One of the children answered the door. At Edith’s request, she went to find her sister. Waiting in the neat parlor, Edith saw that the campaign chair was again in its place. “Oh, good,” she said, going over to look at it. “They fixed it. I bet Gary did it. He’s very good with wood.”
“And other things.” Jeff stood by the mantel, holding a small objet d’art in his hands. He had such a strange expression on his face that she walked over to him to see what he held. A bas-relief head, in silhouette, emerged from a thin circle of clay. The woman’s mouth was curved in a tender smile while the hair tumbled carelessly down her back.
“Isn’t that pretty! It looks . . . familiar. Who is it?”
Jeff raised his eyes to her. “It’s you.”
“It can’t be.” Edith peeked into the mirror above the mantel, half-turning her head to catch a glimpse of her profile. “I don’t look anything like that.”
“Yes, you do.” Jeff spoke with calm assurance. “But how did Gary . . . ?”
A shadow across the doorway heralded Dulcie’s entrance into the hall. Dropping an armload of parcels on the hall table, she called, “Mama? I’m back. They didn’t have Calder’s Dentine, so I got Tooth Soap instead. Oh, and Mrs. Judd wants to know if you have any purple flowers in bio . . .”
She saw Jeff and Edith waiting for her. She hesitated, her eyes subtly shifting left and right as though searching for a trap. Plastering a smile on, she came forward. “Oh, hello. I didn’t know anyone was . . .”
“Jeff wanted to speak to your mother about something.” Edith gave him a glance that compelled and appealed at the same time. “Go on, Jeff. Dulcie will keep me company.”
Grudgingly, he said, “Yeah. Edith, call me ... when you’re ready to go.”
His cold eyes traveled over Dulcie as he passed. Her hand crept up to rub the base of her throat, her eyes dropping under his gaze. “Is he all right?” she asked when he’d gone out.
“Naturally, he’s disappointed in you.”
“In me?” She half-laughed incredulously. “Why should he be?” Half-turning away from Edith, she seemed ready to spring out the entry, heading for safety.
Edith approached her and looked into the girl’s frozen face. “I know everything,” she said as kindly as she could.
“What do you mean? You can’t ... I mean, there’s nothing to know about.”
“Not even your plan to leave Richey with Mr. Sullivan? Then I don’t know about your splitting the money with him, either. Or are you going to keep it and leave him somewhere high and dry?” The girl’s eyes evaded hers. “You can’t dupe him, Dulcie.”
“Sure I can.” Her voice hard, Dulcie jerked up her head to stare defiantly at Edith. “I got that skunk right where I want him. All I got to do is get married. Then Pa gives me my money and I go to live with my ‘husband.’ Only I don’t. I drop him somewhere along the line and take my money to start over some place new. Someplace exciting.”
“But Mr. Sullivan . . . you don’t know what he’s really like.”
“Don’t I?” She tossed her head contemptuously, her dark eyes flashing. “He’s bad, but he’s also stupid as a drunken dog. I’ve been waiting for someone like him for months, ever since I inherited that money.”
“But surely one of the boys in town . . .”
“Them? I wouldn’t give them the time of day. Farming’s all they ever want to talk about. If you only knew how sick I am of crop prices and manure! And God. I’m sick to death of hearing about God! Morning prayers, evening prayers, grace before meals, grace after meals! I’ve prayed enough to last me forever. I want off my knees.”
Edith shook her head sorrowfully. “You’ll be praying more than ever if you marry Sullivan. You know about poor Vera?”
“Yes. She was stupid, too. Letting that idiot tell her he loved her. What kind of fool believes a man like that?”
“Yet you believe he’s going to do what he says. That’ll he’ll marry you and then let you walk away.”
“He thinks he’s going to be paid well for it. Seventy-five dollars for half an hour’s work. He’s broke; he’ll do what I want him to.”
“And afterwards?” Edith shook her head again. “I happen to know something about the laws that govern marriage, Dulcie. It’s part of my work. A woman has to be terribly careful whom she marries. Because he’ll own her labor, her wages, even the clothes on her back. And the children belong to him too.”
Dulcie blinked at the inexorable truth in Edith’s tone. She tried to bluster, “Well, oh, well! Sullivan won’t have any of those rights. He’s already married in New Brunswick.”
“Who told you that?”
“He did, of course. He was scared I really wanted to marry him. Once I told him the truth, he got over being scared.”
