The Bridal Veil (11 page)

“
No, I brought Rose just for
today—”

Clara looked at Cora and Rose, barely
taking a breath in her monologue. “Isn’t that one of Cora’s nieces
who came with you today? My, but she’s a plain thing, isn’t she?”
She leaned closer then and put her hand on his arm. “Luke, say
you’ll come. Or better yet, just come to dinner. I still make the
best fried chicken in Multnomah County. I know it would win the
blue ribbon at the fair if I entered. Mother would be thrilled to
see you, too, and it’s time you came out of mourning for dear
Belinda.” Clara was one of the women who’d pursued him after his
wife died.

“
Really, Clara, I can’t—” he
tried, feeling badgered.

She tapped him on the arm
again and brushed her shoulder against him. “Now, now, I won’t take
‘no’ for an answer. We had some fun, you and I, back in the old
days. I know what you need—a mother to take care of Rose and good
woman to take care of
you
.” She actually giggled and winked
at him. “If you know what I mean.”

God, this was worse than Ackerman’s
joyless sermon. Two years older than Luke, Clara had never married
and her desperation was as obvious as her blunt invitation. In his
youth, he would have taken up her offer, just for the fun of it.
Now he felt himself beginning to sweat inside his suit
coat.

He glanced around, hoping to find
Emily and Rose so they could leave. When he spotted them, they were
standing with Cora and a group of other women nearby. He listened
hard to hear their conversation over Clara’s prattling.

“
This is Emily, an etiquette
teacher Luke found to tutor Rose,” he heard Cora say. “It’s a
hare-brained idea, if you ask me, but he didn’t ask. He just went
ahead and did it. I don’t think it’ll make one bit of difference to
Rose which fork to use at the table.”

There was some polite, confused
murmuring among the women. “An etiquette teacher? But how nice for
Rose.”

“
You’ll be staying on for a
while then?”

“
Well, I live here
now—”

“
Are you hiring out to tutor
other girls, too?”

“
No, I’m not a
tutor—”

Emily looked defenseless to Luke, with
his mother-in-law doing her best to degrade Emily’s position to
that of a hired hand, or little better, a servant. “Actually, what
Mrs. Hayward is trying to say is—”

His anger flared to life.
Cora had done nothing to make Emily welcome since she arrived and
he’d had just about enough of that. He strode toward the group,
leaving Clara gawping at his abrupt departure. “Actually, what Cora
should say is that Emily is my
wife
. We were married in town last
week.” He turned slightly toward Clara, whose mouth still hung
open. “Clara Thurmon, this is Emily Cannon Becker.” He took Emily’s
elbow and nodded at Rose. “Farm chores won’t wait for chatter.
We’ll be going now.”

Emily rounded her shoulders and turned
grateful eyes on him. Cora followed them in a fine huff—he knew the
signs, and he knew he’d hear about this later. Rose brought up the
rear. Word of Luke’s news spread through the crowd like the buzzing
of a beehive on fire. He hadn’t intended to make an announcement
like that, but his fuse was growing shorter each day with Cora.
When they reached the wagon, this time Luke put Emily on the seat
up front first. Then he handed Cora into the back of the wagon, and
lifted Rose in last.

Once they were on their way, Emily
watched the rooftops of Fairdale fall away as they climbed into the
hills above. Everything looked fresh and green in the spring sun,
and for the first time since coming here Emily felt a lightness of
heart. Enduring the stares at church had been such agony, she’d
almost become physically ill. She hated being the center of
attention, and wished that she’d never suggested coming to church.
But she’d called upon every lesson in graceful living that she’d
ever learned and forced herself to appear as if she didn’t notice.
When the service was over, just when she thought she’d get away
from the terrible scrutiny, Cora had dragged her to that group of
women simply to insult her.

Then Emily had seen that woman hanging
on Luke, touching his arm, bragging about her cooking, leaning
closer to whisper something and giggle, and the spurt of jealousy
it had kindled in Emily’s chest astounded her. She had never been
jealous in her life. Well, perhaps once or twice, especially when
Father had compared her to delicate, beautiful Alyssa and found
Emily wanting. This, today, had been different. She’d wanted to
confront that woman, slap her hands off Luke, and tell her that her
behavior was appalling.

