Chapter 10
It had never been a concern for Warren before. Getting dressed was something he just did. His considerations when picking something to wear were simple. Was it clean? Did it fit? If the item in question ticked both boxes, he would wear it.
That evening, however, he found himself considering something else about the clothing in question. What did he look like in the outfit? Did it make him look appealing or ridiculous?
Every last pair of trousers he had with him on this trip was, inexplicably, too short in the hem and in desperate need of … well, something. They were all either charcoal gray or light brown. It was all dull. So dull. He didn’t want Dorothy to see him as gray or near beige!
There was a rustling sound at his door, and Warren turned to find a note sliding under it into his room. He stared at it for a moment before moving to pick it up.
Opening the note, he knew instantly who it was from and smiled from ear to ear.
Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree?—
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He still may leave thy garland green.
—Emily Bront?
Before he could begin to consider what she might have meant by choosing this particular poem, someone knocked at his door.
“Who is it?” Warren barked, irate at the interruption.
“No need for that tone,” Michael called from the other side of the door. “Open up! I have news!”
Warren let his friend inside and put the poem in a nearby ledger, fully intending to revisit it at length later on tonight.
Michael took in the scene, the scattered clothing that lay around the place, and frowned. “Are you having a fit of some sort? There has to be an apothecary in this strange little town or some herbal woman who can help you.”
“I’m not crazy,” Warren said stiffly. “I’m trying to find something to wear.”
“Since when has that been a problem for you?” Michael asked archly, then grinned. “Oh, wait … I know. Since you met D. Davis and found out that he is a very pretty she.”
“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Warren agreed, grinning unabashedly.
“Sure,” Michael said, although, with his own wife waiting for him back home, Warren wasn’t offended when he didn’t spend more time waxing rhapsodic about Dorothy’s beauty. “And she seems to like you, bad haircut and terrible dress sense and all. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Warren sank down onto the bed. “But what do I wear tonight?” he asked, aware of the vaguely desperate note. “Mike, I’ve never felt like this before. Why does clothing suddenly matter?”
Michael chuckled. “To use an analogy Kyle likes, because humans are just birds with longer legs. We still like to dress up and puff out our chests and look as good as we can for the female birds who pass our way.” He inspected the clothes in Warren’s closet and then held out a pair of pants and a shirt.
“You haven’t worn this blue shirt or these gray pants since we met Dorothy, I don’t think. ”
“Are you sure? I can’t help but think everything I own is quite dull.”
“Well, even if it is, we have to get going.” Michael’s limited patience now vanished, he rolled his eyes and tossed the pants and shirt at him. “Get dressed.”
Warren put on the clothes slowly. “Which jacket?” The look Michael gave him warned him that he was treading on thin ice. “We’re going to the town square to see the lighting of the bonfire for Halloween. It was Dorothy’s idea,” he added defensively. “I want to look nice.”
“You could’ve told me that in the first place,” Michael chided him and plucked a jacket from the closet. “This one. And if you tell anyone back in Unity I dressed you up like little girls dress their dolls, I’ll deny it.”
Warren rolled his eyes and they headed downstairs.
Dorothy was in the restaurant, speaking to Aunt Sadie. When they reached them, both women smiled.
“Oh good, so there will be a whole lot of us,” Aunt Sadie said, beaming delightedly. “The bonfire is always fun. There’s food and dancing and singing. It’s a good time for all. One of the few things this little town has to truly celebrate.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Michael said, offering her his arm. “Shall we?”
“Oh, you’re too kind,” the woman beamed, accepting.
“Will Mac be joining us?” Warren asked, looking around. He really wanted to get to know their benefactor better.
Sadie shook her head. “He’s locked himself in his study and is being moody again. He’s under terrible strain. He got another message from New York. This poor man is struggling so. If only he would let the rest of us help him.”
Warren nodded, but Dorothy sighed, irritated.
“Well, too bad for him,” she said. “We’ve been trying to help him all this time and he keeps making it difficult.
Let’s go and have some fun.” She took Warren’s arm, sending his heart racing.