“But you believe him about his ‘wife.’"
“Sure.”
“Then aren’t you a fool, too? How do you know he’s really married? How do you know he won’t keep coming back into your life the way he has into Miss Albans’s?”
“That . . . that was a coincidence. He’ll never find me again. I’ll see to it.”
“Are you safe from coincidence?” Edith asked. Dulcie bit her full underlip with her slightly prominent front teeth.
Edith pressed her advantage. “Dulcie, if you are so eager to leave Richey, then find a way to do it without tying your life to this evil man’s. No good can possibly come of it.”
The moment passed. Tossing her head again, Dulcie said with a tense laugh, “You’re awfully nosy, Miss Parker. What business is it of yours what I do and who I do it with? You’re not my mother, you know.”
“Can a brother speak?”
Dulcie flung around. When she saw Gary in the entry, she put up her hands to hide her face. As though struck blind, she retreated. “No, Gary. Go ‘way.”
Forgotten, Edith watched as the dark young man come into the room, his footsteps firm. He caught Dulcie by the waist, though she flailed her fists against his chest and tried to kick. Gary murmured to her, even as he grappled with her. Capturing her arms, he held her against him with caring strength until she went suddenly limp, weeping against his shoulder.
“Hush, now, my lovely . . . my lovely.” His voice was rough yet warm. “What a little ninny. If you want someone to marry, marry me. You know I’ve been in love with you for years. And you love me, too. Did you think I couldn’t tell?”
She said something, the words too muffled for Edith to hear. It could have been a confession of love. Dulcie shook back her blonde hair and said more loudly, “But Mama and Papa . . . they’ll say it’s a sin. Better I should just . . .”
“A sin for an adopted brother and sister to fall in love? I don’t believe it. There’s no real reason against it. There’s not a drop of blood we have in common but I’d give every drop of mine for you.”
Then he kissed her blotched face and her hands crept up to touch his face. “But it’s wrong,” she said, in a tone that gave away her utter acquiescence.
“No, it’s right.”
Realizing this moment was not for vulgar eyes, Edith studied the toes of her shoes. After a moment, however, she realized she had to look. If she saw the coruscating radiance, the pink and golden light of love, then she would know that the bright sun alone had kept her from glimpsing it about the forms of Mrs. Green and her lover.
Edith looked straight and unequivocally at the entwined couple. Nothing. Not a gleam, not a glitter, not a glow. Nothing more than any casual observer would see. At her heart, she felt a great, draining loss. She pressed her hand to the place that ached and swayed, biting her lips to keep back a moan of pain.
Edith wanted to run away, to nurse her emptiness in secret. Where was Jeff?
Raising her arid eyes, Edith saw the young couple sigh, smile at each other, and change position. As their kiss continued, Edith realized that one spinster making a quiet exit would not begin to disturb them.
However, the first shriek from Mrs. Armstrong broke them apart like a hammer blow. “Dulcie! Gary! What are you . . . ?” To the daughter who trailed behind her, she said, “Run for your father, quick!”
Dulcie edged farther away from Gary, but he caught her hand and held it tightly. “Mama, we’re going to get married,” he announced recklessly.
“Married!”
“Yes, ma’am. And there’s nothing anybody can do about it. If we . . .”
“Excuse me,” Edith said, feeling she ought to interrupt before unforgivable things were said, “but, if you don’t mind my asking, how do you feel about that, Mrs. Armstrong?”
“It’s what I’ve always dreamed of!”
Her children, one by birth, the other by affection, stared at her. “Mama,” Dulcie said. “You don’t . . .”
Tears collected in the corners of Mrs. Armstrong’s hazel eyes. “Ever since you were little ... I hoped that some day . . . that’s why we never formally adopted you, Gary. Oh, we were going to and then I knew I was going to have Dulcie and then all the others started coming and . . .” She was crying in earnest now, and the two went to her.
The big preacher appeared in the doorway, sweat-stained and dirty, a double-bitted axe in his hand. Jeff was right behind him with Sam standing on tiptoe to see over his son’s shoulder.
At the sight of Jeff, Edith let her hand drop from her heart. She held out her hand to him and he walked right over and took it, as though it were the most natural thing to do.
“What’s the matter?” the preacher asked.
“They . . . they want to get married,” Edith stammered, her brain whirling. She’d known she loved Jeff, but she hadn’t realized that his touch could make her feel complete again.
