A Timely Concerto (13 page)

As he took her hand and helped her into the carriage, she realized that Jim sat atop the driver’s seat, reins in hand. They wouldn’t be alone after all and she sighed, disappointed. Howard climbed in beside her.

“What is it, Lillian?”

“I thought we might be alone,” she sounded as petulant as she felt but he just laughed.

“For all practical purposes, we are alone,” Howard said. “Jim won’t pay any mind to what we do or say back here and even if he does, he won’t say anything to anyone. Good servants don’t talk about their employers.”

Having servants was one facet of this life that she would have trouble adjusting into and she knew it. Part of her wanted to go back inside and tell Shugie she would help with the dishes. The woman had spent the morning cooking lunch which she would now clean up after, then begin cooking again for another four star dinner. It seemed like an amazing amount of work for one woman but no one else, including Shugie, seemed to think she was overburdened. She kept her mouth shut about servants to preserve the peace of the day.

With Howard seated across from her, knee to knee, she felt happier. She grasped her hands in hers and smiled.

“Tomorrow, we’ll be husband and wife. I can hardly wait.”

“Nor can I,” he said. “Didn’t you wear your gloves?”

“It isn’t cold.”
Howard laughed. “I was not talking about woolen winter gloves, dearest, but the lace gloves you have. Most ladies wear gloves when they are out.”

“Oh.” There was still so much to learn, things to absorb and understand but she would. “Do you think your parents liked me?”

“No.” Her stomach clenched until he continued. “They adored you, Lillian. I am sorry we had to lie on some minor points but we are not at liberty to tell the entire truth.”

“Oh, no, we’re not.” She couldn’t imagine the reaction if she told the Speakmans that she met Howard when he was a ghost, that she came more than a hundred years back in time to be with him, and that if all went well, he would not die next March as he had once. “Show me the town, please.”

A two-hour drive about town convinced her that the town was far smaller now that it would be one day and that the charm was deeper than she could have ever guessed. Seven Oaks sat at the edge of a very new area of development where most homes were new and large. As they navigated down a rather steep hill, Lillian remarked that she could see the downtown Square and Howard nodded.

“Yes, you can. But, look, Lillian!” He directed her attention to a small park at the foot of the hill. “This is the park I convinced the city that Neosho needed. It may still be a little rough around the edges but I think it will be a beautiful garden for all to enjoy one day. The first Strawberry Festival will be here next Saturday.”

She recognized the place as Big Spring Park but the spring that cascaded down over the rocky bluffs was far greater than the trickle she had seen in the future. Two women dangled their babies’ feet into the large pool at the base of the bluff but in the park, green grass spread out over what Howard told her had been a tanning yard. A few early flowers blossomed here and there. The skeleton of a bandstand reared up toward the back of the park.

“They should have the bandstand finished by the festival,” Howard said. “I would love to crown you queen but it’s meant to be a single young woman. I have already selected her. Her name is …”

Lillian remembered this one from the history books. “Diva Rudy.”

“Yes, Diva,” Howard said.

He drove her past the highlights of downtown, past Abbott’s Bakery where the smell of baking bread tempted her even though she was full, around the Square where she made mental note of The Golden Eagle and McGinty’s Department Store where perhaps she could augment her wardrobe, and past several churches. Every place they passed, people hailed Howard and greeted her. The news of their impending wedding must have scattered through the town as fast the fire started by Mrs. O’Leary’s cow in Chicago because everyone knew.

As the carriage paused so that Howard could shake hands or make introductions, Lillian watched him with growing awe and pride. She loved this man, adored him, and admired him but seeing him now in his own element impressed her. She met him as a shadow man, charming, but existing only in the eretheal plane. She loved him as he was then. Now that she was here, in his time and place, he was three-dimensional, flesh and blood, and she loved him more.

This, she realized, was the real Howard Speakman, the canny, popular businessman and local leader. He commanded respect from his peers but received it with such humility that people liked him, from the pickers who worked his fruit farm to the small towns mighty. Howard fit here like a hand into a kid glove and he belonged.

For the first time she realized what it would mean to be his bride, to be the wife of one of the city’s movers and shakers. Lillian, caught up in the storybook romance of their relationship, infatuated with the beautiful wedding planned at Seven Oaks, realized that she would not just live her life with the man she loved but that she would live it with privilege, with money, and with social position. If she wanted to be, she would be a trendsetter with fashion. If she chose to champion a cause, it was more than likely that others would follow. Whatever she might choose be involved in, be it education or women’s rights, Howard had the money and prestige to back her interests. More than that, he had the power to make a difference.

