A Timely Concerto (11 page)

When she alighted from the noon train, one hand lifting her skirts so that she would not trip, she scanned the crowd, looking for Howard. When she found him, she smiled, letting the tension of the rather rough train ride ebb away. Despite the choking coal smoke fumes from the train, clouds of steam, and a throbbing headache from the slow, rocking journey, Lillian felt a delightful joy spread from her heart outward, from head to toe. He lifted a hand in greeting, dressed in his farm clothing, a chambray shirt, and brown denim pants, his much-creased straw hat on his head. She waved one hand and then remembered to be ladylike, wafting her lace trimmed handkerchief in his direction.

He pushed through the crowd, stopping to shake hands or exchange words, his grin wide as he drew nearer. Lillian stretched out her hands in greeting but he surprised her, sweeping her into his arms instead, holding her close against him, and even kissing her mouth in a sweet, small caress.

“I am delighted that you are here, dearest Lillian,” Howard said, tucking her arm into his so that they could walk through the crowds to the buggy. “My parents should arrive on the train tomorrow afternoon; I wired them and they responded.”

“Did you tell them?” She loved Howard and wanted to be his wife but Lillian could not help but be uncertain about meeting her future in-laws on the eve of their wedding.

“I certainly did and they are very happy about our impending nuptials.”

He stepped aside with her in tow to make way for a man laden with a trunk and hatbox.

“Afternoon, Howard. Who is the lady you are kidnapping from the station? Is she another cousin?”

Howard looked down at her, eyes brimming with emotion, and grinned.

“Thomas, this is my bride, Miss Lillian Dorsey. She has come from her home in Kansas City to be married the day after tomorrow.”

“Married!” Thomas exclaimed as he released his burden to to pump Howard’s hand in congratulations. “You are the most fortunate man in town. You own a flourishing fruit farm, you’ve just built a fine new home, and now you’ve won a beautiful bride.”

His grin widened and he nodded.

“I am blessed,” Howard said. “blessed in more ways than you could imagine.”

Lillian saved her giggles until they were in the buggy, and then gave way to her mirth with explosive joy.

“I’m glad to see that you’re still happy, my dear,” Howard said.

“Oh, I am.” She said, leaning her head against his shoulder. At this moment, she did not care if it was proper or not, she just wanted to be close to him. One day, she might get used to the idea that he was alive and that he would remain that way but for now, each touch was a marvel. Lillian inhaled his masculine musk, a heady aroma that included castile soap, farmer’s sweat, and the fresh scent of outdoors.

“Good.” Howard said, flicking the reins with skill so that the horse did what he wanted.

At the house, at beautiful Seven Oaks, he drove up the long, narrow driveway and helped her alight from the buggy at the side entrance.

“I need to go back to the farm for a few hours.” Howard said. “Do you mind, dearest?”

Lillian did but she knew she could not keep him at her side constantly, much as she wanted to do so. She remembered lines from a poem she read in college that said let there be spaces in our togetherness, Kahlil Gibran she thought.

“No, Howard. I’ll be fine.”

He made sure she was inside before he flicked the reins and was off, heading back to the farm as soon as Shugie’s Jim unloaded her trunk. Lillian stopped to look around as she came into the house. It was cool and dim inside. All the furnishings that had been antiques were now state of the art, modern fashionable items. Colors that had faded were now vibrant and she smiled, stopping to touch the edge of a table.

“Did you want anything?” Shugie said, coming from the back of the house, wiping her hands on a towel. Her manner was not quite friendly.

The train ride left her dry and thirsty. “I would love some iced tea if you have any made or just a glass of water.”

Too late, she remembered that iced tea, as she knew it was brand spanking new, refreshment first served at the World ’s Fair.

“Uh-huh,” Shugie said. “I’ll get you something to drink but before I do, I’m goin’ to tell you a few things.”

“Like what?” Lillian dropped the polite chitchat.

