Paxton Pride (34 page)

Her gown was of shimmering white material, a dazzling combination of silk and silver taffeta designed to affect an English heritage of grandeur and distinguished lineage. The bodice was cut virtuously high yet still managed to accentuate the wearer's full breasts and tiny waist. The skirt, covered with lace in the front and falling straight to her feet, puffed out in a moderate bustle behind, down which cascaded more lace and heavy bowed panels which caught and held telltale streaks of brown dust placed there by warm fingers of wind. A veil held in place by a circlet of flowers fell in celestial flowing folds beneath which her tightly-coiffed golden hair shimmered with a life all its own. The ensemble was a lovely and inspired product from Iantha Hampton's personal English seamstress, lovelier still in view of the contrast it offered to the simple wear of the other members of the wedding.

The garb of the men and women around Karen could hardly be called elegant. Mostly homemade, all had an air of simplicity, of practicality, of making do with what was available. The men wore dark suits, set off by pieces of brilliantly dyed cotton. The women managed a more festive air, but still without a gown or dress of note among them. Karen looked across at Vance, standing rigidly and obviously uncomfortable in black frock coat, string tie and coarse, stiff white shirt. True, his neck held stiffly away from a starched collar, was dressed similarly. Perhaps there was a proud tilt to his chin.
I still don't like him
. Karen looked over at Elizabeth who had demanded she be carried out to witness the ceremony. Wrapped in a comfortable blanket in spite of the heat and seated like a tiny doll left by a child in one of the massive chairs from the living room, her face assumed still greater age in the unflattering, harsh light of day. Her hair was braided and hung down to her waist, framing the parchment-dry face and, in contrast, still young, light blue eyes. Next to her stood Maruja in a white blouse and multicolored gypsyish looking skirt. Her hands bore the stains of cooking, for she had spent the night before and all the morning preparing an unbelievable amount of food for the
fiesta
to follow. Marcelina was conspicuously absent, though once Karen caught a glimpse of the girl peering furtively from between the half opened shutters of a living room window.
Poor Marcelina. So very young and terribly in love. My God, have I aged so? Could not those very words have been said of me but a week ago?

“What?”

Reverend Straw cleared his throat and repeated himself. “It is customary for the bride to say at this point, ‘I do.' You ‘do,' don't you?”

Karen nodded her head. “Yes.”

“Then you say, ‘I do,'” the preacher repeated patiently.

“I do.”

“Do you, Vance Paxton, take.…”

The ranch hands stood somberly in a half circle behind them, their hands awkward with nothing to do. To them, the ceremony they witnessed was sacred, and each and every one—all fourteen of them—had chosen to stand with their friend. Karen almost giggled at their solemnity: hard-looking men, they were in truth shy to the point of boyishness. But then, that's what she had thought of Bodine. A momentary sadness swept over her, its shadow darkening the day and occasion, but she fought to repress it.
Not now. Not now
.…

Ted Morning Sky stood next to Vance. Boots polished and in clean jeans and shirt, he stood alone and aloof, watching the ceremony with a detached air, an attitude which made him seem more formal and elegant than the others. Vance considered him a brother, he had said, and while Karen didn't understand why, she did have to admit a definite, different quality to the man, a mixture of the savage and civilized world she found altogether disquieting. He had guided her safely home from the hill that day, saying little more than the first words and offering no other conversation of his own, speaking only when spoken to. Gradually Karen had fallen silent and ridden without trying to make him talk. Only then did she notice he seemed to be always listening, listening. But to what? For what?

Near the Indian was a Mexican trapper and farmer, his wife and three daughters, the youngest thirteen or fourteen, the oldest Marcelina's age.
At least they'll have bridesmaids … someone to give them away
. The trapper appeared to be True's age and, as was evident from their conversation earlier, the two men were old friends. The presence of his three pretty daughters helped account for the especially neat and orderly appearance of the cowboys, each of whom would later be particularly polite to the trapper and as eager to dance with his wife, lest either decide to leave early.

“I do.”

