Cast a Pale Shadow(24)

Roger stood and swallowed Trissa in a bear hug. "Just what we needed at this table, another pretty face!"

"Roger, you'll suffocate the poor thing." Augusta tugged Trissa on to Beverly Hartenstein. "Beverly is a grief consultant."

"A grief consultant? I've never heard of that," admitted Trissa.

"She's a mortician," interjected Hattie.

"I am not! I hate that word," sniffed Beverly. "I counsel people at their hour of greatest need. It is a helping profession."

"She used to be a meter maid," yawned Hattie. "That was a great help to people too. At the hour when their greatest need was a quarter for the meter."

"We don't always snipe at each other like this, Trissa," Augusta said with a sharp look at Hattie. "Nicholas, for heaven's sake, don't just stand there. Beverly and May won't mind scooting down a bit to make room for Trissa. Get a chair from the basement."

As he headed through the butler's pantry for the basement, Nicholas heard May Lassiter and her lilting, bubbly giggle as Augusta paid her some compliment he did not catch. May taught piano and voice and had a speaking voice as musical as her singing.

By the time he returned from the cellar with a chair and a package hastily wrapped in yellowed newspaper, Trissa was seated in his old chair. Augusta mounded her plate with food: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, beets, and hot rolls and butter. Roger tore more lettuce and chopped more celery to replenish the depleted salad bowl for her, and Maurice brought her some milk fresh from the refrigerator. Mocking his occupation as a wine steward, Maurice playfully tasted the milk from the sommelier's cup he had hung around his neck, swishing it around in his mouth with a comical expression of sublime satisfaction, and pronounced it worthy before serving it up in a sparkling crystal tumbler. Trissa basked in all the attention. She looked as contented as a well-tended baby bird in a nest.

Nicholas wet a rag, dusted off his new chair, and shoved it up to the table. He whispered something in Augusta's ear and she nodded and beckoned him toward the dining room. They returned with crystal wine glasses for all, and Nicholas unwrapped his package from the cellar, showed the dusty wine bottle to Augusta for her approval, then uncorked and decanted the wine.

"Roger, I think it would be appropriate for you to call the toast," Augusta prompted.

Roger raised his glass and made a slight bow toward the couple. "To the bride and groom! May they live long and love wisely!"

"Here, here," said Maurice and like little bells came the tinkling of nine glasses. Nicholas showed Trissa how they could sip with arms linked and watched her as her eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed pink. As a second toast was raised around them, he tilted her chin up and tasted the wine still moist on her lips. She caught her breath and closed her eyes and the kiss became as sweet as he knew it would be.

"Now, eat, you two lovebirds," urged Roger. "And tell us, Nicholas, is this what's been keeping you out 'til all hours every night?"

Nicholas glanced warily at Trissa but May was whispering and giggling in her ear. She hadn't heard Roger's question. He didn't know how he'd explain the answer to her. "More or less," he responded with a shrug and turned his attention to his beets. Augusta served beets regularly to add 'a dash of color to the plate'. Nicholas had never eaten beets before becoming a tenant of this house, and usually he was content to let them add color straight through the meal and back to the garbage. But tonight he attacked them with great gusto.

"Is your car badly damaged, Nick?" Beverly asked.

"My car?"

"You said you had an accident?"

"Oh, yes, but not in the car." He saw a look of panic flicker in Trissa's eyes as her fork faltered in mid-bite. He winked to reassure her. She had no way of knowing how very good he was at lying. "We were walking in this little patch of woods near Trissa's house and, gimpy as I am, I lost my footing and pulled Trissa down with me. We skidded all the way down an embankment and poor Trissa hit her head. She was out cold. Scared me to death." Nicholas paused to gauge his audience. Their expressions ranged from sympathy to alarm but not a single one showed doubt. He took a sip of wine and silently congratulated himself.

"Oh, my God!" Beverly said.

"You poor thing!" May exclaimed.

"What did you do?" Jack asked.

"Luckily, I was able to carry her out of the woods and flag down a car to take us to the hospital."

