Harmony (18 page)

Cressie couldn't meet her eyes. “Get married and have a family.”

“You can have that,” Edwina assured her sympathetically. Then with gentle care, she asked, “Is there a particular gentleman you have in mind?”

“Oh, no.” Crescencia's denial was too quick. “There's nobody.”

Resuming her arranging, Edwina snipped the stems of sun king marigolds and pink roses. “Why don't we practice your introductions? Let's say we do the section on words of salutation.”

“Well . . . all right.” Crescencia set the flower in her hand on the table. “How will we?”

Edwina discarded her own posy and faced off with Crescencia. “Let's choose the gentleman we'd like to use as our role-play model.” Putting her fingertip to her bottom lip, she suggested a single man of good qualities—if one could count having blood on an apron full time an engaging trait. “Mr. Gale, the butcher.”

“I'm not that flustered by him. I go to the shop every Friday and I can say, ‘Two pounds of ground sirloin' without a single stutter. He doesn't affect me. Not too
much, anyway.” In a lowered tone, as if she didn't want to be overheard by the walls, Crescencia added, “Have you ever noticed he parts his hair down too low? Don't you think he knows we know his hair's thinning on the top?”

Edwina bit back a smile. “Apparently he doesn't think we know.” Then she said, “How about I pretend to be Mr. Sterling?” Burton Sterling operated the local branch of Manhattan Life Insurance. Somewhat mouselike in appearance, he was available for the taking, but there were no takers.

“Mr. Sterling comes by the office from time to time to ask Papa about legal matters. I can speak to him all right. I do get nervous around him . . . but do you have to pretend you're him?”

“Not if you don't want me to.” Edwina affected an air of deep thought, then said, “I know. I'll be Shay Dufresne.”

Crescencia swallowed, her neck taut. “I—I don't know.”

“Don't you care for Mr. Dufresne?”

“Oh, it's not that at all,” Cressie replied in a rush. “I think he's . . .”—she gulped—“. . . he's very manly.”

Just as Edwina suspected. “Then let's practice with him in mind.”

Maneuvering Crescencia by the shoulders, Edwina positioned her away from the table and facing the grilled doorway leading into the parlor. “This will be fun. Now, you stay here. I'll approach you as if we were walking on the street and we chanced running into one another.”

Edwina went to the opposite end of the dining room, then nodded to Cressie for them to begin walking. The other woman had a playful smile on her face. As they met, Edwina doffed an invisible hat and said in a deepened voice, “Good afternoon, Miss Stykem.”

Crescencia's sportive mood immediately closed off. She mumbled, “Hullo . . .”

Frowning, Edwina put her hands on her hips. “You
don't address him in that fashion. You must reply, ‘How do you do, Mr. Dufresne?' ”

“I couldn't . . .”

“Certainly you could. Try it.”

Crescencia wrung her hands, gazed at her toes, then muttered, “How do you do, Mr. Dufresne?”

“Well,” Edwina said, exhaling, “at least you said it. Perhaps next time you can look me—
him
—in the eyes when you say
it
.”

Her chin rose. “I'll try.”

“Now, I'll reply, ‘I'm quite well, thank you, Miss Stykem. And yourself?' ”

“Um . . . I—I'm all right, I suppose.”

Brows turned down, Edwina shook her head. “You must hold yourself with confidence, dear. Keep your backbone straight and tell me right to my face that you are wonderful.”

Cressie's eyes widened. “But I'm not wonderful. Papa told me—”

“Oh, shoot your father, Cressie!” Edwina chided her, venting her displeasure over a man who would make his own daughter feel less than adequate. “He doesn't know anything about you and that's flat!”

“But—”

“No buts.” Edwina wouldn't be put off. “Next time you see Mr. Dufresne, you tell him what we just practiced. And once you've built your self-assurance up, you extend your hand and invite him to shake it.”

“Oh!” Crescencia moaned. “I couldn't let him touch me. Don't you remember? The last time he accidentally did, I fainted.”

