I watched him go, uneasy. My stewing was interrupted by Della throwing an arm over my shoulders. “Was that your first time dancing a reel? You’re a natural.”
Tearing my thoughts from the stranger, I looked to Della’s rosy face. “That’s a lie. But a sweet one.”
“Come on, let’s go get something to drink,” she said, drawing hearty agreement from Jasper and Abel.
“I heard there’s a stand selling Coca-Cola,” Katherine offered.
Della’s eyes lit. “Perfect.” The others fell together, their voices and conversations overlapping one another. I followed a step behind, looking over my shoulder for the glowering man. His scrutiny had shaken me. The expression I hadn’t at first been able to place, the look that had briefly wiped away the scorn and judgment, had been one of recognition. Impossible, for I was sure I’d never laid eyes on the man before.
When a lull fell between the others, I quickened my step to edge between Della and Katherine. “Did anyone see that man with the white beard watching the dance? He had on a black suit and hat. He looked … angry.”
“Eyes as mean as a snake?” Jasper put in.
Della whacked his arm sternly. “Be nice, Jasper. That was Reverend Mayhew. I saw him from the stage. He preaches at the First Baptist Church here in Argenta. Dancing’s a sin in his book.”
“So are playing cards, going to movie theaters, and doing anything but sitting and reading the Bible on Sundays,” Jasper said. We approached a wheeled cart with a red awning emblazoned with the white Coca-Cola logo, and Jasper began fishing in his pocket. “Me and Katherine got dragged to a few revival services Reverend Mayhew preached when we were kids. He had me about scared to breathe wrong or I might end up in Hell.” He pulled out a fistful of coins. “My treat,” he announced, turning to me first. “Care for a bottle, Verity?”
I wavered, not wanting to take his money.
“Father gave me and Katherine extra pocket money today. We’ve got plenty to share.” I noted that Katherine hadn’t volunteered, and when she heard her brother’s generous offer, she scowled. That was enough to make me accept.
Jasper bought five bottles and handed them around, pointing to a stand of trees just beyond the perimeter of the fairgrounds. “Let’s take a load off in the shade,” he suggested.
We settled into the lush grass, all except Katherine, who sniffed and perched herself on the edge of a tree stump. I took a long drink, savoring the sugary fizz.
“This is so good, the reverend probably thinks it’s wicked by default,” Jasper said after downing half his cola in one go.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on him,” Della said. For my benefit she added, “He and his wife lost their daughter. It’s been around nineteen years now, but folks say they never got over it.” She gestured with the neck of her bottle toward a concession tent, where a middle-aged lady with graying auburn hair worked. The woman handed a paper bag of popcorn to an eager little boy, a tired smile deepening the creases around her light blue eyes. She watched her young customer leave, and a flicker of sorrow crossed her face. “That’s Mrs. Mayhew.”
I found it hard to believe such a gentle-looking person was married to the stern preacher. “What happened to their daughter?” I asked.
Katherine spoke up for the first time. “Her name was Mary. When she was about our age, she got in trouble with some boy. He left her and went away out of state somewhere.” I couldn’t help shooting a look at Abel, who seemed intent on watching beads of condensation slip down the sides of his bottle. “She hid her condition from her mama and daddy. They didn’t have a clue why she was so melancholy, or why she kept to her room all the time.”
“It might’ve all gone differently,” Jasper said. “Except it was the worst winter in a hundred years, and her folks got snowed in at a church event in another town. That night, Mary’s baby came. But it was too early, and it didn’t survive.”
“It drove Mary out of her mind,” Della said, low and quiet. “All the hiding and secrets, going through it alone. Then the baby dying.” A cloud lowered over our group. “I know when my little sister Josie died, it almost did our mother in. It was like all the stuff that was Mama got scooped out, and she was just this empty thing for a long time.” I wondered what had happened to Della’s sister, but decided it wasn’t the time to ask.
Katherine took up the story again, with a little too much relish, I thought. “Mary Mayhew buried her baby in the parsonage rose garden. Then she walked off into the storm.”
Jasper, stretched full length on the ground, propped himself on one elbow. “When I first heard folks whispering about the lost Mayhew girl, I remember hoping she’d just gone off somewhere and met up with her young man. Maybe he’d seen the light and come back for her, and they left together to start over somewhere.”
His sister shook her head, lips pinched. To me, she added, “She died somewhere in the snow. Della’s dad investigated her disappearance.”
I looked to Della, who nodded. “She didn’t take any warm clothes with her, not even shoes. They lost her tracks in the snow, and it stayed well below freezing for days after she disappeared. And I don’t think she left with the father of her baby, either. When Daddy dug up the little grave in the garden…” Della paused, clearly troubled by the thought of this long-dead young woman’s pain.
Katherine seemed less inclined toward sympathy. “He found a ring,” she said. “One of those fancy hidden-message rings, with little panels all the way around that flip open so you can see pictures or words under them. One of the panels was torn off, but it’s still really pretty. Della showed it to me once.”
Della’s apple cheeks flushed. “I shouldn’t have, I know, but I always thought the story was so sad and … well, interesting. The Mayhews didn’t want the ring, since they knew it must’ve been from the boy who got their girl in trouble. They told Daddy to get rid of it, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it. She stuck the ring in a dresser drawer at our house. It has a little love note carved into it. And heliotropes.” Her dark eyes flicked toward Abel, who had listened to the tale so far with a hard, flat expression.
A flare of righteous anger sparked in my chest, fanning the flame of curiosity. “Heliotropes? Why does that matter?”
“In the language of flowers, giving someone heliotropes means ‘faithful ’til the end,’” Della said.
