The Bride Wore Blue (20 page)

H
er head bowed, Vivian stared at a knot in the pine flooring between her feet. Tucker Raines seemed like a good man—a perfect match for her sister Ida. Vivian didn’t have any legitimate complaints about his preaching, but when it came to the closing prayer, Tucker was as long-winded as a winter gale down the Eastern Seaboard. She pressed the toe of her shoe to the scar on the floor and closed her eyes.

It wasn’t that she was anxious to return to the boardinghouse, not with Deputy Alwyn joining them for Miss Hattie’s birthday celebration, but she was ready to leave the church. Except for keeping secrets, she wasn’t really doing anything wrong, but it didn’t feel right to sit in church as if she were
as Christian
as the rest of them.

Vivian laced her fingers. The last time she’d seen Carter Alwyn, he was concentrating on her drawings of the robbers’ attire. When he saw the belt buckle she’d sketched, he seemed quite pleased with her. But Carter Alwyn was set on seeing justice served. Without a doubt, he would find fault with her workplace and postulate about her activities there. Her ability to keep her job might very well depend upon her performance that afternoon.

A tap on Vivian’s knee alerted her that she’d missed her brother-in-law’s “Amen.” Nell stood beside her, even her smile reverent, and probably assumed the distraction was due to praying rather than plotting. The weight of Vivian’s workplace suddenly wrenched her heart. Nodding, she rose from the pew.

While her sisters and Miss Hattie mingled in the aisles, Vivian made her way through the crowd. She was out in the foyer, nearly to the door, when she noticed the balding man shaking Tucker’s hand. He was only a couple of inches taller than she was and wearing an oversized herringbone suit.

She gasped. The worst thing she could have done. The man who had waited impatiently for Miss Pearl at the game room door on Friday now stared at her. And so did the sour woman standing over him. She bore a staggering resemblance to Vivian’s old boss, Mara Wilkening.

“Are you all right?” Tucker looked positively pleased to see her. He held out his hand.

Time to perform. Vivian brushed a blond curl from her face and accepted his steadying grip. “I’m fine, thank you.” She glanced at the floor to steady her nerves. “I must have tripped on something.”

“Have you met Mr. Updike?” Tucker asked.

You mean the man who got me fired from the telephone company? The same Mr. Updike who frequents at least one brothel?
“We saw each other informally at the icehouse last month.” Vivian watched the banker’s face for any sign of recognition and extended her hand to him. “Mr. Updike.”

“Yes, I remember.” His smile was anemic, at best, but that didn’t mean he recognized her from the brothel.

“Mr. Updike, this is my sister-in-law, Miss Vivian Sinclair.” Tucker sounded far too proud.

“Miss Sinclair.” Mr. Updike, on the other hand, sounded uninterested.

The mother hen look-alike glared at him. “Miss Sinclair, I’m Mrs. Updike.” She shook Vivian’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to officially meet you.”

“Thank you.” Fighting a compulsion to gag, Vivian looked around and caught a glimpse of Ida talking to someone on the other side of the foyer. She didn’t want to give herself away by behaving rashly in front of the banker, but she could only take so much of him. Meeting his wife had pushed her to the limit. “Gentlemen, Mrs. Updike, if you’ll kindly excuse me, I need to speak with my sister.”

Before lightning strikes us all.

The good news was that Mr. Updike didn’t seem to recognize her, and if he did, he was sure to keep quiet about it. The bad news—she wasn’t the only person in the church living two contradictory lives.

Carter couldn’t remember when he’d laughed so hard. Otis Bernard’s ten-year-old son Abraham was a natural entertainer. Everyone at Miss Hattie’s dining table sat squarely in the palm of the boy’s hand. It wasn’t so much the depth of his jokes as the enthusiasm with which he delivered them.

Carter wiped his eyes and looked around the room. Morgan and Kat, Tucker and Ida, Judson and Nell, and Otis and Naomi and their four boys filled the room as one family. And the Sinclair sisters and their husbands treated Carter like one of the bunch. All but one, who had busied herself in the kitchen most of the afternoon.

Vivian strolled into the room. A flower-decorated cake rested on the palms of her hands like a bouquet. “Happy birthday, Miss Hattie!”

Everyone chimed in, and the four Bernard boys gathered around the beloved widow at the head of the table.

“Thank you, dears.” Miss Hattie hugged the boys and then looked around the table at each of her guests. “My thanks to all of you for making this birthday blessed. From the breakfast Vivian served this morning to the great preaching and even to the jokes.” She patted Abraham’s dark cheek.

“You’re welcome, Miss Hattie.” Abraham beamed. “You just let me know when you’re ready for another joke. Still got a lot you haven’t heard.”

“Thank you, but we best find someone to cut this cake before I’m forced to put all I’ve learned about being a lady behind me and dig into my dessert fingers first.”

Vivian looked across the table at Ida. “I remember you being more of a cutup than I am. Would you do the honors?”

Smiling, Ida shifted her attention to her husband. “Reverend, perhaps the job should be yours. You seemed to do a mighty good job of cutting into your conversation with Mr. Updike this morning to introduce him to my little sister.”

“You saw that, did you?” Tucker asked.

Ida nodded, quirking an eyebrow.

“It was effective. As soon as he saw her, he clammed up, and so did his wife.”

Tucker stood and accepted the knife from Vivian, who wore a thin smile on her colorless face. No doubt Harry Updike had put on a show for his wife like he’d done in Carter’s office. Had that insensible man said something in front of the youngest Sinclair sister? If so, Carter had
a new topic for his next conversation with the banker—a lesson on propriety.

