Vows by LaVyrle Spencer
"Men-and-women kind?"
Fanny laughed enchantingly and collapsed on the side of the bed with the dress heedlessly smashed onto her lap. "I'm afraid I shouldn't have brought them up. They can be quite naughty at times."
Tarsy bent forward, insisting, "Tell us!"
Fannie seemed to consider, then folded the dress with the rosettes and crossed her hands on it. "Very well, but it wouldn't be a good idea if your parents found out about them, particularly Joey. She never approved of levity, and most certainly not this sort!"
Agog, Tarsy wiggled closer. "We won't tell, will we, Emily? What kind of games?"
"Well, there's Poor Pussy and Musical Potatoes, for laughs, and Alice, Where Art Thou, in which the suspense gets hairsplitting. And then when the night gets older and everyone is feeling … well, freer, shall we say, there's the Blind Postman, and French Blind Man's Buff. That's the one we were playing the night this dress gave me away."
Fannie gave a provocative sideward glance and a mincing grin. Tarsy fell forward in a melodramatic show of impatience. "But what were you doing?"
"Well, you see, one player is blinded—he has a scarf tied over his eyes, naturally—but…" Fannie paused effectively. "His hands are tied behind his back."
Tarsy gasped and waved her hands beside her cheeks as if she'd just taken a bite of something too hot. Emily barely kept her eyes from rolling.
Fannie went on: "The others position themselves around the room and the blind man is only permitted to walk backwards. The others tease and buff him by pulling at his clothes or tickling his face with a feather. When he finally succeeds in seizing someone, the blind man has to guess who it is. If he guesses right, the prisoner must pay a forfeit."
"What's a forfeit?"
"Oh, forfeits are the most fun."
"But what are they?"
"Whatever the blind man decides. Sometimes the prisoner must become the blind man, sometimes if everyone's in a silly mood he must imitate an animal, and sometimes … if it's one of the opposite sex, she must pay a kiss."
Emily found herself startled by the very idea. Kissing was an intimate thing; she could not imagine doing it in a parlor with a roomful of people looking on! But Tarsy flung herself backwards and groaned ecstatically, fantasizing. She gazed at the ceiling, one foot dangling over the edge of the mattress. "I'd give anything to go to a party like that. We never have parties. It's dull as liver around here."
"We could have one—not that kind, of course. It wouldn't be proper. But it certainly seems that Emily's betrothal deserves a formal announcement. We could invite all your young friends, and certainly Edwin and Joey will want to ring out the news to their friends and business acquaintances. Why don't we plan one?"
Tarsy sprang up and grabbed Emily, nearly toppling her off the bed. "Of course, Emily! It's the perfect idea. I'll help. I'll come over and … and … well, anything at all. Say yes, Em … pleeeeease!"
"We could have it next Saturday night," Fannie suggested. "That would give you a full week to get the word out."
"Well … it … I…" The idea became suddenly exciting to Emily. She imagined how Papa would enjoy having people in the house again, and how proper it would be for both him and Charles to invite those with whom they did business. And Tarsy was right, this town was dull as liver, hadn't she just said as much to Charles? But suddenly Emily's expression became a warning signal and she pointed straight at Tarsy. "No kissing games though, do you understand?"
"Oh, perfectly," Tarsy agreed breezily. "Right, Fannie?"
"Oh, none!" Fannie seconded.
The two of them had only met today and Emily had heard every word they'd said to one another. Yet she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that they were wordlessly conspiring.
* * *
Chapter 5
«^»
On Monday morning, Tom Jeffcoat awakened in his room at the Windsor Hotel and lay staring at the ceiling, thinking of Julia. Julia March, with her heart-shaped face and almond eyes, her caramel-blond hair and dainty hands. Julia March, who'd worn his betrothal brooch for more than half a year. Julia March, who had thrown him over for another.
His eyes slammed shut.
When would the memory stop stinging?
Not today. Certainly not today when it was only 5:30 A.M. and she was on his mind already.
It's done with. Get that through your head!