“I don’t know who you are but I know you stayed in this house with no one else around. You may be going to marry Mister Howard but you’d better be sure you love him and treat him right, his folks too. He thinks you’re nice and maybe you are but I’m not sure. I just remember where I saw you first so you’d better not disappoint him.”

She might be wrong but Shugie’s open hostility was unusual for a servant. Lillian thought servants should be deferential at all times, polite, and willing to do whatever asked. As she pondered this extreme disregard for custom, a revelation struck, smote her with such impact that she wanted to put a hand to her brow and cry, “Eureka!”

“You love him, too, don’t you?” Lillian said, staring Shugie down. “That’s why you’re so angry.”

It would have been amusing if it had not been so emotionally real. Shugie’s mouth opened wide, her eyes bulged, and her composure vanished. “You must be a witch,” Shugie gasped. “Nobody knows that, nobody. Yes, I love Mister Howard. I ain’t but a few years older than him but nothing goin’ to come of it, not ever. He’s too decent a man and he don’t know, Jim neither. You ain’t tellin’ him, are you?”

“Of course not” Lillian said, with some sympathy as she struggled to understand. In her time, decades ahead of this one, color and social station would be no barrier to romance. Here and now, however, both were major obstacles. So were Shugie’s age and marital status. While some men would take advantage of a servant’s feelings, Howard never would and he was oblivious to Shugie’s love. “But I understand now why you’re so hostile towards me. I love him, Shugie, and I am not going to hurt him, not ever. I wish you could understand just how far I came and all I left to be with Howard.”

A few stray tears escaped down Shugie’s cheeks and she reached out to clasp Lillian’s hand

“I still don’t know what you are, Miss Lillian,” Shugie said. “But you’re nicer than I thought. If there is enough ice, I’ll see if I can’t figure out how to make you that iced tea you’re wanting.”

“Thank you, Shugie.” Lillian said, fighting an urge to cry herself. Shugie’s use of “Miss Lillian” changed their relationship from hostility to some kind of acceptance. She wished she could tell her to call her Lillian but she knew that would not do. For the first time, she began to realize what a different world she had chosen and that the transition might be more difficult than she expected. Love might not conquer all, Lillian thought, but as long as she could be with Howard and he could live, she would adapt.

Upstairs, with the promised glass of tea in hand, she found her things moved to one of the smaller rear bedrooms. From the window, she could look out over the drive and the stable, something she liked because she could watch for Howard’s return. She wanted to change clothes, maybe even lie down for a nap but Lillian waited until Jim brought the trunk upstairs, humping it up the narrow back stair with what seemed like an incredible racket. Her head throbbed and she wanted nothing more than to just rest, to be quiet and reflect.

She opened the trunk but didn't unpack it. There was no reason to because day after tomorrow, all her things would move back to the familiar room she knew, the one that was now Howard’s. She did, however check inside to make sure that the precious Keflex, the antibiotic that might save Howard’s life, was there. It was and she sighed with relief.

Lillian sipped the ice tea, wished she had some ibuprofen, and sprawled on the bed. Gentle winds pushed the dimity curtains in and let cool air pour over her. It felt wonderful, fresher than any air conditioning could ever be. She drifted into a light sleep, awakened only when Shugie tapped at the door.

“Miss Lillian, Miss Julia is here,” she said, rolling her eyes to express her view of the spinster neighbor. “She’s waiting for you in the parlor.”

“All right,” Lillian grunted. She rolled off the bed, looked in the mirror, and sighed. Her hair looked mussed so she took time to comb and pin it up again before heading downstairs, palms damp and heart pounding.

Miss Julia sat with perfect posture on the edge of the sofa in the formal parlor, back straight as a ruler, head up and proud. Her silver hair was coiffed in a complicated mass of curls with a chignon at the back and her gown looked very fashionable. Although Lillian knew Miss Julia was a small town spinster, she had not realized that she must also be wealthy. Fighting an urge to curtsy to the woman who had the manner of an English Duchess, Lillian smiled.

