Fitcher's Brides (15 page)

“They—are
—wrong
!

“God does not hear excuses. He cares nothing for experiments. He knows only true actions. The ways of the flesh should offer no allure to the one who is prepared in his heart for the ascension with our Lord. So I ask: Are
you
ready?”

The room rumbled with the answer: “I am ready, O Lord!”

“Are you ready to taste the divine fruit, to sample the
wine
of Heaven?”

“I am ready, O Lord,” replied the crowd. Amy and Vern had joined Mr. Charter and Lavinia in the chanted response. Kate was aware that her own lips moved, too—moved as if willful.

“Are
we
ready to cast off our earthly shells and step into our new and ever
last
ing bodies—bodies not of the flesh but of the spirit?”

“We are ready, O Lord.”

“
Yes
. We are ready,” he agreed, and his smile might have devoured them all. “Those who are not, who deceive themselves and us even now—and they are among us even now, make no mistake of it—they shall be
known
. We will know them when the time comes, as God will know them. Some of them may be our friends now, but they will speak with the voice of the snake. Their words will worm through your soul, tearing at the divinity in you. They will ask you to taste the fruits before the Day. They will bundle you into their beds, promising purity but delivering wantonness. Do not listen to them. Listen to
my
words and we shall all arrive on that fateful shore together.”

He paused again, this time casting his glance over the three sisters, as if ensuring that they especially took his words to heart.

“There is one holy estate,” he said now much more softly, “a holy estate where those same sins of the flesh become blessed acts. Where impure thoughts are made pure, and where life acknowledges purpose. It is an estate known to many here, and in which they may take solace as they face their Judgment, knowing that they come before God together.

“I, being a weak man of the flesh, have looked upon you with envy. I've sensed the bond between you and thirsted for it myself. Though I bless your union and give it shape, I remain separate from it, and envious. I confess this sin, that of a weak man who wants what others have found. Why, many times I've stood here and said to you all that there is no better way to approach God than hand in hand, man and wife. To know you will enter the Kingdom of Heaven together, ah, that is the most blessed thing, and I have yearned for it. You know I have. A perfect partner who cannot be persuaded, misguided, misdirected—how rare is this gift.

“Well, today, I have found such a one.”

He sprang down the steps of the pulpit and came around the altar.

At the same time, Mr. Charter rose to his feet and stepped around Lavinia. “Vern, my girl,” he began, but Fitcher interrupted him, interjecting, “My dear, dear Vernelia, it comes as a shock to you, I know, but I have petitioned your father just now, and he is wholeheartedly behind a union between us. If”—he dropped to one knee before her—“if you will consent to marry me.”

Vern stared at him as if he'd spoken in tongues and the meaning of it all had slipped past her. She looked at her sisters, first Kate and then Amy, as if they might explain it to her. “My suitor,” she said, hardly louder than a whisper. “He told me there was a suitor and I was to wed. Didn't he?” she asked Kate, who could only, if reluctantly, nod.

A slow smile spread across Vern's face, a strange detached smile, as though invisible fingers stretched her lips. “I must, of course. I must. It's ordained. Prophesied.” Then, rising, to Fitcher: “Here's the proof of it then.” Her gaze swept across her entire family before resting on him again. “I must consent.”

The reverend arose before her. Kate could only see him over her sister's shoulder. From that vantage, with his head bowed he looked like a mantis about to devour its prey, and she lowered her eyes rather than see him thus. There, directly in front of her, Vern's hand was balled into a fist, and through her fingers crushed petals of the miraculous rose leaked like blisters of blood.

S
HE MIGHT HAVE BEEN STANDING
inside a bell, his voice ringing the metal, his captured speech in a tight spiral around her until the clapper struck and pitched her out into space, and everything she had been and known fell away.

Abruptly, her sisters were holding her up. She didn't remember swooning. She remembered that she'd said
yes
. Yes to a husband, to a suitor, to the man who had caused her to be here. Her father wanted this for her. He had struck a bargain for no other reason than her happiness surely, but he had done so without asking. She wanted to say she was alarmed, but felt nothing that could be called alarm exactly; more a sharp knot of anticipation. Not only was she to marry, but she was to marry the man who would lead them all into the glory of God. He was like an angel himself, so tall and thin, so gentle and concerned. And his touch, when he'd put his arm around her in the garden, had been like fire, like ice so cold that it burned. She would never have shared this observation with her sisters for fear they would admit having sensed it, too; it was a sensation that had spread down between her legs, an urge to lust more potent than anything she'd ever felt for Henri, whom she'd loved. What word, then, could describe that flow of fire that Fitcher kindled?

The rest of the day whirled about her, as though she stood in place and everything else spun in orbits.

