71. George
George
Sarah had been right. Of course she had.
Viola had flourished under Jacob’s affection.
On my second day, I sent her a telegram—seven words: You were right.
She is better. George. Five days away from home felt like a lifetime, and I was delighted to see Lake Michigan and then my own front door.
I climbed the stairs, my heart lightening despite my weary limbs.
It chimed midnight, but I hoped for a quick glimpse of her face before sleep pulled me off to its far shore—without her smile to ease my way.
My heart soared to see her window, where firelight danced, casting its glow. Does Sarah slumber? I don’t know. Yet my desire I obey.
I opened my window and scooped a handful of tiny rocks from the decorative box on my side table. My seven lucky pennies were not for tossing.
Plink. I sighed. Clink. Plunk.
Look, a stirring of her curtain. Is she there? I am not certain.
Whoa. I’m so exhausted I’m rhyming. Bet Knightley never accidentally rhymes in his head. It’s probably too late. I tossed another pebble. Plonk.
Sarah. Blonde hair floated around her, radiant in the firelight. She cupped a hand around her eyes and peered through the frosty glass. I leaned into the night and waved. With nimble fingers, she undid the latch.
“Thank you for the telegram.”
“She is better,” I said. “Even better than before Mrs. Newman died. You are wise.”
She wrapped herself in a heavy blanket. “It’s like a fairy tale. Jacob is her magic elixir. He broke the enchantment.”
“Wait—in fairy tales, isn’t it always true love’s kiss that breaks the spell?”
“Maybe it was that, too. You know those two are prone to kissing.”
Our soft laughter mingled in the crisp air.
“I missed you,” I said—before I stopped to consider my honest words. At least I had stopped rhyming.
Sarah froze. Wish I could see her face.
Gentle as the first hint of dawn over the lake, her voice floated to me. “Missed you, too, George.”
“Night, Sarah.”
“Night.”
My costume turned out better than I had hoped.
Would she like it? I smoothed a hand over the broad ruff of sandy brown fur sewn to my vest. Would it tickle her cheek when we danced?
She would dance with me. Right? I held the black mask with its faux wolf ears to my face and growled, “Big bad wolf, at your service.” I checked myself one last time in the mirror.
I grabbed my cloak and went next door. Better than primping like a socialite.
Mr. Everson relaxed in the parlor, dressed as a pilgrim. He rose and shook my hand. We settled into easy conversation as we awaited the women’s arrival. I only fiddled a little with the fur on my costume.
Mrs. Everson came down first, and I complimented her costume.
“I am a lady fur merchant of New Amsterdam.” She made a bow. She wore brown pants tucked into knee high suede boots. Her cream blouse was covered by a velvet jerkin cinched with a wide leather belt. A cloak trimmed in fur draped across her shoulders. Her mask was fastened to a jaunty felt hat.
Mr. Everson smiled adoringly and said, “You are lovely, my dear.” Mrs. Everson blushed at his obvious affection, but her attention was drawn to the hall.
It must be Sarah. I stepped toward the door. A heartbeat later, Sarah entered. My breath faltered, and my toes tingled. My vest must be fastened too tightly. Or my boots.
Sarah stood before me in a green satin dress.
My fingers would skim over the sleek fabric at her lower back when we danced.
She wore a voluminous wig of curled golden hair.
Ringlets dangled at her nape and brushed against the velvet choker around her neck.
A golden embellishment dangled from the choker, and what initially appeared to be three blobs turned into three bears on closer inspection.
Her long fingers toyed with a fold of her dress.
Then her gaze found mine from behind her mask, and something inside me tilted toward her.
The room fell silent except for my ridiculously noisy breathing. What was wrong with me? “I…” My voice came out strangled. “I’m bewitched… You are a vision.”
Mrs. Everson chuckled. “Sarah, my child, that is how you make an entrance. You will be the most beautiful woman there. Now, Mr. VanMartin, tell us about your costume.”
I coughed. “I’m the big bad wolf.” Sarah smiled at my words. I grinned back. Might never stop grinning.
“Ho now. What do you think, my dear?” Mr. Everson said. “Should we trust our only child to this wolf character?”
Mrs. Everson glided over to take her husband’s arm. “What say you, Sarah, my darling? Can you bring this wolf to heel?”
Sarah gave an entrancing chuckle. “I think he is more of a sheep in wolf’s clothing.”
I made a bow. “Miss Goldilocks, I presume?” I offered my arm. “Shall we?” She moved to my side. The four of us stared at each other. “Oh,” I said. “Would you like to ride to the ball together? I have plenty of room.” Blazing manners. Please say no.