Throwing the covers back, he leapt from bed and skinned on his britches, letting the suspenders dangle at his sides. Snatching the white porcelain pitcher from the washstand, he stepped barefoot into the hall and helped himself to a generous slough of hot water from a covered tin container waiting on a trivet.
Hell, the Windsor wasn't so bad. It was clean, the food was decent, and the water hot when promised. Besides, he wouldn't be here long. He fully intended to have his own house up before the snow flew.
But what about then? Would it be any less lonely? Would he miss his family any less? Would he miss Julia any less?
Julia's practically on her way up the aisle. Put her from your mind.
But it was impossible. Being alone so much gave him plenty of time for thinking, and Julia filled his thoughts day and night. Even now as he washed from the waist up he studied himself in the mirror, wondering what it was that she'd found preferable about Hanson. The blond hair? The brown eyes? The beard? The money? Well, he wasn't blond, his eyes were blue, he didn't like beards, and he sure as hell wasn't rich. He was so unrich he'd had to borrow money from his grandmother to come here. But he'd pay her back and make something of himself in this town. He'd show Julia! He might even become rich as a lord, and when he was, he wouldn't share a penny of his money with any woman alive. Women! Who needed the mercenary, fickle bitches?
He poured hot water into his shaving mug, worked up a lather, and lifted the brush toward his face. But he paused uncertainly, running four fingertips over his scratchy jaw, wondering if he should let the beard grow. Was it true? Did women really like them? Why, even that mouthy Walcott tomboy preferred a man with a beard. But he'd tried one before and found it hot, dangerous around the forge, and prickly when the hair grew in a tight curve and got long enough to poke him in the underside of his chin. Resolutely he lathered and scraped his face clean, then observed his bare-chested reflection with a critical eye. Too dark. Too much hair on the chest. The wrong color eyes. Eyelashes too short. The dent in the left cheek ridiculously lopsided without a matching one on the right.
Suddenly he threw down the towel and released a disdainful snort.
Jeffcoat, what the hell are you doing? You never gave a damn before about how you measured up to other men.
But the fact remained: being spurned by a woman undermined a man's self-regard.
In the hotel dining room he ate an immense breakfast of steak and eggs, then headed toward Grinnell Street to get his wagon, dreading the idea of running into Emily Walcott in his present state of mind. If that damned little snot was there she'd better button her lip this time or he'd wrap that leather apron over her head and slip a horseshoe around her neck.
She wasn't. Edwin was. A likable man, Edwin Walcott, affable even at seven A.M.
"I hear you're meeting Charles this morning and going up to the Pinery after lumber."
"That's right."
Edwin smiled smugly. "Well, you'll be spending the day in the company of a happy man."
He offered no more, but minutes later when Jeffcoat pulled up before Charles's house. Bliss jogged out with a smile on his face. "Good morning!" he called.
"Morning," Tom replied.
"A wonderful morning!" exclaimed his companion.
It was, in fact, drearier than a Quaker wardrobe.
"You look happy."
"I am!" Charles bounded aboard.
"Any special reason?"
As the wagon began rolling Charles slapped both knees, then gripped them firmly. "The fact is, I'm getting married."
"Married!"
"Oh, not for a year
"Who?"
"Emily Walcott."
"Em—" Jeffcoat's eyes bugged out and his head jutted forward "Emily Walcott!"
"That's right."
"You mean the Emily Walcott with the britches and the leather apron?"
"That's right."
Jeffcoat rolled his eyes and muttered, "Jesus."
"What does that mean … Jesus?"
"Well, I mean … she's…" Tom gestured vaguely.
"She's what?"
"She's a shrew!"
"A shrew…" Surprisingly, Charles laughed. "She's a little spunky, but she's no shrew. She's bright and she cares about people, she's a hard worker—"
"And she wears suspenders."
"Is that all you can think of, is what a girl wears?"
"You mean it doesn't matter to you?"
"Not at all."
Tom found that magnanimous. "You know, I like you, Bliss, but I still feel like I ought to offer condolences instead of congratulations."