“Darling?” Howard’s voice cut into her thoughts. “I would like you to meet Henry Greenwald. He’s the President of the First National Bank. Henry, this is my bride, Miss Dorsey.”

“It is a pleasure,” Lillian said, her mind still on her epiphany moment.

“
Enchante
,” The banker had more formal manners than most and she wondered if he had enjoyed a Continental education. Then he kissed her hand, his handlebar mustache tickling her skin until she giggled. Howard frowned, causing the banker to withdraw his hand from the carriage.

As they clip clopped around the town square, she recognized many of the buildings from the future. Howard pointed out the berry sheds near the railroad station with pride; she remembered them from her arrival but she hadn’t known then that Howard was responsible for their erection.

This Neosho was a different town than the one she knew, compact and attractive in a pastoral sort of way that the modern version lacked. Most of the homes had outbuildings, a barn or stable, an outhouse or a simple shed. Lawns were larger and the homes more separated, many by neat white picket fences or trimmed hedges. Flowers bloomed in abundance everywhere, a riot of color that caught her eye. Most homes had large vegetable gardens, too. It would have seemed like a movie set save for the touches of reality, the horse droppings that littered the road and the people who were not Hollywood perfect.

Howard directed Jim to drive them out past the National Fish Hatchery and then into the country. Along a narrow road, they passed a low stone wall and some of the tallest cedars Lillian had ever seen.

“What nice trees!” she exclaimed.

“They call the cedars “graveyard pines” here,” Howard said. “That’s the International Order of Oddfellows Cemetery, my dear. That’s where, I believe, I was buried, before.”

Despite the pleasant warm day, Lillian shivered. An old expression of her grandmothers, goose walking over your grave, popped into her mind. On the eve of her wedding, the last thing she wanted to think about was Howard’s death. It would not happen now, she told herself, with furious resolve.

“I don’t want to talk about that. Everything will be different now.”

Howard’s lips formed a small smile but there was something sad about it.

“I hope so, my darling Lillian. I want to believe that your medicines will work if I fall sick as I did before but even if I should die, this time I shall die a happier man.”

“You won’t die.” She believed that; she had to believe it if she was going to be happy here. “We’ll both live to be at least a hundred and if you’re buried here, so will I.”

He laughed. “May those words fly from your sweet lips to God’s ear, Lillian. Are you ready to go home?”

She loved the sound of that word and the images it conjured up, the beautiful brick house and the warm family who dwelled there but there was one more thing she wanted to see.

“I would like to go to the farm, Howard.”

She had seen the housing development where the farm once lay and she had visited the farm in a dream with Howard but Lillian wanted to see it, the orderly rows of neat fruit trees, the truck garden plots, and all.

He grinned; she might be his true love but the farm was one of his passions and it provided his living.

“Then we shall,” He leaned out and shouted to Jim. The carriage made a wide turn and headed at the same easy pace back toward town. “It is rather beautiful now, Lillian. The strawberries are ripening, more by the day. I vow we will have the best crop ever, just in time for the festival.”

“And the Strawberry Festival is next Saturday?” The week after their wedding day, she thought.

“Yes, dear Lillian. I fear we cannot have a proper honeymoon until after the festival and strawberry season ends. Do you mind? We can go away anywhere you like, afterward.”

Being here, in 1904, with him was enough of a journey.

“I don’t mind at all,” Lillian said.

“Capital!” Howard said.

The farm, when they reached it, was just as she remembered from her dream. Neat rows of apple and peach trees lined the slopes but now, strawberries dominated. Bright red berries peeked out from the green leaves between the masses of small white blooms. Pickers bent over, filling their baskets with the small, sweet fruits. Several wagons were in line, loaded with berries, and Howard, with an apology, stepped out of the carriage to talk with the workers there. Lillian watched, arm leaned on the open carriage window, staring out over the farm that was so familiar and yet so new.

Midway down one of the many strawberry slopes, Lillian saw a tree that she remembered from her dream, a pretty maple. When she drove through this neighborhood, the tree remained, now a massive maple in someone’s front yard. They kissed at this tree, in her dream, so on impulse she stepped out of the carriage and headed downhill to the tree.