Mrs. Everson opened her mouth, but for once her husband spoke first. “Thank you, George, but you two go ahead. We’ll be along presently.”
I handed Sarah into the carriage and settled beside her. She was inside my bubble, and I wanted her to stay there. But every man at the ball would want to dance with her. “I’m afraid we must make a detour on the way,” I said.
“Is something wrong?”
“I am woefully unprepared. I need an armory.”
“You’re not making sense. Is your mask too tight?”
“Every man with two eyes will try to steal you from my side tonight.”
Sarah snorted. “By your logic, I should spend my time with one-eyed pirates.”
“No, Goldie, you must spend your time with me. You have bewitched me, and I don’t have any magic elixir to break the spell.”
“You tease me, George. You’re making me blush.” She pressed her fingertips to her cheeks, but couldn’t hide the smile that warmed me through.
“It’s your own fault for dazzling me.”
“My cheeks are on fire. Stop that.”
“I can make you some porridge.”
She nudged me with her elbow. “That’s not helping.”
I pressed a fraction closer.
She sighed. “I like your costume, too.”
“I hoped you would. Thought of you when I chose it.” Guess I was still blurting out stuff without thinking. But at least it didn’t rhyme. And she likes my costume.
When we exited the carriage into the cool night air and started toward the ball, I said, “Tonight, with your costume and your mask, you can be anyone, charm anyone, dance with anyone. But please, choose to give my side of the ballroom a chance. Stay with me. I promise it will be fun.”
She squinted behind her mask. “If you promise…”
A satisfying hush descended, followed by frantic murmuring when we entered the ballroom. I squeezed Sarah’s hand to my side. I felt her feet drag as people turned to look. I patted her hand and whispered, “I got you.”
I led her to where Buddy towered above the crowd. He made a ridiculously tall Napoleon and had Macy on his arm, dressed as his Josephine. Coordinating costumes. His wowing must be going well. Or was he on to the swooping—I mean swowing?
I pulled Sarah into the midst of my usual group and found everyone waiting for an introduction. They didn’t recognize her.
“Well met, everyone. Sharp costumes all around.” I glanced at Sarah. The muscles around her mouth tightened. She thought they didn’t like her. “This gorgeous creature is my third cousin, visiting from out of town. You can call her Goldie.”
Sarah nodded her head with the hint of a smile.
Buddy said, “Welcome, Miss Goldie, or should I say Goldilocks? What does that make you, Georgie? The baby bear.”
I slapped Buddy on the shoulder. “See here. I am the big bad wolf.”
Macy stepped in front of me to speak to Sarah. “Don’t mind those barbarians. They will likely grunt and slap each other on the back for another few minutes before they realize we want to dance.”
She dropped her voice, but I could still hear her words. “You created a stir when you entered, and rightly so. You’re stunning. Half of the men here are in love with you already.”
Macy waved toward the crowd. “So predictable. Three Cleopatras and four Marie Antoinettes. But at the next costume ball, at least five women will be dressed as Goldilocks. Mark my words.”
“You make a lovely Josephine,” she said, lowering her voice to add, “and it appears your Napoleon agrees.”
I glanced at Buddy, who beamed down at Macy. Even though she had stepped forward to speak to Sarah, they remained tethered by their clasped hands. Sealing the deal, indeed.
I elbowed him in the side, slanted my head toward Macy, and laughed when he winked.
In a loud voice, Macy observed, “As I said, it may take them a minute to figure out that we would like to dance. At a ball.”
Buddy tugged her backward and bent to whisper loudly in her ear, “It occurs to me, my dear Josephine, that we should show these peasants how an Emperor and his Lady take a turn around the dance floor.” He led Macy to where couples claimed places on the floor for the next dance.
I extended my right hand. “Dance with me, Goldie? Please.” She placed her hand in mine.
I laced our fingers together and wove through the crowd to an open patch on the floor near Buddy and Macy. The next dance was, of course, a waltz.
Sarah lifted her chin. “Why didn’t you tell them who I am?”
“I can, if you want me to. But consider. You are a mysterious stranger, and nothing that happens tonight will tarnish your name.”
“So you’re looking out for my reputation?” She smirked.
The first notes sounded. I reached around her narrow waist with my right hand, slid my fingers over the satin of her gown, and pulled her close.
Her left hand rested on the front of my shoulder, below the furry embellishment of my costume.
I lifted our clasped hands out at chest level—time to make her smile.
We glided around the floor and found a natural rhythm with each other in the dance. I moved without thinking. She fit easily in my arms. Too easily. Her scent filled my nose. Focus. Say something. No rhyming.