Fitcher and her father went off to meet with the other ambassadors of The Word. Some members of the congregation came up to her and offered brief congratulations. Yet none of them seemed truly happy for her, as if they resented her being thrust into this union, almost as if she'd connived for it somehow.

Amy hugged her. Lavinia looked lost. And Kate, though smiling as she embraced her, had pinched lines of concern in her brow. Vern thought dreamily that Kate was not terribly good at hiding her worry. She was such a worrier, too, and had been for the longest time. She'd worried while Mother wasted away, never letting on directly how she felt, but clearly fretting. She remembered once saying, “Kate, you think about things too much.”
Poor dear
.

Preparing to leave them, Vern could think only charitable thoughts about her family. Even Lavinia, whom she'd never liked, but who said not a word to any of them after the proposal and acceptance, not even on the ride back to their house, for Reverend Fitcher said he wouldn't hear of them going back on foot, though it was a short walk, less than an hour, hadn't it been? Mr. Notaro, the same wild driver who'd wickedly whipped his team across the gorge a few hours before to startle them, was called upon to drive the family back—most politely and carefully—across the gorge. At the pike he drew up, climbed down, and unloaded the straw-stuffed crate full of eggs that Fitcher made them take with them.

It was while they stood collecting themselves and young Mr. Notaro was driving away that Kate suddenly asked, “How did he get past here earlier?” Everyone stared at her—no one understood the comment. “I mean,” Kate said, “we were all on the bridge. There wasn't anyone here to lift the pike for him. How did he get around it in a wagon?” No one had an answer, of course, and Vern shook her head, musing, “Yes, here's my sister again, thinking too hard about nothing, worrying every event as if to pull some secret truth from it.” Kate gestured to show them how no wagon could have driven around the pike because of the stumps in the yard, but nobody was paying her much attention. Vern suspected it was Kate's way of grabbing some of the attention away from her on this momentous day, but she was so warmly happy that she didn't mind. Instead she thought of how unpredictable life could be. She'd come from a home in Boston, from a lovely but shy and irresolute suitor, from a world she thought had made her happy, and arrived at a new place that had looked so disappointing and hopeless only a day ago. Now she was about to forge a new life that no one could have predicted even this morning—except for Samuel, her angel. He had known what was going to occur as surely as if he had looked into the future, which of course must be what he'd done. Spirits could see in all directions, couldn't they?

The girls sat in the parlor with nothing to say to each other at first. Then Amy piped up, “We'll have to make you a gown, won't we?”

Vern nodded. “Yes, we will, and soon. We'll have to go into town today—I remember that Van Hollander had some nice material in his store.”

“Do you think they'll let you go?” Kate asked.

“Why not?”

“We're supposed to be kept from town as punishment, remember?”

“But everything is changed now. I'm to be a wife. I can't be treated like a little
girl
now.” She got a sharp look from Kate, and Amy blushed. She realized what she'd said. “Oh, I don't mean that you're both children. In fact, just the opposite. If I'm married, then you no longer have to wait. Why, you might truly find someone now. You have half a year.”

“Do you really think so?” asked Amy.

“I don't see why not. There were many men out there at Harbinger, weren't there? That young Mr. Notaro—well, perhaps not a soaplock like
him
. But there are bound to be others who don't have wives, and Reverend Fitcher puts such stock in entering the new kingdom in conjugal bliss.”

“We sound like mail-order brides the way you tell it,” Kate remarked.

“
I
want to get married,” Amy stated, as if Kate had objected to the concept itself. “I want to be married when the time comes, when we meet Jesus.”

Mr. Charter walked in on them then. Amy turned to him and said, “Vern's going to have to have a dress, Papa.”

“Yes, she is. Reverend Fitcher wishes to marry you on Saturday, child. The Lord's Day.”

“We can't have a new dress ready by then!”

“No, no, that's true enough,” answered her father. “But you might not have to.” He sat on one of the cane-seat chairs. “Though I didn't keep the piano—and I know that upset you all, and I'm sorry it couldn't be done—I did keep your mother's wedding dress. It's folded up in my cedar chest upstairs. I couldn't even say why I did at the time, though your stepmother urged me to keep it, which I then thought peculiar, but now I see that God was directing me to bring it along for this occasion. Vern, I think, you might only have to fix it a little to make it fit—you're much like she was in shape and size, you know. A little taller mayhap.”

“Oh, Papa,” Vern said. She could see his eyes going shiny, filling with the memory of her mother on their wedding day, and she crossed to him, sat beside and hugged him. The other two girls came and wrapped arms around both of them.