“Yes, I remember.” Edwina went to the table and sifted through the basket of ribbons for a small item she'd tucked away to give the girl. Handing over a tiny corked bottle that could be fit easily into the palm of a hand, she explained, “Smelling salts. Keep them handy. If you feel lightheaded, give yourself a dose and you'll be fine. Hide them in a handkerchief and no one will suspect you're not sniffing your perfume.”

Crescencia looked dubiously at the bottle, then nodded. “I guess I could.”

“Certainly you can.”

“I just hope I can get a word out before I feel dizzy.”

“Well, why don't you keep this in mind next time you talk to Mr. Dufresne? Imagine he's wearing lip rouge.”

“Oh, but that's not in the deportment book, Miss Edwina!”

“Yes, I know. I made it up. If anything, it should keep a smile on your face.” Straightening her apron, Edwina said, “We'd better hurry with the rest of these. I told the girls to be at the school by eleven, and it's almost that now.” She plucked a few daisies and added with a smile, “I couldn't have picked a better fall day. The sky is clear and the sun is shining. Everything's going to be perfect just as long as Mr. Wolcott doesn't forget to tie up that mongrel of his.”

•  •  •

But within the hour, lead-colored clouds rolled over Harmony and a darkened horizon foreshadowed rain. Edwina and Marvel-Anne had spent painstaking hours earlier in the morning raking and bagging leaves in burlap to keep the grass area in the grove tidy and ready for a party. Afterward, they'd moved the classroom tables outside along with the chairs. Bringing from home a half-dozen tablecloths, Edwina had smoothed them out, then arranged for her best dishes and primrose flatware on top, and then Crescencia had placed the flowers in the centers of the tables. Marvel-Anne lined up the tomato sandwiches, sweet pickles, and burnt-sugar cake on a tea cart.

As the girls began arriving, Edwina hoped the rain would stall long enough to get through the luncheon. Soon everyone, wearing their Sunday finery, had taken a seat, and Edwina stood before them.

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Edwina.”

“I thought this would be a nice way to review general
rules on table etiquette, but I hadn't counted on poor cooperation from the weather.”

The plumes, ribbons, and ornaments on hats fluttered in the tease of a breeze. Fresh faces watched her and gloved hands were folded neatly in every lap.

“While Miss Stykem serves you, I'll go over the basics. I'm sure your mothers have taught you much of this already, but it's worth repeating.”

As Crescencia took plates of sandwiches to the girls, Edwina began the lesson. “It is rude to elevate your elbows and move your arms at the table. Tea or coffee should never be poured into a saucer to cool, but sipped from the cup.”

Hildegarde raised her hand and Edwina nodded.

“My mother says that tramps and vagabonds drink coffee from soup cans.”

Edwina's hands locked together behind her back. “Well, I wouldn't know for sure, but your mother may be right.”

“I'm certain she is.” Hildegarde accepted her plate and snuck a peek beneath the petite slice of bread to see what the sandwich contained. “My mother knows a lot of things.”

“Yes, she thinks she does,” Edwina replied, then bit her tongue, hoping none of the girls deciphered the disparagement in her remark. “Let's continue.” Her tone leveled to a professional one. “If by chance anything unpleasant is found in the food, such as a hair in the bread or a fly in the coffee, remove it without remark. Even though your own appetite may be spoiled, it is good not to prejudice others.”

Johannah Treber raised her hand, and Edwina gave her permission to speak. “Once on a trip to Sheridan, my parents went to a restaurant—more than one's pocket could stand, my father said—and when his order of veal cutlets with cream gravy came, there was a dead fly lying on top. He kicked up an awful fuss, calling over the headwaiter and demanding a new dinner free of charge.” She put a finger to the dimple in her chin,
as if pondering. “Miss Edwina, do you think the rules of etiquette can be bent a little when you're paying good money for a meal that has a fly in it?”

Edwina cocked her head to one side and said in concession, “I believe there are always exceptions.”

The plates had been passed out and the mint raspberry punch served. “You ladies may begin while I talk. Remember to remove your gloves.” Quiet movements followed as they neatly did so.

“The next rule is one I think very important. Neither eat too slow nor too fast. The former shows a consumption of time and the latter, greediness.”

That said, Hildegarde Plunkett had popped a quarter-shaped sandwich in her mouth with one bite. Her lips locked, and she guiltily looked away, chewing slowly.