“And let’s see what we can find out about Brett and everything going on here. ”
Warren nodded. “That’s a good idea. Maybe people will be more inclined to talk when they’re having fun.”
They left the hotel and walked down the drive to the town. They weren’t the only ones. There were other guests from the hotel who were also making their way. A few of the hotel staff that Warren had seen around the place, including Agnes, were heading that way too.
“I’m so excited,” Agnes said. “I think the theater is so grand.”
“Theater?” Dorothy asked.
“Mac organized it,” Agnes told her. “This theater troupe is doing a big production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream in the city.
As a treat, Mac got them to come up here and do a performance in the town square!
Isn’t that amazing? And they asked us all to bring masks and dress up too.
” She pulled a cardboard mask of a goblin from her purse, then giggled and held it to her face. “How do I look?”
“Oh my! Very lifelike,” Dorothy laughed, thinking Agnes’s mask rivaled those of the children they’d met earlier.
When they reached the town, they found a festive air.
It seemed that the locals had shed some of their subdued nature and found their festive spirit, so to speak.
Many wore cardboard masks, others funny hats, and still others, feathers in their hair or wreaths of holly and ivy.
In the town square, a large pile of wood and other combustibles had been arranged.
There were tables with food and drinks on them lining the square, and even a few stalls selling various items. A couple of musicians stood to one side, playing a jaunty tune on two fiddles.
In the middle of the square, a stage had been erected with chairs and benches laid out in front of it.
The stage was a few large boards laid on the ground and there was a bright tent set up to the one side.
A cloth with a picture of a forest with some mountains in the distance had been hung between two wooden poles.
“Hard to believe this is the same town,” Warren commented, taking it all in with awe.
“I know, it’s like two totally different places, isn’t it?” Dorothy asked, looking around with a big smile on her face. “I think I like this version better than the other one.”
“Me too,” Warren said.
“This is a simple community,” Aunt Sadie was telling Michael.
“They don’t get much chance to have a little culture in their lives, celebrate, and let their hair down.
So, when they do, they go all out. There’s the bonfire lighting for the harvest festival, the play, and a dance afterward.
It’s really a pity that Mac is missing it all. I’m hoping that nothing will go wrong.”
“Now you’ve gone and jinxed it,” Dorothy warned.
“Oh, I did not!” Aunt Sadie protested, flapping her hands at Dorothy, who laughed.
This was a different side to Dorothy. Warren was so used to her being focused on work that this carefree glimpse was brand new. He liked it very much but wasn’t sure what to do with it.
She turned to him and, still grinning, said, “You look very handsome tonight.”
“So do you,” he blurted out before realizing that he’d said the wrong thing. “Beautiful, I mean, you look beautiful too. I mean instead of handsome.”
Warren’s mouth was suddenly terribly dry.
He tried to smile at Dorothy while feeling the blush make its way up to his cheeks.
He had a horrible suspicion, from the surprised and somewhat strained look on her face, that Dorothy didn’t appreciate his fumbled compliment.
He chose to look at his boots. It was a lot safer.
Her shoulders began to shake and she turned away.
Was she laughing or had he made her cry?
“Warren, maybe we should go and get something for us all to drink,” Michael suggested pointedly. The way he said it and the look he gave Warren told him what Michael thought of his poor attempts at romantic conversation.
“Ah, would you like something?” Warren asked Dorothy softly.
She turned back to him, smiling. “You’re so funny when you trip over your tongue.” She chuckled again, and there was nothing but kindness and gentle amusement in her eyes. “I would love a mulled wine if they have it. If not, then anything warm.”
He nodded, feeling better. “I’ll see what they have.”
“They should have mulled wine. They do every year. Gunther, who runs the tavern in these parts, usually makes it,” Aunt Sadie said brightly.
Warren was glad to leave the ladies for a while and find something to drink. He wasn’t sure what had come over him. He was usually perfectly capable of speech. “Tell me, Mike, why has my ability to form coherent sentences in front of Dorothy left me?” Warren asked.