Mr. Charter finally drew back. He took a handkerchief out and dabbed at his eyes, then blew his nose. “Your mother would be so proud to see you in that dress. Any of you.” All his daughters smiled to him. “You're all such fine girls, though you're every bit as headstrong as she was. Do you know, she chose me, not the other way about. She cared nothing for how things must go. Propriety did not keep her from anything. Well.” He tucked the cloth back up his sleeve, then slapped his knees in feigned good spirits. “Now, you must go try on the dress, see how it is, and then tomorrow you'll go into Jekyll's Glen and get whatever you need to finish it. And by Saturday we'll have a trousseau all prepared for you.”

He stood as if to leave, and it was at that point that Lavinia came into the parlor, carrying a tray with cups and the china teapot on it. To the girls' surprise, she set it on the tea table nearest the window and said, “I thought we might like a cup of tea, so I made a pot for us all. It's getting chilly, don't you think? We'll need a fire tonight, Mr. Charter.” An awkward moment followed where it seemed she didn't know what more to say or do. Suddenly she marched over to Vern, and stiffly embraced and kissed her. “Oh, my dear, I am so happy for you. Truly happy. And I know your father is, too. It's all he's hoped for.”

Vern said, “Yes, I know he has. I—” She shook off whatever she'd begun to say and instead replied, “Thank you, Lavinia. And for the tea.”

“Yes,” agreed Kate. “Thank you.”

 

Vern lifted her mother's carefully folded wedding dress out of the cedar chest at the foot of her father's bed. When she opened it up, a handkerchief trimmed in lace and a pair of gloves fell out. She knelt and gathered them up.

She had never seen the dress before. It was a white batiste with puffed sleeves. The bodice tied with a ribbon sash beneath the breasts; a sheet of Point de France lace was stitched onto the front beneath the sash, falling straight to the hem. There was no discernible waist. The same lace circled the hem of the full train in back. She held the dress to herself, imagining her mother wearing it twenty years earlier, and wondering if she would truly be able to fit into it. The style was out-of-date—had she been making a new dress, it would have had a narrower waist and fuller skirt—but it meant she didn't have to concern herself with her waist. She wouldn't need a tight corset, nor was there a need to let the dress out. She closed the chest and carried the dress across the hall. Her sisters, in the parlor with Lavinia, had set up a dressmaker's dummy, but they had to see it on Vern first to know what had to be done with it.

In her room she undressed. As she stepped out of her skirts, she couldn't help sneaking a glance at the wall, imagining him there in the plaster, watching her—her angel.

“Samuel,” she whispered. There was no response.

She stepped barefoot into her mother's dress and pulled it up over her chemise, putting her arms through the short, puffy sleeves. They tied with tiny ribbons at the bicep. The bodice fit snugly. Her mother had obviously had a smaller bust. The tied sash pushed her breasts up and together, rounding them conspicuously. The skirt rustled and swooshed when she swung about. The train wound about her like a great tail. She looked at her toes protruding from beneath the lace. It probably wasn't too short, though she would have to see it over petticoats to be sure.

She glanced at the wall again, secretively. How long would they wait downstairs for her to appear before someone came up to find her?

She gathered up her train and went over to Kate's bed where she sat down. Placing her hand against the wall, she said, “Spirit, can you hear me?”

The lightest tap answered, weaker or possibly more distant than before—barely sensible through her hand. She heard no voice at all.

“Oh, spirit.” She leaned her face to the wall. It was cold and felt soothing against her forehead. “Everything you told me is coming to pass. Not only a suitor, but a husband.”

One tap answered. Was it a little stronger?

“You promised, didn't you? You'll still love me even then? You'll still be here for me when I come home to visit.”

Tap
.

“Samuel,” she sighed. “The reverend—my husband, soon enough—he's told us when the Day of Judgment is coming. It's only eight months away. And then we'll be with you. We'll meet. We'll see one another, won't we?”

Yes, Vern
.

She heard him now, his soft voice like a spell. The sound of him could lift her, carry her through the house, through life. She thought of what Reverend Fitcher had said about sin of the flesh. She was in love with a spirit, so it must be a pure love because there could be no flesh in the bargain. She'd attained spiritual love, hadn't she, and been rewarded for it. When finally they did meet, it would be after the—

“Vernelia!” It was Kate's voice, and it brought her to her senses. She was on her feet, twirling as if in a dance in the middle of the room. The puffed sleeves of her wedding dress were pushed down off her shoulders, exposing more of her breasts. She couldn't say how she had gotten there, but she felt a sweet languor as if she'd been in his embrace. She ought to have been terrified. Remotely, she knew this, but felt nothing but pleasure.

“Vern, for the land's sake!” Kate called again, closer, as if partway up the stairs.

She called out, “I'm coming, Kate!” and hurried to the door, but paused at the threshold, looked back and said, “Thank you, dearest spirit,” to the wall. Then she ran to the stairs.

Under the sound of her footsteps the wall rapped and rapped again.