. “Yes. I-I’ve never had anything so wonderful, Luke. But—but why?”

  Now Luke really did look uncomfortable. “Well, I felt responsible for this—“ He gestured at her black-and-orange costume. “My chickens ruined your dress, and my mother-in-law let it happen. I wanted to pay you back.”

  That took a little of the luster off the gesture. He felt obligated to her the way that Chester Manning had felt obligated to him. The teal grosgrain was a payment to her rather like the ewe and the lamb were to Luke. “I see. Well, thank you very much. It wasn’t necessary, but I certainly appreciate it.” With fussy movements, she began to wrap the paper around the fabric again. It was a difficult task to accomplish without a work surface. The paper rustled against the silk, and the string fell on the floor. The sheep looked on with half-closed eyes.

  “And there’s that church social coming up. I thought that maybe you’d like to go.”

  Her head came up at this, and suddenly the atmosphere in the barn changed. He was actually inviting her out. This wasn’t like the day they’d gone to church. He wanted to be seen with her at his side. There would be dancing at the social, and perhaps Luke would even be willing to give her a turn on the floor before relegating her to the sidelines. Her heart beat faster.

  “Yes, that would be nice. I’d like that very much.” She envisioned the new dress she’d create from the rich, dark, blue-green silk. They would walk into the social together, she
and Luke, and she would be proud to be seen on her husband’s arm. Then her joy flattened like day-old champagne, and she sighed. “But I’ll be in mourning for weeks yet, and it isn’t proper for me to appear at social functions.”

  He gave her a casual dismissive gesture. “No one knows that. People aren’t sitting by their calendars, waiting for you to slip up.”

  She eyed him with horror. He was suggesting that she cheat on her duties? “But I’ll know.” Once again, she recited the tortuous social customs that governed mourning.

  He took a step closer to her. Instinctively, she tried to back up but she felt a post between her shoulder blades. He reached out to tug on her sleeve with a light pull. “Who made up that rule, anyway? Did God hand down stone tablets to someone? Thou shalt wear black for six new moons or something like that?”

  He stood so close to her now, she could barely think straight. “Of course not. It’s just the way things are done. Without rules, society would be in chaos.” More than ever, she struggled to clutch her values to her, trying to remember them and ignore the way he looked, the scent of him, of fresh air and clean sweat. When it came right down to it, she was afraid of the feelings he stirred in her.

  “But some rules are made to be broken, especially if they don’t make sense.”

  She lifted her chin. “Are you saying it doesn’t make sense to honor Alyssa’s memory?”

  “No, but can you do that only by wearing black in public for six months?”

  Something was wrong with his logic, but at this moment she couldn’t put her finger on just what it was. She couldn’t think of anything except him. The watery light from the windows fell on his face, highlighting the planes and hollows. He stood just inches from her. Only the width of the package separated them. She looked into his charcoal eyes, transfixed by the raw flame she saw there.

  “Come on, Emily, say you’ll go. It would be nice to get away from here for a few hours. Life shouldn’t be nothing but work.”

  “All right, yes, I’ll go.” She hadn’t meant to give in. It was as if he’d willed her assent from her. He lifted his hands and put them on her upper arms again, just as he had earlier this morning. His touch was warm through the thin crepe of her sleeves.

  “And you’ll wear your new dress?”

  He seemed almost eager to be with her. She couldn’t help but give him the answer he wanted. “Yes.”

  He moved one hand to her jaw and tipped her face up to his. His fingertips were rough on her skin, raising a rash of gooseflesh that flew over her scalp and down her back. She smelled Cora’s lye soap on his clothes but somehow, even that aroma was intoxicating.

  “Emily,” he murmured, and her lashes fluttered under his warm breath. With the same slow, gentle movements she’d seen him use to soothe the horses, he lowered his face to hers and took her lips with his own. Soft and warm and slick, the kiss was brief but set her heart to pounding like a hammer on a rock.

  He released her mouth and for a sweet instant, touched his forehead to hers. “Thank you,” he whispered. Then he pulled away, self-conscious once again. He crossed the floor and spoke to the ewe and the lamb. “Okay, for Rose and Miss Emily, I’ll save you from the stew pot.”

  Emily grabbed up her catalog and, clutching her package to her chest, hurried out of the barn with her face flaming and wearing a secret smile.

  ~~*~*~*~~

  The kiss—God, where had that come from? Luke wondered irritably as he herded the sheep toward the pasture. He hadn’t planned to do that. He hadn’t planned much of anything that had happened today, and it was only now lunch time. The afternoon had better be more uneventful. He walked down the muddy path with the sheep in front of him, and it began to rain. Oh, this was perfect—not much smelled worse than wet wool.

  Emily had just been standing there in the barn, her arms full of silk and brown paper. He didn’t know if was the light that had struck her just so, or if loneliness and temptation had simply gotten the better of him. The next thing he knew, he was kissing her.

  And he’d liked it. A lot more than he’d expected. She’d frozen under his touch like a frightened rabbit, but beneath her surprise and hesitance he’d felt a thrumming warmth, an eager softness that he could barely imagine, much less explain to himself. He only knew that it had been there.