Vance's voice brought her back. She looked at him, so tall and ruggedly handsome. And so different … changed?
I cannot change. It is not in me
. A bird circled high overhead. A hawk, perhaps. Or a vulture hunting carrion, searching for that which was dead. The symbolism of the carrion-eater angered her.
Go somewhere else. I am not dead!
The words screamed and echoed in her mind and the world whirled and tilted in a haze of heat and bright light.

“I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The veil lifted back, a slight touch of flesh, lips brushing lips. Man and wife.

One of the men played a guitar. Another an accordion, though he called it a squeezebox. A third was a virtuoso on the harmonica and not a one but didn't know how to stomp and clap. They moved to the back patio where tables were set up along the wall of the kitchen. By the time they got there, Maruja and the trapper's wife and daughters had filled every inch of table space with platters of
tamales
and steaming vats of peppery chili. The table groaned. Stacks of
tortillas
teetered against a kettle of
frijoles
that had been cooked, mashed and mixed with onions and peppers. Mounds of
rellenos
, large, mildly spicy peppers stuffed with cheese and meat then cooked in a delicious sauce were pounced upon and diminished rapidly. One table was coveded with an assortment of Mexican
pan dulce
, light, crusty, delicious breads baked in sugary twists and swirls. Outside in the compound a pit had been dug. Over one end two deer turned on spits, the meat crackling and smoking. A whole beef had been barbecued, some of the meat hanging in slabs over the fire, more which had been cooking underground for two days and, when the pit was jubilantly dug open, fell apart in the hand and melted in the mouth. To top everything off there were gallons of steaming black coffee and, a gift from the trapper, Cirilio Viega, a barrel of homemade whiskey.

As the afternoon shadows quickly lengthened and the cool air of evening swept down from the hills, the party got underway. Everyone ate first, downing unbelievable quantities of the food and somehow going back for more. Maruja moved among them like an anxious hen, carrying trays of yet more food, exhorting those already stuffed to try a little bit more, just a little bit. By the time the lanterns were lit the dancing had started. Uninhibited and totally foreign to Karen's genteel, formalized idea of what a dance should be, the men leaped and kicked, swung their partners this way and that, the girls laughing, their bodies moving with simple, clean grace that became somehow erotic in the flickering light of the torches. Even the fourteen-year-old flirted seductively with her partners, lavishing much of her attention on Billy. A little shocked at the behavior of one so young, she had to force herself not to be angry when she recalled Vance's admonitions.
Why was it wrong when I flirted, and not wrong for this child?
When she asked Elizabeth, the older woman laughed at the pout in her voice. “Women grow up a lot quicker out here. So do the men. Most girls have husbands by the time they're fourteen. Even thirteen. Why, to them, someone your age is an old maid.”

Karen straightened indignantly.
Old maid, indeed!
She wanted to ask more, but Shorty—she would later find out there was hardly a ranch in Texas that didn't have a hand nicknamed Shorty—was bowing in front of her and awkwardly asking if he could have his dance. A second later, followed by the twinkle in Elizabeth's eye, she was whirling about the dance floor in a pandemonium of skirts and petticoats, laughing in spite of herself at the good-natured antics and glee of the rest of the company. After Shorty, Brazos had his turn, and tired though she was, she was forced to admit there was something about the company of these men she enjoyed. Different than those she had known back east, they were direct, open and, if not childish, childlike in manner and candor. Ready to laugh and dance, they could be deadly serious and formal to a fault in exaggerated solicitude toward her. It was only Vance who seemed so cold, seemed to take her for granted. Vance and True …

The “orchestra” began a slow Spanish waltz and suddenly Vance was in front of her, his hand held out. Karen accepted, moving onto the dancing area. Her body knew this type of music and fell gracefully into the rhythm with smooth, elegant movements. The other dancers stepped awkwardly aside and soon the bride and groom were the only couple dancing, the others content to watch appreciatively. If Karen had looked she would have seen more than one eye mist and dampen, for not a one of the hands there but didn't want a woman for himself, hungered for the touch and nearness of a wife, a mate to ease the hard hours and harder work, to give them sons and daughters. Women in the hill country were rarely seen and most men became terribly sentimental and chivalrous whenever a woman was around, ready to fight to the death to protect her from whatever might threaten: for every thirty-dollar-a-month hand there, the grace and fluidity of this woman epitomized that which they held most dear and to them meant “a lady.” True watched silently, his thoughts secret even to himself. And in her chair, Elizabeth hummed along with the music and watched the couple, her eyes soon closing and watching only she knew what. She was happy then. Three of them …
Sarah, Stewart and Lee. And only Vance left. He is enough, but oh, I wish the others were here. I wish I could wait to see her when she has learned.… I wish she knew she will be a good wife and he a good husband
.