Amiably, Charles replied. "And I'm damned if I know why I don't knock you off that wagon seat."
"I'm sorry, but that girl and I get along like a pair of cats in a sack."
The two assessed each other, realizing they'd been wholly honest in a way that friends—even friends of long standing—can rarely be. It felt good.
Suddenly they both laughed, then Tom angled his new friend a half grin and challenged, "All right, tell me about her. Try to change my mind."
Charles did so gladly. "In spite of what you think of her, Emily's a wonderful girl. Our families were friends back in Philadelphia, so I've known her all my life. I decided when I was thirteen that I wanted to marry her. Matter of fact, I told Edwin so then, but he wisely advised me to put off asking her for a while." They both chuckled. "I asked her the first time about a year ago, and it took four proposals to get her to say yes."
"Four!" Jeffcoat raised one eyebrow. "Maybe you should have stopped while you were ahead."
"And maybe I'll knock you off that wagon seat yet." Charles playfully tried to do so. He punched Tom soundly on the arm, rocking him sideways.
"Well, four! My God, man, I'd have gone where I was welcome long before that."
Charles turned serious again. "Emily had things she wanted to do first. She's taking a correspondence course in veterinary medicine but she ought to finish that sometime next summer."
"I know. Edwin told me. And I made the mistake of peeking at her papers the first time I walked into the livery office. As usual, she lit into me. If I remember right, that time she called me rude and nosy." His inflection made it clear the altercation was only one of many.
Charles had no sympathy. "Good for her. You probably deserved it."
They laughed again, then fell into companionable silence.
Odd, Jeffcoat thought, how you could meet some people and feel an instant aversion, meet others and feel like an empty spot inside you is about to be filled. That's how Bliss made him feel.
"Listen"–Charles interrupted Tom's thoughts—"I know Emily wasn't exactly cordial to you when you came into town, but—"
"Cordial? She ordered me out. She came over to my lot and stomped along beside the grader and called me names."
"I'm sorry, Tom, but she's got a lot on her mind. She's really devoted to her father, and she spends nearly as much time in the livery stable as he does. It's natural that she'd be defensive about it. But it isn't just the livery stable. Things around her house are pretty grim right now. You see, her mother is dying of consumption."
A faint thread of remorse spiraled through Jeffcoat. Consumption was incurable, and not pretty to watch, especially near the end. For the first time, Jeffcoat softened toward the tomboy. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know."
"Of course you didn't. It's getting bad now. I have a feeling Mrs. Walcott is failing fast. It was another reason I wanted Emily to finally say yes to me. Because I think her mother will die a little more peacefully knowing Emily will be safely married to me."
"The Walcotts were happy about the news then?"
"Oh, yes, and Fannie, too. I haven't told you about Fannie." He explained about Mrs. Walcott's cousin having arrived from Massachusetts to help out the family. "Fannie is remarkable," he ended. "Wait till you meet her."
"I probably won't. Not as long as she lives in your fiancée's house."
"Oh, yes you will. Somehow we'll all be friends. I know we will."
They rode in thoughtful silence for some time before Tom inquired, "How old are you?"
"Twenty-one."
Twenty-one!" Tom straightened and studied Bliss's profile. "Is that all?" He looked older; undoubtedly it was the beard. And he certainly acted older. "You know, in some ways I envy you. Only twenty-one and already you know what you want out of life. I mean, you left your family and came out here to settle. You have your trade, and a home, and you've picked out a woman." Tom ruminated momentarily, studying the tip of a mountain ridge shrouded in haze. "I'm twenty-six and mostly I know what I don't want."
"For instance?"
Tom dropped a sideward glance at Bliss. "Well, a woman for starters."
"Every man wants a woman."
"Maybe I should say a wife, then."
"You don't want to get married?" Charles sounded astonished.
A cynical expression settled on Tom's face as he spoke. "A year ago I became engaged to a woman, a woman I'd known for years. Next Saturday she's going to marry another man. You'll pardon me if I don't think too highly of the fairer sex right now."
