Magical Weddings (106 page)

When she’d first met St. John, she’d been cranky. He’d been rude—maybe from jet lag. Then he’d kissed her for no reason, and that had led her to only one conclusion, that he was a playboy, that his kisses meant no more than the word
wonderful
. He’d given her no reason to believe they meant anything more than that. And why would they? How could he possibly care for someone he’d just met?

Or could he?

She stared at his face, wishing she could tell what in the world was going on behind it, and realized his eyes were open.

“You’re thinking again,” he said in a sleepy voice. “You’ll never get to sleep that way.”

“Can I ask you something?”

He sighed. “If it will help.”

“What did you ever see in that American girl? Was it just the chemistry? Because she doesn’t sound very…nice.” She knew before she let the words out of her mouth that she was also describing herself. She hadn’t been nice at all. But if the other chick had redeeming qualities, maybe there was hope for Mallory too.

“Perhaps I bring out the worst in her. Though, her worst was utterly charming to me.”

Mal tried not to roll her eyes, since he was watching her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I guess I can’t believe in love at first sight either, no matter how romantic it sounds.”

“No, Mallory. It wasn’t love at first sight.” He paused. Breathed. Stared into her soul. “It took a moment or two.”

She gave a short laugh, then caught her breath. Was he talking about the other girl? Or about her?

He sat up abruptly and changed positions, putting his feet closest to the fire and turning his back to her. She wanted to think it was because his feet and back were cold, but she didn’t believe it for a minute.

She tried to relax and stop trying to guess what the man was thinking. If she wasn’t such a coward, she would ask him. But that wasn’t going to happen.

Pardon me, Mr. Bond. But is there a chance you believe you’re in love with me?

Yeah. Right. He was just getting her mixed up with that other girl. That was all. Wasn’t that the point of telling her about it? So she’d understand why he seemed to be moving so fast?

The flood of the day’s emotions finally threatened to pull her under and she found herself gasping for air, fighting back the sobs building in her chest. She needed to take a mental step back, to stop thinking, and try to relax. She focused on the peaceful crackle and pop of the fire, the sound of the wind dying down, its fits against the window growing weaker, like a tired old man who couldn’t fight much longer.

She didn’t expect to sleep, but found herself swept smoothly back into her nightmares anyway. The transition was seamless, maybe because those nightmares always happened there, in the ballroom at Harmony Lodge…

****

She and Bennett were standing before the fireplace, holding hands. Santa Claus stood before them with an open book. Instead of a fire, the fireplace overflowed with electric green ornaments. Instead of her artwork, the ornaments had giant m’s stamped on them. Big green m&m’s—London would think it was hilarious, and telling.

Unlike her usual Bennett-induced nightmares, in this one she was aware she was dreaming.

“Dearly Beloved,” Santa began.

“Beggin’ yer pardon,” the doorman said, stepping forward in his white and green uniform. “I’ve already married these two. Go on yer way, then.” He shooed Santa away.

Mal licked her lips, hoping they were going to repeat the “kiss the bride” scene, but Bennett dropped her hand and took off for the kitchen.

“I’ve got to do the dishes before the guests arrive,” he shouted without looking back.

She looked at the doorman. “He doesn’t want me anyway.”

“Oh?” He snorted, one side of his large nose curling up in disgust. “Yer the daftest lass who ever prayed for snow.”

“
You
made it snow?”

He preened. “I did. I did indeed. I’ve near broken me back fillin’ wishes this day. And no thanks from you. Shame, shame.” He wagged a finger at her.

“I only wanted a little snow for Pemberly. I didn’t ask for the rest of this.”

He bobbled his head back and forth. “Weeel, missy, they weren’t yer wishes I was filling, were they?” He turned and headed for the front entrance.

“Wait!” She hurried to catch up. “You can’t go anywhere. The causeway is closed.”

“Oh, aye. It is. Because yer man wished it closed, didn’t he? He wanted ye all to himself, for all the good it did ‘im.”

She froze. Bennett wanted her to himself? For real? Enough to sabotage the reception? To waste all that money?

She’d never really seen the power pole across the causeway, and she trusted the man who said he was Chief Moulder. Was London in on it too?