My mother told me once, when I was very small, that every different flower held its own unique meaning. She always loved when Papa gave her a bouquet of purple crocus, because crocuses stood for cheerfulness. He’d bring them home when she was feeling low, which seemed to happen often. I remembered hoping that when their baby was born she would feel happier. It never occurred to me that neither she nor the infant would survive, and Lilah and I would be left motherless, with a father whose mind began sinking to deep, dark places.
Della’s somber tone drew me back to an equally bleak story of loss. “Mary leaving that ring proves she didn’t go off to meet her love. She buried that dream, right there with their little girl,” Della said. She pointed to the distant spire of a country church. “The baby’s grave is in the cemetery, behind the church. Mary doesn’t even have a marker. They never found her body and Reverend Mayhew refused to hold a service for her. He was that ashamed of her.”
I stared out toward the unseen graveyard, thinking of the iron cross we’d used to mark Mother’s grave. When I returned home, I’d visit and lay fresh flowers on her final resting place. Hyacinths, for sorrow.
My somber mood turned to disbelief when Abel spoke up. “Whoever the fellow was that left Mary, he deserved a solid thrashing.” Della and Katherine nodded along, completely suckered by Abel’s blatant hypocrisy. This was the pot calling the kettle black if I’d ever seen it.
Before anyone could speak, a group of boys approached, calling to Jasper and Abel. “We’re getting up a baseball game, Wheeler versus Argenta,” said a stocky, wide-shouldered boy.
His companion pointed to me, Della, and Katherine. “Girls too, we need everyone to have enough. We’ve got gloves for everybody,” he said, holding up a stack of weathered leather mitts. “Unless you’re left-handed.”
The gloom of Mary Mayhew’s story fell away. Jasper leapt to his feet immediately, cracking his knuckles. “You’re out, southpaw,” he said to Abel, who shrugged, looking distracted. “Come on, ladies,” he said, tugging his sister along. Della stood, too. “How about it, Verity? Do you play?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you.” I’d seen baseball played by ragtag kids in the alleys around our apartments, and sometimes older boys at the orphanage organized a game in the courtyard, but I’d never had the inclination to join.
“Y’all come watch when we get going,” Jasper said. “I’ll be pitching for Wheeler. Nobody can hit my knuckleball.” The two boys agreed and slapped him on the back.
“Sorry to leave you,” Della said as she and Katherine turned to go. “Argenta beat us last year, so we’ve got to redeem ourselves.”
I called a halfhearted “good luck” after them, already shifting to look at Abel. He sat propped against the trunk of a hickory, one knee bent. “That was an upsetting story, wasn’t it?” I said. Not the most tactful opening, but I’d never been known for subtlety.
A muscle tightened in his jaw.
“Everything might’ve been all right if she hadn’t been forced to go it alone,” I went on. “Think of how things could’ve gone if the baby’s father had stood with her. It seems to me his leaving is what pushed Mary to the brink.” A drop of venom slipped into my words. “He’s to blame, in my opinion. Do you agree?”
Abel’s dark blue eyes locked on mine, and I saw him register my hostility. The wheels turned, and I fancied I could see Abel calculating just how much I knew. “Is there something you’d like to say to me, Verity?” he said at last, voice tight.
“I overheard your conversation with Big Tom. About the girl and … and the baby on the way.” Abel’s face went frozen-lake still. “I know it’s not really my place to bring it up,” I said, gaining confidence from the justice of my cause.
“Agreed,” he gritted out.
“But I don’t understand why you won’t marry her. It’s awfully selfish of you, if you’ll pardon my bluntness. She shouldn’t have to face this alone, just like Mary shouldn’t have. That’s all.”
Abel’s brows lifted in surprise. I expected the hot, shamefaced anger of someone called out on their misdeeds. Instead, a smile stirred one corner of his lips.
I scowled. “That’s hardly the appropriate reaction, Mr. Atchley.”
“Even sitting on the ground, I see you’re still on your high horse.” His short laugh was edged with ire. “First of all, she’s only fifteen. And despite her current situation, I’m not sure she’s ready to be married.”
My jaw clenched. How dare he be so blasé?
He ran a hand through his wheat-colored hair. “To be such a know-it-all, you’ve missed one pretty crucial fact.”
“And that is…?” I asked, wondering what toothless excuse he could give for his behavior.
There was a glint in his eyes that turned their blue to ice. “I’m not the father of Clara’s baby.” He climbed to his feet, brushing bits of grass and leaves from his trousers. “She’s not my lady friend. She’s my little sister.”
Understanding hit like a thunderclap. Abel’s anger, and his hard remarks about marriage, weren’t because he intended to shirk his duty. They were directed at the man who’d left his sister high and dry.
Nothing renders a girl speechless quite like realizing she’s made a meddling ass of herself.
I swallowed hard, unsure of where to begin. “I’m sorry for Clara—that is to say, I’m sorry she’s in this—um—difficult predicament.” My face blazed, but I stumbled on. “I hope she’s all right.” Even in my embarrassment, the seriousness of the girl’s plight struck me like a blow to the gut.
As if we were back in the dance, Abel gave an impeccable bow. “Very kind of you.” His gaze was back to its summery blue, but there was a hint of pique beneath. I couldn’t blame him. I’d assumed the worst of him and been spectacularly wrong. “And now,” he said, looking across the field to where the baseball game was in progress, “it looks like Wheeler could use a pinch hitter.”
He glanced down at the half-empty bottle of cola in my hand and downed the last of his own. Tucking the empty bottle into his back pocket, he remarked, “You might want to finish that. I’ve heard it goes well with humble pie.”