Walking around the tables, Edwina said, “Strive to keep the tablecloth as clean as possible and leave your napkin unfolded beside your plate when you are done.”

While the girls ate, she debated whether to discuss the particulars of breakfast, luncheon, and dinner. Before she could come to a conclusion, a group of dandies sporting derbies rounded the corner of the warehouse, evidently exiting Tom Wolcott's store. He was with them; in fact, he led them to the grove. In his hand was a length of rope and attached to the end, Barkly.

Tom tied the rope to a tree branch, then motioned for the men to gather in a half circle. They stood around a gadget Edwina hadn't noticed before. It sat on a three-legged pedestal of a sort and had an arm attached to the top by a long spring. On the palm of the arm, Tom loaded a flat blue disk.

Curiosity crowded out thoughts that should have been at the forefront of her mind. She didn't realize immediately—until she noticed each gentleman held a rifle in his grasp—that they intended to commence shooting.

During her tea party.

“Excuse me, girls.” Edwina walked grandly toward Tom and his entourage, trying hard to keep her expression affable. His voice drifted to her as he talked to the
men, explaining something about pigeons and pulls. As soon as her presence was detected by the dandies, hats were immediately doffed.

Tom turned in her direction, blue plates clutched against his middle, his words of instruction trailing off. “Hey, Miss Huntington. We'll be out of here in an hour.”

“Mr. Wolcott,” she said through gritted teeth, “might I speak to you for a moment?” The smile plastered on her face caused her cheeks to ache. “Gentlemen, I won't keep him long.”

Without giving him the opportunity to decline, she walked away and headed toward the front of the building. Once there, she disguised the tap of her toe under the hem of her skirt. The scatter of leaves told her he was coming up behind her. She whirled around, eyes lifting to his.

“Mr. Wolcott, I distinctly remember telling you my plans for this afternoon. I want to know what you're doing.”

He'd gotten rid of the disks, his hands buried in the pockets of an unbuttoned duster. An easy smile played at the corners of his mouth, infuriating her. “Firing off a few pigeons.”

“I don't know what that means, but you'll have to fire them off another time. Right now, it's my turn for the grove.”

“Sorry about that, Ed, but I can't. The man with the handlebar mustache is the mayor of Big Horn. He's brought some prominent people with him to try out the Flightmaster.”

“I don't care!” she shot back.

“Keep your voice down, Edwina. People might hear you.”

“I don't care if they hear me from here to breakfast, buster.” She stood in a battle pose with hands on hips. “What about my girls' tea party?”

He gave her a shrug and a grin. “They can watch?”

His reply was anything but amusing to her. Bitterness
put a bite into her voice. “You'll disrupt my class. Again.”

“It shouldn't take more than an hour, then we'll be out of your way.” He went for the breast pocket inside his coat and brought out his cigarettes. “And you've got to give me some credit.”

A frown soured her mouth. “What for?”

“I tied up my dog.”

On that note, he walked away.

Very childishly, she stuck her tongue out at him.

He must have had eyes in the back of his head, because he turned and warned, “Don't show me that unless you intend to use it on me.”

Then he retreated from her view.

The debate was over. She felt drained and defeated. He could make her so mad, she didn't recognize herself.

Edwina had no choice but to return to the girls and make the best of the day. Once there, she saw that they stared at the men who had gathered around Tom, who had a rifle anchored against his shoulder as he talked a while—Edwina couldn't make out the words. Then he pointed toward a space void of tree branches. All fell silent when he took his position again. He motioned with his head to a gentleman crouched by the gadget. The man did something to a spring lever, then a blue disk went sailing in the air. A gunshot echoed as the blast of plaster exploded. Tom hit the tiny round plate midflight.

Barkly started baying and straining against his rope collar. Intermittently, he pawed at the ground and stuck his hind end up, his tail wagging.

“Girls, we're going to ignore them,” Edwina announced. “We'll talk about the things to be avoided in a social gathering.” These would be more of a reminder to Edwina than a lesson for the girls. “Do not permit yourself to lose your temper in society or show that you've taken offense at a supposed—”