The dance ended and Vance, embarrassed by their solo performance, quickly led Karen back to Elizabeth. There was a moment of quiet as the men looked at Karen in unabashed awe. Then the harmonica player struck up a lively tune, his fellow musicians joined in and the courtyard was once again crowded with dancers and men eagerly awaiting their turn.

Elizabeth grew tired and Vance and True carried her inside. True would have stopped the festivities had she not insisted they continue, saying it had been too long since music, dancing and laughter had brightened the ranch. She preferred to drift off to sleep to the noise and let it color her dreams. True smiled down at her, squeezed her hand and left the room. “You go on too, son. Karen will help me get ready for bed.”

Vance nodded, held his mother's hand a moment, then left, leaving Karen alone with Elizabeth.

“Land sakes, child,” Elizabeth said when Karen looked about, uncertain what to do to help the older woman get ready. “I've been ready for bed for the last two months. Can't get any readier.” She patted the edge of the bed. “Sit with me a minute. I keep feeling there's something I want to say to you. Maybe it will come to me.”

The two sat without speaking, listening to the
fiesta
below, each sorting the emotions that beat at her. Karen could not decide what she thought, could not identify the feeling or the doubt. She had longed for this day with every fiber of her being and now it had come all was a disconnected numbness. “What is it, child?”

Karen turned to look at the woman, the only person in the whole household with whom she felt comfortable. An old woman who shouldn't be old, shouldn't have given her life and youth to a ceaseless struggle against a formidable and uncaring land. Elizabeth put her arms around her daughter-in-law and held her while she wept. “I had a daughter for four days. I wished for one to bring up, to be with. To see her grow and become a woman, so someone close to me would understand … how lovely it all is. Three sons I bore. But a daughter … to have … and now I have one.”

The shuddering, unexpected flow of tears gradually subsided, dissipating under the woman's gentle, calming tones. “What is it, dear?”

Karen dried her eyes and attempted to recover her composure. “It's everything. I shouldn't have come here.”

“Nonsense. Vance loves you. And you him.”

“Do I? How can you say that when I don't even know myself?”

“But you married him.”

“That's what.…” She read the concern on Elizabeth's face and stopped dead, flushing with shame. What right had she to create such a scene? Elizabeth Paxton had but one desire: to see her son wed, to see him and his wife start building where she and True had left off. It wasn't much to ask for a lifetime of effort, of work and pain: to see one son happily married, to know what's begun won't die out; that a dream wouldn't be abandoned, left utterly, utterly empty save for wind and dust and the passing emptiness of years.

“Dear Karen, every girl feels like this after a wedding. Goodness knows, after marrying True there were many moments when I had my doubts. But they were the doubts of a bride and nothing more.”

This is different. These aren't just doubts. I know in my heart what I cannot feel. The emptiness
.… But these were thoughts Karen would not say out loud. Not to the woman who was so kind, so concerned. Why burden Elizabeth with worry and grief when she needed strength and the reassurance of a future of which Karen had lost sight? “I'm sorry,” she said instead, a forced smile replacing the tears. “You're right. I'm being foolish. I was just … afraid for a moment. I'll be better now. Everything is still so new and strange. I know I'm being terribly silly.”

“No, you're not. You're not at all. There's so much.… I wish I could help you, tell you … but there … aren't words enough. It's something … can't be talked about. It just has to be lived … lived …” She hid the signs of pain which ripped through her and threatened to tear the breath from her. “Now you run along and join Vance. I think I'll sleep some. I'm so tired.”