“Lillian!” Howard called after her, sounding exasperated. “Darling, where are you going?”

She did not answer and as expected, he bounded after her, catching up to her just in time to keep her from falling as she reached the tree. Lillian lost her balance on the slope; she might have tumbled down the hill had he not caught her in his arms.

`
“Dearest, what are you doing? You almost fell.”

“This is the tree, Howard.”

He grinned. “Yes, I remember it.”

“So kiss me.”

He hesitated but no more than a moment. Howard pulled her tighter into his embrace, tilted her head back so he could reach her mouth beneath the lavish hat, and kissed her, this time without restraint. His warm lips gave and sought, taking her mouth with possession, even ownership. Her body melted at the kiss, responded with eagerness and she kissed him back. They might have remained locked together much longer had not a few of the farm hands cheered, jolting them both of out their romantic reverie. They broke apart, both breathing hard, and grinned.

“Now that was a kiss,” Lillian said. She liked it. There had been none of his genteel manners in that kiss; it was all man, not gentleman.

“On the eve of our wedding, it seemed appropriate,” Howard said. “Tomorrow at this time, you will be my wife and I can kiss you when and where I please. Some public restraint may be necessary but one moment of passion was too much to deny.”

She pursed her lips, hoping for more but he shook his head.

“Dear Lillian, we have world enough and time for that later. Mother will have dinner waiting for us as it is and you must have much to do to prepare for our wedding.”

She didn’t, not really. Miss Julia had all that under control but with a sigh, she agreed.

“All right, Howard,” Lillian said, linking her arm through his so he would have to walk her up the hill to the carriage. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter 14

June 2, 1904 dawned as sweet and clear as any morning she had ever known. Lillian was up before dawn, anxious and excited, unable to sleep. Around her, the house was silent; no one stirred as she sat beside the window and watched the eastern sky come alive as the sun came up. The blackness faded in slow stages as the first light banished it, illuminating the few stray cotton puffs of clouds with rose and golden hues. As the sun reached the center, the sky around it turned a peaceful, perfect blue, a calm shade that she adored. That color made her remember the old saying about something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. She had all of the above except something blue.

She made a mental note to ask Mother Speakman or Shugie; she would prefer not to ask Miss Julia if she could help it. Maybe one of them could provide her with a blue string of beads, a blue-edged garter, or something. With nothing else to do and hours until the afternoon wedding, she sprawled back on the bed until a light tap at the door roused her. Hoping it might be Howard, she opened it to find Shugie with a breakfast tray.

“I brought your breakfast up here, since you can’t see Mister Howard till the wedding,” Shugie said, tray balanced against one hip. “I brought you some nice bacon and eggs, a couple of biscuits and some strawberries with cream, picked yesterday at the farm.”

Shugie must be on a campaign to make her fat, Lillian thought, as she inhaled the aromas from the tray. She never ate this much but she would, today, so she could keep her strength up for the wedding. Lunch had better be light.

“I don’t have anything blue,” she told Shugie as she crunched a slice of bacon. “Brides should have something blue for luck.”

Shugie laughed. “Don’t you worry. Your bouquet is downstairs in my kitchen, white roses, pink roses, yellow roses, with blue forget-me-nots tucked in between them. That’s blue enough for anyone.”

“That’s great,” Lillian said. “Will you help me with my hair, later?”

Shugie shook her head. “Miss Lillian, I would be proud to help you but Miss Julia’s got half the women in town coming to dress you and I don’t think she’ll like it if I did your hair. I just do hair simple ways and she’s going have you turned out like you stepped out of the Sears and Roebuck wish book.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Lillian sighed.

The morning crawled by; she took a long bath, soaking in the big claw foot tub and powdering herself with fragrant sachet powder when she finished. She washed her hair, then combed it out by the window before dressing. Three hours before the wedding, when she still wore her chemise, “the girls” arrived led by Miss Julia and descended like locusts on the fields of Egypt. They primped, powdered, and dressed her hair, chattering the entire time about marriage, husbands, and Howard until Lillian thought she might scream or run out of the room.

Shugie delivered a light lunch – bread and butter sandwiches, boned breast of chicken slices on toast, more strawberries, and tea – but Lillian ate little. She didn’t want to soil any of her garments and she wasn’t hungry. The butterflies in her stomach were active ones and she would be glad when all the festivities were over.