Mr. Armstrong put his meaty hands on his hips. “Well, it sure took ‘em long enough to make up their minds. That’s wonderful. And to think, we won’t have that ugly city slicker sitting down to table with us anymore.”
“Oh,” Dulcie said, putting her fingers to her mouth. “I forgot. He’s supposed to come to dinner...”
Sam and Jeff said, in one breath, “I'll take care ...” They grinned at each other, their resemblance even more marked.
The preacher said, “Let us pray. Heavenly father . . .”
With barely contained laughter sparkling in their eyes as they glanced at each other, Dulcie and Gary bowed their heads obediently. Jeff tugged on Edith’s hand.
They slipped out, while the family prayed. Jeff had to grab Sam by the arm and tug him too to get him to move.
“I’m confused,” his father said on the porch, lifting his creased soft hat to scratch his head. “Isn’t Dulcie immoral? Or did I miss something?”
Edith smiled, feeling her heart beating again. She liked Dulcie and when she’d thought the girl was evil, she had worried that her picture of the world as a generally pleasant place might be a fiction. She was happy to know she was still right.
“No,” she said. “Dulcie’s not wicked. She was just confused. Her feelings were for Gary all the time, but she told herself they were wrong. She hid them away very well. So well even I ... Well, of course, she got angry at herself and wanted to do something notorious.”
“I don’t get it,” Sam said. “Maybe it’s something only a girl would understand.”
“Well,” she said, trying again. “If you think you’re evil, you’re going to try to prove it, aren’t you? And since she thought being in love with her so-called brother was evil, she wanted to do something even worse, like run away with Sullivan.”
“Never mind,” Jeff said, still holding her hand as they crossed through the garden. He winked at his father. “It makes sense to me, Dad.”
“It does?”
“Just as much sense as Mrs. Green falling for Mr. Huneker. Or Paul Tyler deciding to marry a girl he’s known for less than two days. This kind of thing happens when you bring a matchmaker to town.”
Edith returned Jeff’s grin shyly.
Sam climbed up into the wagon. “Well, it passes me,” he said. “But next time you want to make a change in your life, son, let me recommend dynamite. It’s safer.”
Chapter 22
While Vera went into the kitchen for coffee, Jeff slicked his hair back with one spit-licked palm and looked around the tiny, comfortable parlor. Somehow picking up his buggy from her store had become an invitation to supper. The galling part was how Edith had nodded and smiled, all but answering for him, as though she hadn’t a jealous bone in her body. She thinks a lot of you, Dane, Jeff jeered. Yes, sir, you Casanova you.
Vera came back and Jeff hastily rearranged his features into a smile as he got up to help her with the tray. “Yes, ma’am. That certainly was the tastiest pork chop I’ve ever eaten.”
“I thought you’d enjoy a change from beef.” Sitting down, they smiled with nervous grimaces at each other over the coffee cups. They’d already discussed dinner twice already, and the subject of Victor Sullivan was too tender to touch upon a second time.
Casting around for something else to say, Jeff nodded toward the decorative stenciling of flowers that adorned the plain mantel. “Did you do that?”
“When I first moved in, I added some of my own touches to these rooms—painting, and so on. They were awfully shabby, but you remember, I’m sure, from when you helped me move in.”
“I remember Dad and I knocked the plaster off your hall trying to get this sofa in.” He sipped his coffee, still glancing around at the gleaming furniture and hand-hooked rugs. “Yes, you’ve certainly done a lot to the place. You ought to come over to our house. I’m sure it could use freshening up.”
“I think you and Sam have done a fine job keeping up your house. So many men would have let everything go to wrack and ruin. Do you remember the bachelor that lived in these rooms before I moved in?”
“Old Satcherly. How the women used to chase him! But he went to his grave single.” Jeff decided to ride out of this dangerous territory. The last thing he wanted right now was a discussion of the pleasures and pains of matrimony.
He finished his coffee at a gulp. “Thanks again for supper. I sure appreciate it.”
He stood up and stuck his hands in his pockets. She had no choice, even if she’d wanted one, but to rise and accept his farewell. “I’ll show you to the door,” she said, stepping ahead of him down the narrow hall.
Looking out through the open doorway at the stars, Jeff commented, “Nice night. Cooled down some.”
“Jeff . . .” Vera put her hand flat against the doorframe and examined her splayed fingers. “I want to say . . .”