“Good afternoon. I’m Lillian Dorsey, Howard Speakman’s bride-to-be.” Her voice caught in her throat; she was far more nervous that she had realized. If meeting Miss Julia were this difficult, what would it be like when she met her new in-laws?

“Good afternoon,” Miss Julia intoned in a voice as rich as her brocade gown. “I am Miss Julia Carrington and I am to be your chaperone.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Carrington,” Lillian replied, hoping her manners were perfect enough to serve.

“Thank you. You may call me Miss Julia, child.” Her tone softened but as Lillian settled into a chair, trying to keep her posture straight, Miss Julia inspected her through a lorgnette, making her very self-conscious and feel rather like a bug under a microscope. “You are as lovely as dear Howard said. I understand there is the necessity of finding a bridal gown in short order.”

“Yes, Miss Julia,” Lillian said, humble pie thick on her tongue. Ready-made wedding dresses were not easily available and she had not had time to find one to stash in the house before arriving in 1904. Howard had discussed this with her but it was easier with him; he knew the truth but Miss Julia made her feel like the poor relation.

“Never fear, my dear,” Miss Julia said. “Within the hour I should have several gowns here for your inspection, lovely dresses that the owners have graciously offered for loan. I also have my seamstress coming over to do any alterations. You will be a beautiful bride for Howard.”

Some of the stress eased; that was what she wanted as well. Shugie served them tea, hot this time, poured from a silver tea service and small cookies as they waited for the gowns to begin arriving. No sooner had Shugie whisked the dishes away than the dresses, most delivered by their curious owners, were there. Within minutes, the large parlor frothed with lace and white gowns of every description. Veils cascaded from tabletops and chairs. Elaborate hats, huge confections of flowers, feathers, birds, and lace topped several surfaces. Six women joined her and Miss Julia in a flurry of introductions, too many for Lillian to follow. As she struggled to remember names to match with faces and make polite conversation, Lillian felt detached. This fairy tale like scene was so unreal that it felt like a dream.

So many dresses, each one beautiful, in one place to make her choice from confused her. All the women, some younger, many older, all gabbled about the dresses, about their own weddings, and romance until Lillian did not know what to think. By now, it seemed like it would have been simpler to wear one of the gowns she brought along but apparently, as the bride to be of a prominent fruit grower, she must dress the part. Hoping that her choice would make Howard proud, Lillian studied the gowns.

There was a two-piece silk wedding dress in what the original owner called “pouter pigeon” style, a phrase that meant nothing to Lillian although she didn’t like the gown. It was a lovely dress, though with full-length sleeves that ended in lace that extended over the hands but the high neck looked uncomfortable to her.

Another gown was cream silk, a sweet confection of lace, silk tassels, and bands that the former bride, now Mrs. Rose Denton, called “ruching’. High necks must be in fashion because this gown also sported a rather tight looking collar so she moved onto the next gown. That one was silk and lace with an ornate bodice covered in small rosettes. Ribbons streamed down from the belt in the back and it seemed too fussy to Lillian.

There were two simpler dresses of a light material she thought could be muslin or some form of cotton but neither looked fancy enough for a wedding. If she were to be married, as Miss Julia suggested over tea, in this house, a simple gown would look out of place. The last gown was the loveliest, a beautiful dress made of Brussels Lace. It looked like a fairy queen’s wedding dress with layers of lace cascading down the underskirt and long sleeves, fragile and delicate as gossamer.

“I like this one,” Lillian said. “May I try it on?”

“Oh, yes, dear, of course,” the young wife who owned it gushed with joy. “You’ll look a dream in it and Howard will be delighted. Let us go upstairs and you can try it to see what needs to be done.”

She thought for a moment that all the women would follow but they did not, to her relief. She and Mrs. Daisy Martin slipped up the back stairs to her temporary room, the dress in Daisy’s arms. Once on, over her long knickers and chemise, it fit as if made for her. She could not have had a better fit if she began from scratch with material and a dressmaker. Looking at her reflection in the mirror made her grin.