But something had happened
back there in that churchyard. Not only had Luke defended her
against Cora’s rudeness, he’d publicly announced their marriage. It
was a simple statement—
Emily is my
wife
—and yet to her, it held enormous
implications that both frightened and pleased her.

As they bounced along in the
wagon, her gaze kept straying to him beside her. She felt Cora’s
daggers in her back and wondered briefly if she would ever overcome
the woman’s unmistakable animosity. Mostly, though, she was more
aware of Luke than ever. She’d felt his leg brush hers in the pew,
even though she’d tried to pull away. He’d been impossible to
ignore in the churchyard, tall as he was and better-looking than
any other man present. And he was her
husband
. He’d said so. He’d told them
all. He had willingly admitted that he was bound to her. This
amazed her. She wanted to tuck her hand in the crook of his arm, to
thank him for his chivalry. But she kept her hands firmly clasped
in her lap and her mouth closed. Another wave of cold and heat
shimmied through her, and her face felt fiery. Wouldn’t it be nice
if he were really her husband in more than just name? That was
silly, of course. Emily had learned a long time ago that she was
not worthy of love.

For now, the masquerade of marriage
was good enough. Still, she fantasized, if they really were husband
and wife, they would come to church on Sundays, perhaps attend a
social or two. People would eventually stop staring when they got
used to her being Emily Becker. There would be cozy dinners with
the three of them, Emily, Luke, and Rose. She didn’t even realize
she’d cut Cora out of her daydream until she heard the woman’s
braying, satisfied hoot from the back of the wagon. She and Rose
had been murmuring on the way home, but Emily hadn’t paid much
attention to the conversation.

“
I guess that’s how much
good church did Rose,” Cora said, her tone triumphant.

To hide her roiling emotions, she
turned slightly to talk to the girl. “Why? What did you learn in
church, Rose?” She almost feared she’d stolen money from the
collection plate.

“
God makes you suffer and
then you die.” The girl looked frightened.

Cora brayed again. “That’s what your
idea of going to church did for the girl, Mrs. Becker.”

Why on earth would she think that was
funny? Emily wondered. That was a horrible image for a child to
have.

“
Oh, dear, no Rose! That’s
not true at all!” Emily countered, although she could understand
why Rose might have gotten that impression from listening to
Reverend Ackerman. And if Emily were to be honest with herself,
she’d have to admit that she’d had the same thought many times in
her life. “We’ll talk about it later.”

When they arrived home, Luke changed
clothes to unhitch the team and do some chores. Cora put on her
apron and went outside to get a side of pork ribs from the
smokehouse. Emily, buoyed by the fantasy of marriage she still
carried in her mind’s eye, stood in the kitchen and surveyed the
room. The table needed something to dress up its plainness. Sunday
dinner ought to be something special, not just food flopped on the
table with no style or grace. It was a time for family to come
together. Rose lingered in the hallway, still dressed in her good
clothes and looking forlorn. Blast that Cora Hayward for her
insensitivity, Emily thought.

“
Rose, I need your help. Do
you know where to find some wildflowers to put on the table? Like
the pinks you brought to me?”

The girl scuffed her shoes across the
floor. “Yeah, there are some lupines on the other side of the
road.”

“
That would be perfect!
Would you change your clothes and go gather a few
stems?”

“
Okay.” She turned wide,
dark eyes up to Emily. “Do you think that Grammy is right about
God?”

Recognizing the sensitive subject,
Emily asked, “What did she say?”

“
She says that God doesn’t
answer prayers. That if he did, my mama never would have married
Daddy, that she never would have died, and that—that,
well . . . ”

“
It’s all right, Rose,” she
urged gently. “Go on.”

“
She says you never would
have come here. She says talking to God is a blame-fool waste of
time and that a body might as well talk to the wall.”