Ida stirred sugar into her teacup. “I’d hardly consider Mr. Updike’s rants a proper conversation to pull Vivian into.”

Tucker sliced into the cake. “Ida’s right. I shouldn’t have used you as a buffer, Vivian. I apologize.”

Vivian offered Tucker a rigid nod and rubbed her arms as if she’d experienced a sudden chill.

The reverend looked at the children at the center of the table. “Truth is …” He leaned toward Vivian, his voice low. “Harry Updike is someone you probably want to avoid.”

“For certain.” Abraham didn’t whisper. “That man’s real prickly.”

Carter laughed. He couldn’t have said it any better.

Naomi Bernard glared at Abraham, but her thinly disguised grin quickly gave way to a giggle. Everyone in the room joined her.

Except for one. Vivian, her brow puckered, pulled the teapot off the table and left the room.

Something had upset her today. Even before the church service, she’d seemed preoccupied. Carter laid his napkin on the table and rose from his chair. He didn’t bother to excuse himself before following her into the kitchen.

Vivian wasn’t filling the teapot, nor was she anywhere near the stove. The teapot sat on the cupboard where she stood with tears running down her face.

The sight of her crying wrenched Carter’s gut. He wanted to take her into his arms. Comfort her. Tell her they could be more than friends. Fortunately, his feet felt planted at a safe distance, just inside the kitchen door.

Sniffling, Vivian turned and looked up at him. “I’m fine.”

More tears, powerful enough to free his feet, and he took a step toward her. “Did Updike say something to upset you?”

“No.” She wiped her face. “Ida just likes to be the big sister.”

Another step. “Are you having trouble at your new job?”

She startled, then moistened her lips. “My job is fine. Thank you.” A tear clung to her lower eyelash.

“Miss Hattie mentioned that you’d found employment. I felt somewhat responsible for your trouble at the newspaper and hoped you’d found a more suitable job.”

Nodding, she stared at the teapot.

“Something, or someone, has you upset.” He reached for her hands and felt both relief and remorse when she didn’t pull away. Her hands felt so small in his. The warmth of their connection sent a chill up his spine, and looking into her glistening brown eyes did nothing to steady him. He didn’t want to encourage her down a path neither of them felt able to walk, but he did care about her.

Vivian looked down at their clasped hands but didn’t pull away. “I’m pleased for my sisters and for Naomi Bernard. They all seem happy.” She sniffled, and her lips quivered. “Married and settled.”

Carter felt gut-punched. Vivian was new to town and single. All of her sisters were married and starting families. It made perfect sense that Vivian would want that too. And so she should. She was a beautiful, bright, and enterprising young woman. Was she having second thoughts about keeping their relationship confined to friendship?

He lifted her hands to his chest. “Perhaps we should reconsider—”

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Vivian pulled away. His hands feeling stung by the loss of her touch, Carter turned and faced Miss Hattie.

“Doesn’t seem there’s much for me to do here.” The widow snickered and spun toward the door. As soon as she left the room, Vivian grabbed the teapot and marched to the stove.

He reached the cast-iron kettle before she did. He looked into her misty brown eyes. “Vivian.”

“We can’t.” She pressed the teapot into his hand and stepped away. “You can’t.”

Before he could ask why, she walked out of the kitchen, leaving him with questions and a pot of tepid water.

M
onday morning ribbons of golden sunlight striped Vivian’s bed. Birdsong followed as she dressed for the day. She’d completed three full weeks working as a hostess at the Homestead. She’d settled into it rather quickly, once she’d recovered from seeing Carter waiting for her at Miss Hattie’s that first day, then watching Mr. Updike lead a dual life. Setting aside her emotions to become another person had proven an easier task than she’d first thought possible. To say she enjoyed working at the parlor would be an overstatement, but the job was more pleasant than she’d expected. Miss Pearl was easy to work for, and Vivian had shared plenty of chatter and giggles with Opal and Colleen, her chambermaid.

The best part was that Miss Pearl paid her each Saturday. Vivian had already received three payouts, generous ones. Far more money than she’d made working for the telephone company. More than she would have ever made at the newspaper or any of the other places where she’d inquired. Her rent was paid through next week, and she still had money to pay Miss Hattie for the first two weeks of September.

In addition, she’d had enough left for her necessities and even a few fun items. Strolling down Fourth, Vivian glanced at her feet. Today she
wore the new calfskin shoes she’d bought last week. With this Saturday’s pay, she’d complete the outfit with the matching reticule.

Her steps light, Vivian walked alongside the new brick building that stretched to the corner, humming a song from one of Miss Hattie’s phonograph cylinders. Her landlady did enjoy her music, no matter how many times she’d heard a song in one day. But the widow was just the right blend of warm and caring with plenty of charitable involvements to keep her busy. Vivian liked her.

Vivian finished humming the tune with gusto. In just a matter of weeks, her humiliating search for work had ended, and she was happier than she’d been in a long while.

All she had to do was avoid thinking about that Sunday in Miss Hattie’s kitchen. Avoid thinking about how Carter Alwyn had held her hands, infusing her with strength by his simple touch. Avoid recalling the sentence he’d started.

“Perhaps we should reconsider …”

Had he changed his mind and decided he could offer her more than friendship?

Thankfully, her landlady had interrupted them. Even if Carter had changed his mind, nothing had changed for Vivian. And there was nothing she could say or do to erase her past, which would always stand between them.