By two-thirty, she was ready, dressed in the gown, veil atop her head, and feet shod in borrowed white slippers. Her hair, beneath the veil, was a confection of curls, some twisted and pinned high on her head, some flowing free. Face powder caked her face and she hoped she wouldn’t sweat. Light rouge blushed her cheeks and tinted her lips what she hoped was a somewhat natural red. Miss Julia stuck pearl earrings into her ears; Lillian was glad that she had pierced ears because otherwise, General Julia would have stabbed the earrings through her ear lobes regardless before draping a rope of fresh water pearls around her neck.

With fifteen minutes to go, Lillian didn’t want to look in the mirror, fearful that she might resemble a Geisha girl or Chinese bride more than a Gibson girl but after coaxing, she did. Her reflection pleased her; she looked like an antique princess or queen. Lillian smiled at herself in the mirror,

“I don’t look half bad,” she mused, aloud and the girls all laughed.

“You are beautiful,” Daisy said, starting a chorus of agreement.

By the time that someone put the large, lovely bouquet into her hands, Lillian’s heart pounded too fast and she felt lightheaded enough that she might faint, swoon they called it here. With a last tug at the veil, Miss Julia released her to Papa Speakman and on his arm, they poised at the top of the stairs.

“Daughter, you are a vision of beauty,” he said, beaming.

“Thank you,” Lillian said. His steady arm and his kind manner eased her nerves a little but when she heard the familiar strains of Wagner’s
Lohengren
begin, her stomach clenched and she swayed.

“Howard’s playing the music,” Papa said, with a chortle. “He insisted so that it would be correct. He plays quite well, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he does.” Lillian remembered the first time she heard him play, how she charged downstairs to confront him as an intruder. She laughed aloud and most of her anxiety vanished.

They came down the grand front staircase, their steps in tandem. Lillian was careful of the gown, making certain not to miss a step and fall headlong. A sea of faces, unfamiliar faces, stared up at her, watching her descend as the music continued. She noted that each stair banister was trimmed with a white satin bow and when she reached the foot of the stairs, she noticed that even the entry hall bloomed with flowers. On cue, her matron of honor stepped out, and the flower girl followed, dropping petals as she walked with precise steps. Little Ruth looked adorable in a pink lawn dress, printed with geometric circles, and a matching bow in her hair.

The guests parted in half as she passed through them on Papa Speakman’s arm, murmuring compliments and congratulations. As the music faded, they entered the parlor, now transformed, just as Miss Julia promised. Flowers of every description covered almost everything. Most of the furniture was gone to allow the guests to sit or stand as she walked down a white runner toward the mantle where Howard, dressed well in a long frock coat and trousers, black in what she would later learn was high quality German worsted cloth, smooth and attractive.

As she approached, he nodded at her and she smiled, arms filled with the fragrant bouquet of flowers. Beside him, the man in the clerical coat and collar must be Reverend Millibanks. He cleared his throat and began to speak. Lillian had attended many weddings but the simple words of the traditional ceremony never failed to move her. Now that they were for her, at her wedding, she could not contain a few tears. As they slid down her cheeks, she hoped they wouldn’t mar the heavy make-up.

“Dearly beloved,” the minister intoned. “We have gathered together on this beautiful June day, in this gracious home, to witness the union of this man, a fine, upstanding citizen, Mr. Howard Speakman, and this woman, the lovely Miss Lillian Dorsey. They come together in matrimony before God and what God joins together, let no man put asunder.”

With so many people packed into the parlor, it was hot. Lillian felt perspiration on her forehead and beneath her arms. She prayed she wouldn’t stain Daisy’s dress and wished she had a fan, instead of flowers. Miss Julia had drawn the corset tighter than she liked and she felt like she couldn’t breathe in the airless room. Although the many flowers smelled wonderful, other scents wafting through the room were not as pleasant. She could inhale the pungent odor of mothballs, of sweat, of too much perfume and bay rum, and even a hint of manure, probably tracked in on someone’s boots. From the kitchen, she smelled baking and other cooking aromas that did not mingle well with the other smells. Her stomach rolled twice and she willed herself to be still, to hang in for the rest of the ceremony.

“Howard, do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better and for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, to honor and to obey, to have and to hold until death do you part?”

“I do,” Howard said and she thanked whatever God blessed them both that he didn’t have to repeat the entire sequence like the groom at many other weddings.