  He stopped at the gate and unhooked its rope loop from the fence post, then pushed the sheep through the opening. He slapped the bleating ewe on the rump as she passed. “Get in there—this is your lucky day. A nice lady convinced me to save you for Rose.”

  Luke closed the gate again and gazed out across the land and the heavy sky. Even though the rain poured down on him in earnest now, the day didn’t seem so bad after all. Among those unexpected things that had happened, two had given him the greatest pleasure. As he headed back to the house for lunch, a chuckle worked its way up from his chest.

  Emily was wearing her wedding band.

  Emily, with her fussy ways and starch-stiff rules of conduct, had kissed him back.

  ~~*~*~*~~

  That night at dinner, Cora considered both Emily and Luke with a calculating gaze. First she’d caught Luke coming out of that woman’s bedroom this morning, and now they looked like cats that had shared a canary. Neither of them seemed to be able to make eye contact, and they were each acting as though the other one was company, all anxious and polite.

  “Would you care for more mashed potatoes, Luke?” Emily extended the bowl to him.

  He took it from her hand. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

  Lord, it was just sickening. And worrisome to Cora.

  “Did you like the present your father brought home for you, Rose?” Emily asked.

  The girl’s face lit up like a kerosene lamp. “Oh, yes! My very own sheep! Daddy said it was your idea to give them to me.”

  “Now what on earth is Rose going to do with sheep, Mrs. Becker?” Cora interjected, slapping a thick glob of butter on a biscuit. “Serve them tea and crumpets?”

  “I thought she and her father could spend some time together taking care of them.” The tone in Emily’s voice reminded her of a preacher’s wife talking, snotty and superior.

  Cora hooted, “You’ve been here long enough to know that there isn’t a spare minute on a farm. It’s hard work from before sunup till after sundown. Luke, for heaven’s sake, tell her.”

  He just shrugged like a simpleton. “It sounds like a good idea to me.”

  “I thought you wanted her to learn etiquette. There isn’t much need for that with animals.”

  “I want her to learn about a lot of things, Cora.”

  Rose piped in, “And Miss Emily is going to teach me how to sew my own clothes! We even picked out two patterns she’s going to send away for.”

  Cora put down the biscuit on her plate and stared at the three of them. “Is that so?” She knew what they were up to, Luke and his new wife. It wasn’t enough that Emily Cannon had come out here and moved into her daughter’s house. Now they wanted to take Rose away from her too, her only grandchild. When Cora had threatened to go back to her own house, Luke as much as held the door open for her. After three years of cooking, washing, and cleaning for him! And Emily had been helping the girl with her hair in the mornings, seeing her off to school like she had the right, meeting her on the porch when she came home in the afternoons. She hadn’t even been here a month. “Don’t you like the dresses I make for you, Rose?”

  The girl stared at her plate and wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Well, um, it’s not that. I—” She stammered to a halt. God, what nonsense were they putting into her head? Cora wondered.

  “Well, then, what is it?”

  “It won’t hurt her to learn,” Luke reiterated. “She needs to start learning how to do some things for herself. You can take care of the sheep and do some chores around the place, can’t you, Rose?”

  With short, angry motions, Cora took up the biscuit again and sopped it in her gravy. “Next you’ll be telling me that sh
e’s old enough to get married and move out.”

  “Oh, damn it, Cora, nobody said—”

  “Let her have her childhood. She’s just a baby!”

  “No, I’m not, Grammy!”

  Cora pushed half a biscuit into her mouth and spoke around it. “I guess one of these days you’ll tell me you don’t need me to do anything for you anymore. Who needs old Grammy? She’s just in the way.”

  Rose’s face had turned chalky. “No, I don’t mean that!”

  Cora chewed furiously. “Oh, I know what you mean, all right. We’ll just throw Grammy out in the road. We’re done with her.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”

  Rose’s chin began to quiver and her eyes filled with tears. “No, that’s not so! Daddy, tell her it isn’t so.”

  Emily sat witness to this, appalled at the histrionics Cora was using to manipulate Rose. She looked at Luke and saw a muscle tense in his jaw.

  He stretched his hand across the table toward his daughter. “Rose, it’s all right. Cora, can we get through one damned dinner without a case of indigestion for everyone?”

  Cora wore a look of injured dignity. “What did I do? Absolutely nothing! What would Belinda say about this?” she demanded. “What would she say if she knew you were trying to force me out, always finding fault with me, when all I’ve ever tried to do around here is help?”

  Rose swivelled her head between Cora and Luke. “Daddy—tell her it isn’t so!”

  “It isn’t so, Rose.” He spoke to his daughter but he leveled his gaze on Cora. “And your grandmother knows it.”

  This family was a nightmare, Emily thought, twisting her napkin in her lap. An utter nightmare. She had never in her life felt such tension or seen such shameful behavior at the table. Though she tried to remain neutral, ultimately she had to lay initial blame squarely on Cora’s shoulders. What had started out as a pleasant conversation about Rose and her new pursuits had deteriorated to this—this scene.