"And how do you feel now, dear?"

"I ache all over, but otherwise I'm okay," Trissa answered.

"You'll have to keep an eye on her, Nicholas. You can't be too careful with a head injury like that," Maurice advised.

"Yes, my Aunt Florence fell down the stairs and hit her head once," Hattie agreed, seizing a chance to regain the spotlight. "She never was quite right after that. And years later, on Thanksgiving, the whole family was sitting at the table, just like we are here, and, all of a sudden, Aunt Florence said 'oh my head!' and stood up and just keeled over dead. Flop, right in the pumpkin--"

"Hattie, I'm sure we'd all prefer a cheerier topic," interrupted Augusta.

Hattie's mouth snapped shut and her eyes narrowed first at Augusta and then at Nicholas and Trissa. "Fine," she snapped, snatched up her plate and carried it to the sink. "I haven't all night to spend at the dinner table anyway, what with late arrivals and all. I have papers to grade. Good night, ladies and gentlemen, I shall leave you to whatever cheery topic you deem appropriate." She folded her napkin and tossed it to the table then huffed up the backstairs.

Only Trissa looked dismayed at this show. May patted her hand and laughed. "Pay no mind to Hattie. High dudgeon is a neutral gear for her."

"That's true," Augusta agreed, "And if she steams off mad, she gets out of helping with the dishes."

"Oh, I'll help," Trissa quickly offered.

"Not tonight, Honey. You must be exhausted. And Hattie is right about one thing. We should think about winding up this party and leave you two to finish in peace. Your food will be stone cold before we give you a chance to eat it. We will have plenty of time to get better acquainted in the morning when you're rested. Oh, I mean..." Augusta flushed bright red with uncharacteristic embarrassment. "Nicholas, you will let the poor child rest this evening, honeymoon or no honeymoon," she scolded, shaking a finger at him.

"Yes, ma'am," he laughed, catching Trissa's sudden flustered interest in buttering her roll.

The boarders efficiently set about their appointed tasks clearing the table, rinsing, washing, and drying the plates, and sweeping the floor. Augusta employed a woman as cook and housekeeper to help her during the day but the boarders had all agreed to assist with the evening cleanup. It kept expenses down, gave some credence to their official status as servants rather than boarders, and contributed to the camaraderie of the group.

Up to his elbows in suds, Maurice crooned The Anniversary Waltz.

"Oh, how we danced on the night we were wed..." May harmonized with her high, sweet voice, performing a serenade for the bride and groom's first supper together that ended with more wine and another toast.

Nicholas wondered why he had worried so much about Trissa's welcome. Faced with the prospect of widowhood in a big, empty house she could no longer afford, Augusta had chosen to fill it with paying guests who she passed off as servants but regarded as family. Trissa would be safe here. Just as he had promised her mother she would be.





Chapter Nine





Trissa felt warm, and giddy, and fuzzily soft-focused, as if someone had wrapped her in clouds and carried her to heaven and she thought it must be the wine. About her, the dear angels fussed amiably, tending to her needs before she spoke them, seeing that her glass was filled a second and a third time, singing sweetly as they finished their work and drifted off, one by one, all with the same knowing smile, privy to the same secret intrigue.

It had to be the wine and not the kiss that bewitched her so, melting away her aches, and weaving its magic through her veins. If she took just one more sip, she would know for sure that was so. If she felt the smooth, cool crystal on her lips, she would know it was that memory and not the soft warmth of Nicholas that still tingled there.

Before she had tiptoed off, the angel called Augusta had extinguished all the lights except the candles she had gathered from the ends of the table to circle the space where Trissa and Nicholas now sat alone. From some other cloud, a piano sent its bright notes like falling stars sparkling around them. Her fingers trembled as they reached for the glass, setting its golden contents to shimmer and dance in the candle glow. Surely, it was this magical potion and not the kiss at all that cast this strange enchantment.

Her hand was stilled by a gentle touch and the glass was taken from her. "I think you've had enough for tonight," said the angel Nicholas.