The doorman made his way outside and down the steps. Mal followed. A large clump of snow fell on her head and she turned and looked up at the roof. Three teenage boys were shoveling snow off the edge to make it look like it was snowing for those inside the lodge.

She knew it!

“Come, come.” The doorman waved her on. “I’m the ghost of Christmas past, ye see.”

Suddenly they were back at Ivy and Stone. It was the first Christmas Open House. She recognized the decorations, many of which they’d made themselves. They’d cut branches from a friend’s orchard—free, sprayed them with flocking—$24, added fifteen dollars’ worth of glitter, then wove them into an arched doorway. A few up-lights and the little old house looked like the mystical entrance to another world. The whole thing cost them less than fifty bucks and two women wanted their own porches decorated the same. It was a great year.

The doorman moved along with the crowd. Mal followed, eager to remember how they’d decorated, what they’d been selling. They walked beneath a tree that had been hung from the ceiling. Customers plucked the ornaments from the branches until there was nothing left. They’d sold out of just about everything that year. It was the start of a great tradition.

She found herself standing in the parking lot watching a younger version of herself lock the shop door and head home. She and Ferguson tagged along in a cluttered back seat. They followed the other Mallory into her sad little apartment. There was a two foot Christmas tree sitting in the middle of the dining table. A sparse strand of lights were draped around it along with the old-fashioned ornaments she’d found among her mom’s things. With no other decoration, the tree looked only slightly better than Charlie Brown’s.

She looked at the doorman. “I spent all my time decorating the shop. I didn’t have the energy to do it at home too.”

“Tisk, tisk,” he replied, then shook his head in pity when that other Mallory turned in a circle, taking in her own surroundings, then went crying to the bedroom.

“I was worn out. It had been a really long day.”

“Sure, sure.” The doorman opened a door in the wall that wasn’t supposed to be there. He beckoned her on. They emerged into the work room and it looked exactly like they’d left it early that morning.

“As ye can see, I’ll also be playin’ the part of yer Christmas Present, lass. We’re a bit short on staff, due to the causeway disaster and all.”

In her dreaming state, it made complete sense.

It was daytime. The sun blinked bright through smear-edged windows that were too high to clean perfectly. It was the workroom, after all.

The twelve by twelve room was scattered with odds and ends that hadn’t been needed up at Harmony Lodge. A pile of corsage scissors—she knew they would have forgotten something. A neat pile of stems and garbage on the floor—apparently, someone couldn’t find the dust pan. There was a low square vase full of blossoms that were too short to use in arrangements, but too beautiful to be thrown out.

She wandered down the little hallway and through the show room. The entire house was too beautiful to be thrown out, to be broken to bits by a wrecking ball.

A couple of women, wrapped up tight against the cold, hurried up to the front door. It was locked. One of them noticed the sign and read it. “Closed for a wedding set up. Come back Monday.” They turned away disappointed, but paused to look in the display window for a long cold moment. Then they were gone.

“Many a woman will miss this place, aye?” Ferguson watched out the window.

Mal nodded, her throat too full of tears to speak. She was going to miss it too. Those women could come back again on Monday, but there wouldn’t be many more Mondays left. Not if they didn’t re-locate.

Next year, there wouldn’t be an open house. No party to celebrate the fact that Ivy and Stone had survived another year of retail. No reward for their customers’ loyalty.

“Here we go.” Ferguson opened another strange door, this one placed where a window should be. He gestured for her to go first.

She ducked inside and found herself in her current apartment. The glass she’d used for milk that morning sat next to the sink. She hadn’t been alert enough to rinse it out.

The old man pointed to the kitchen table. There were no ornaments, no lights, and no tree to hold them up if there were. He tisked again, shaking his head as he wandered around the apartment. She saw her life as the old man must see it, lonely and sparsely furnished. It made her defensive.

“Hey,” she said. “If you’re looking for a Christmas tree, you’re not going to find one. No time. Did you get a good look at the wedding we just pulled off? You think that can be done in an eight-hour work day? I’ve been working on that since July, you know.”

The man puckered his lips, the bottom protruding, a chapped pink and white bulb with a quivering chin beneath.