“Lillian,” the good Reverend turned to face her. “Do you take his man to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better and for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, to honor and obey, to have and to hold until death do you part?”

“I do,” Her voice sounded faint so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I do.”

Lillian couldn’t hear exactly what the minister said but Howard took her left hand in his and said, “With this ring, I thee wed and all my worldly goods I do endow.”

He slid a beautiful ring, a golden band decorated with a leaf pattern in red and gold. Between each pair of leaves, a tiny flower blossomed. It was exquisite and the weight of it on her finger felt right. Until now, she had not thought about the ring, had not tried to envision what a wedding ring might look like.

Howard bent to kiss her hand and she wept with the sweetness of it.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Reverend Millibanks said, beaming. “May I present to you Mister and Missus Howard Speakman?”

Applause pattered through the guests, followed by murmurs and good wishes. Face to face, Lillian smiled at her new husband and whispered,

“Don’t you get to kiss the bride?”

He flushed, skin pink against the black suit and grinned. Without a word, he bent and kissed her, softly at first and then with growing passion so that she clung to him. Overheated, a little lightheaded already, Lillian thought she would faint but she didn’t. With her right arm tucked into his left, they strolled through the guests. Everything moved too fast; she had no time to slow down and savor the moment of her wedding.

“Bride and groom! Oh, bride and groom,” Miss Julia trilled. “Come here to have your wedding portrait taken.”

They posed, still arm in arm, before an arrangement of white roses. A blinding flash of light, a poof, and it was over so they moved onward.

“Are you happy, dearest?” Howard whispered in her ear as they strolled into the dining room where a massive bride’s cake crowned the table beside a small, dark fruitcake.

“I am,” Lillian said, and meant it. “Are you?”

“Happier than I have ever been in my life.” Howard said. “Now we cut the cake and serve it to our guests.”

The wedding cake was similar to the cakes in her time, a tall, multi-layered confection, white cake frosted with butter cream frosting. Real flowers decked each layer along with ribbons edged in lace. The other cake was the traditional fruitcake but Shugie had gone all out in creating what was the newest, fashionable style of bride’s cake. Other sweet confections surrounded the cakes, petit fours, teacakes, cookies, and marzipan, all delicious. A cut glass punchbowl sparkled with some beverage. The silver tea service and coffee service were also on the buffet across the room. Stacks of plates waited for dessert and an array of just polished silverware were in order.

Before they could cut the cake, there were toasts, many of them. Lillian sipped the sweet and definitely non-alcoholic punch as first the Speakmans, then other guests toasted them. Albert, Howard’s almost adopted brother, gave a rousing toast. After each toast, the guests all shouted “here, here!” in unison. Once the good wishes ended, they cut the cake, slicing it in careful, thin slices. Unlike modern weddings, they did not feed each other the first bite of cake but served their guests. By the time, everyone had a dessert plate, Lillian wanted nothing more than to sit down in some quiet place with her new husband. She nibbled at a bite of cake, which was excellent, so she wouldn’t offend Shugie and wished she could slip out to use the restroom.

“When will we be finished?” Lillian whispered into Howard’s ear at an idle moment.

“We have much more to do,” he answered. “Before we can make our exit, we have to open the gifts.”

Lillian shut her eyes with horror. As she descended the stairs, she remembered the hall table heaped with gifts and that more were stacked on another table in the parlor. Opening the gifts would take quite awhile but she nodded and tried to smile.

“Can we do that yet?” she asked.

Howard surveyed his guests. “Wait until they finish the cake.”

Once they cut the cake, and everyone served, it was time to toss the bouquet for luck. Turning her back on all those gathered, Lillian gave her beautiful bouquet, a bit wilted now, a toss over her right shoulder. Miss Diva Rudy, the soon to be crowned Strawberry Queen, caught it to a chorus of whistles and applause.

After that, they retreated into the parlor once more and sat on the high horsehair covered sofa, apparently the seat of honor. By some magic and Miss Julia’s hand, the gifts now sat before the sofa in a glittering pile. With such little advance notice of their wedding, Lillian boggled at how many people brought presents and wondered what people gave as gifts. As everyone assembled, sixty people or more, crowded around them, they began opening the gifts, one by one. Howard read each card aloud, although she could not remember the names, match names with faces, or keep them straight. Then she undid each package with care and revealed the gift. As she held it up high so that all could see, Howard proclaimed thanks. They repeated this over and over.