Charles looked appropriately sympathetic and breathed, "Damn, that's tough."
In a hard voice Jeffcoat observed, "Women are fickle."
"Not all of them."
"You're besotted right now; naturally you'd say that"
"Well, Emily isn't."
"I thought the same about Julia." Jeffcoat gave a rueful chuckle, staring straight ahead. "I thought I had her signed, sealed, and delivered until she walked into the blacksmith shop one afternoon and announced that she was breaking our engagement to marry a banker named Jonas Hanson, a man fifteen years older than her."
"A banker?"
"You guessed it. Inherited money … lots of inherited money."
Charles digested the news, eyeing Tom covertly while Tom stared pensively at the horses' rumps. For a while neither of them spoke, then Tom sighed heavily and leaned back. "Well, I guess it was better that I found out beforehand."
"That's why you came here then? To get away from Julia?"
Tom glanced at Charles and forced a lazy grin. "I wasn't sure I wouldn't break into her bedroom one night and toss old moneybags onto the floor and jump into bed in his place."
Bliss laughed and scratched his bearded cheek, admitting, "To tell you the truth, I've spent some time lately thinking about bedrooms myself."
Surprised, Jeffcoat peered askance at his new friend. How could a man get spoony over a girl who dressed like a blacksmith, smelled like horses, and wanted to be a veterinarian? Curiosity prompted his next question.
"Does she?"
Bliss glanced at him calmly. "Does she what?"
"Think about bedrooms?"
"Unfortunately, no. Did your Julia?"
"Sometimes I think she was tempted but I never got beyond her corset stays."
"Emily doesn't wear a corset."
"I'm not surprised. Course, she wouldn't need one with that stiff leather apron."
They laughed together yet again, then rode for some minutes in silence. At length Tom commented, "If this isn't the damnedest conversation. I had friends back in Springfield I couldn't talk this easy with, friends I'd known for years."
"I know what you mean. I never talked about things like this with anyone. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure a gentleman should."
"Maybe not, but here we are, and I don't know about you, but I've always considered myself a gentleman."
"Me, too," Charles agreed.
They rode
"I probably would if I were still engaged to Julia. Do you?"
Charles studied the clouds and said, "Well, let's put it this way … I wouldn't want Emily to find out what I said. But on the other hand, it feels good to know other men go through the same thing when they're engaged."
"Don't worry. She'll never find out from me. If you want to know the truth, that woman of yours scares me a little. She's a regular hellcat and I don't want to tangle with her any more than I have to. But one thing's for sure—life should never be dull with a woman like that."
When they reached the Pinery, Charles introduced Tom as "my new friend, Tom Jeffcoat," and indeed it became true. Throughout the remainder of that day, and those that followed, while the two men worked side by side, the spontaneity between them began to grow into a strong bond of friendship.
Right from the first, Charles did all he could to smooth the way for Jeffcoat in the new town, amid new people. At the Pinery he joshed the owner, Andrew Stubbs, and his son, Mick, into giving Tom a more than fair price on his lumber. In town he took him personally into J. D. Loucks's store and introduced him to the locals while Tom bought nails. Together they began constructing the framework of Tom's livery barn, and when the skeleton walls and roof joists lay stretched out on the earth, Charles took a walk down Main Street and came back with nine hearty townsmen to help raise them. He brought Will Haberkorn, the local butcher, and his son, Patrick, both still wearing their stained white aprons. With the Haberkorns came Sherman Fields, Tarsy's father, a congenial and dapper man with center-parted hair and a waxed handlebar mustache. There were Pervis Berryman and his son, Jerome, who bought and sold hides, and made boots and trunks. Charles also brought the stocky Polish cabinetmaker, Joseph Zollinski, whom Tom recognized from church. J. D. Loucks came with the hotel owner, Helstrom, who said to his tenant, "You support me, I support you." And Edwin Walcott, in a true show of welcome, walked over from across the street. Charles introduced Tom to those he hadn't already met and arranged a fast, sincere welcome in the form of the wall-raising.