Yes, that sounded like Cora, all
right, Emily thought. Bitter and autocratic. “Do you ever talk to
God?”

“
Sometimes,” the girl
answered, but she looked as if she were admitting a guilty
secret.

“
And does he answer
you?”

“
No—at least I don’t think
so. Daddy still doesn’t laugh and things around here aren’t fun
anymore. Maybe Grammy
is
right.”

“
But does it make you feel
better to tell God your troubles?”

Rose looked up at her with tear-damp
eyes, and Emily’s heart ached for her. “Yes.”

“
Then it’s not a waste of
time. Believe me, Rose, God hears you. It’s just that sometimes the
answer doesn’t come right away. Or sometimes the answer is
simply
no
.”

“
It is?”

“
Yes. No one gets everything
they want.” Emily was well-acquainted with that fact. She wanted to
take Rose into her arms and give her the affection she seemed to be
missing. But Emily sensed that it might not be welcome just yet.
“You just keep on talking to God, if you want. And if you want to
talk to me, I’ll listen too.”

“
Okay.”

Emily gave her a big smile. “Now run
and get your clothes changed, and find those flowers for me. I’m
counting on you.”

Rose smiled too. “I’ll bring back the
biggest ones out there.”

While Rose was gone, Emily went to the
sideboard and found a lovely cutwork tablecloth and napkins with
which she set the table. Obviously, the tablecloth hadn’t been used
in a long time, perhaps years. It bore sharp creases from sitting
in the drawer and smelled of the lavender sachet tucked into the
corners. Emily tried to smooth the fold lines with her hands, but
they were too well established. It seemed a shame not to use
something so pretty for special occasions. As she put a napkin at
each place setting, she dreamed of doing this every Sunday. They
could go to church, have a real Sunday dinner with nice table linen
and flowers. In the summer, they could even have dinner outside,
she and Luke and Rose—

This pleasant reverie was interrupted
when Cora came back into the kitchen, clutching the pork to her
chest. She let out a shrill squawk louder than the caterwauling of
all her hens combined. Her eyes were wide and staring, and she
pointed at the table with her free hand. Like a specter from a
nightmare, she squawked again, raising the hair on Emily’s
scalp.

“
Wh-what?” Emily
stuttered.

“
How
dare
you?” Cora raged.

Rose came running through the back
door, grasping the stems of wild lupines. Their purple blossoms
were a sharp contrast to her pale hand. She followed the direction
of her grandmother’s gaze and sucked in her breath as
well.

“
How dare you touch
Belinda’s belongings?” She threw the pork ribs into the galvanized
steel sink and pumped water over her hands. After throughly
lathering them with soap and rinsing again, she dried them, and
carefully removed the napkins one by one. Then she took up the
tablecloth, refolded it following the crease lines that Emily had
tried to press out, and laid the linen back in the drawer as though
it were a holy relic. All the while, Emily stood by, feeling both
foolish and angry, and knew that her face was the color of a
rooster’s comb.

“
I’m sorry—I didn’t
know—it’s so beautiful I
thought . . . ”

“
It’s pretty plain that you
didn’t think at all!”

Luke came up the back stairs in time
to hear Cora’s last remark. God, now what? he wondered. He wanted
to turn around and go out to the fields. But that would be the
coward’s way out and he knew it. So he walked in, and the tableau
in front of him was fraught with tension. Cora glared at Emily,
Rose stood like a statue gripping some flowers, and Emily looked as
if she’d been caught stealing.

“
What’s going on
here?”

“
Your
wife
put out Belinda’s best
tablecloth and napkins, that’s what! We never use her
things!”

Luke had been fighting this for more
than year now. Cora had turned the house into a shrine to Belinda,
making certain that the wound of their grief would never heal. He’d
tried several times to put their wedding picture into a bottom
drawer of his dresser, hoping that if he didn’t have to look at it
every day, the weight on his heart might lighten. He’d also put
away her vanity set that laid next to the photograph. Each time,
Cora had searched for everything and put it all back on top of the
dresser while he was working outside. Finally, he’d given
up.