“Hey. Don’t cry for me, Argentina. I’m surrounded by Christmas decorations three months out of the year. Just because it’s not in my home… Forget it. Are we done here?”

Ferguson gave her a curt nod and led her to the front door. “And now, if ye don’t mind, I’ll be yer ghost of Christmas Future. Take me hand, lassie.”

They hadn’t even opened the door and they were already outside. Only this outside wasn’t anywhere near her house.

“England, lass.” The doorman pointed around them at the bare winter fields. Long dry grasses bowed to the ground beneath the weight of a heavy frost. “Is this yer first time to a foreign country, then?”

The very idea reminded her she was dreaming. One day she hoped to go to Scotland and visit all the haunted castles there. In spite of living alone, she was obsessed with ghost hunting. And if they were in England, she wasn’t far away... But they weren’t.

“I’ll play along.” She smiled at Ferguson and ignored the shiver she shouldn’t be feeling if she was asleep. “Why are we here?”

“Hush lass. Listen.”

She heard a
plop
. Then a
splash, splash, splash, plop
.
Splash, splash, plop.

The doorman poked her shoulder, then waved her to his left. They followed the sounds, marching over clumps of grass until they found a man standing at the edge of a pond, tossing rocks across it. He didn’t notice them, and as they got closer, Mal realized it was Bennett St. John.

“Bennett!”

“Mallory,” he whispered. After a few seconds, he pulled his arm back and threw another rock.

“Bennett! I’m right here. In England!”

He closed his eyes. “Mallory.” It was a whisper. A prayer.

“He’s nay speaking to ye, lassie. He can nay see ye. And I very much doubt he can hear ye.”

“Bennett!” A woman’s voice interrupted from a distance. “Bennett, are you there?”

Eventually, young woman in flowing slacks and a wool coat picked her way down a narrow path and walked straight up to Bennett, then wrapped herself around his arm. He smiled patiently at her.

“I am surprised you’re out here this morning,” she said. “It’s so cold. Won’t you come back inside?”

Bennett nodded. “Ten more minutes, Elizabeth darling. If I cut my meditation short, it will affect the entire day. And I’ve five charities to visit before dinner.”

She stuck out a pouty lip. “Fine. I’ll leave you to it then. But remember, you’re not doing it correctly if it makes you melancholy.” This Elizabeth woman kissed him on the cheek, then pulled her coat tight and headed back the way she’d come.

“Who in the hell is that?” Mal turned to Ferguson, since Bennett wasn’t going to answer her.

“His wife. An Englishwoman, by the by. Good stock.”

Mal snorted. “I don’t think so.”

“Ye doubt she’s his wife, or that she’s good stock?”

Mal shook her head. “I doubt they’re right for each other. Are you kidding me? Elizabeth and Bennett? As in,
Elizabeth Bennett
? Who picked her out, his mother?”

Ferguson smirked. “His mother is dead, lassie. Remember? He picked her out himself.”

Mal fumed. That woman hadn’t looked anything like the three homely Englishwomen she’d imagined, the ones he was supposed to choose from. And she didn’t look anything like a sheep! Finding him pining away for her made her ten shades of happy, but he was supposed to pine away
alone!

Ten more minutes passed with Bennett alternately chucking rocks and watching the ripples settle, but he never whispered her name again. Not even when she called out to him. She finally accepted the fact that he couldn’t hear her.

Bennett turned and looked in the direction his pretty wife had taken.

“Don’t go.” Mal reached out and touched his arm. He shrugged her off as he tugged on his shirt cuffs. He took a deep breath and left. She tried to follow, but wasn’t able to move in that direction.

“Have ye noticed?” Ferguson nodded at Bennett’s fading form. “He tugs on those cuffs when he’s nervous. Only when he’s nervous.” He shook his head and turned back to the pond. “Come along. We’re finished here, aye?”

“Mal? Mallory!”

She woke to find a grinning blond staring down at her.

“Good morning, Sunshine.” London held two coffee cups. “I brought you some hot chocolate, unless you want my coffee.”

She sat up. “No, thanks. But Bennett might appreciate—”

“I gave him some.”

She looked around the ballroom filling up with her staff and a lot of other people she didn’t recognize. “Where is he?”