It was late enough by now, and the liquor had been flowing freely enough, that the celebration was becoming rowdy. In fact, Sheriff Winslow had already stepped in once or twice to calmly settle arguments or plunk a few miscreants into the city jail. One night wouldn’t hurt them, and in the morning they could be released with cooler heads.
Camellia, suddenly feeling exhausted to the very marrow of her bones, was not disappointed when Ben quietly asked if she would like to call it a night.
“Yes, thank you, I would. I believe I’ve reached the limit of my merrymaking quota for one day.”
Farewells, mixed in with good wishes, congratulations, and felicitations, were lengthy. It seemed they simply could not get away without a few words from every person there. At last Ben was able to lift her, in all her bridal finery, into the buggy so they could make the slow plod back to his house.
“It was nice, wasn’t it?” she asked sleepily.
Even the moon was cooperating with the day’s festivities, sending down benevolent white rays that lit up the streets ahead but not a single cool unwanted breeze. Somewhere a dog barked; somewhere else an owl hooted. Despite the distant sounds emanating from the church yard, they two might have been alone in a deserted hamlet.
“It was.”
“I like your friends. The people of this town. They’re so friendly, and they did so much for us. All the work, just setting up tables and preparing food—!”
“We’ll pay for it,” he told her dryly. “I expect the bills to show up on my desk this comin’ week.”
“Oh. Well. But, still...”
Camellia was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, seeing how many details had been involved in making arrangements, especially so last-minute. And much of the physical work had been considerately taken right out of her hands. As the Widow Semple had put it, when Camellia stopped by for a packet of thread to match her bridal gown, Turnabout had wanted to provide the couple with a gala, memorable event; and everyone had decided that Camellia herself had had plenty to deal with, as it was, just marrying the world’s most obstinate bachelor.
Obstinate?
“Dr. Havers seems a nice man. Have you known him long?”
Staring off into the distance, Ben considered. “He blew into town about five years ago. Been a nuisance ever since. Likable enough, I reckon.”
“He seems to know every little point that might upset you, and he goes for it,” she commented with amusement. “Do you always grab the bait?”
At last, a small wry smile as he turned his head with that slow, considering glance set to survey. “It’s just the usual give and take, Camellia. Gabe likes to think he can get the better of me, so I let him. Guess we both win out.”
An interesting perspective. As her uplifted gaze met his, she wondered if she dared rest her head against his shoulder, in true wifely fashion. She was feeling a bit lonely tonight. She was missing her sisters. She was wishing she had had a woman friend, already married, to consult, about taking her first steps into this new and rather frightening alien country.
Whether he sensed her emotions, or whether he was just letting the companionable mood of the moment consume him, he slipped one arm around her shoulders in a close, comforting embrace. With a sigh, she snuggled into it. He smelled of a mixture of scents: the open air, crushed green grass from the church lawn, some sort of pine, pipe tobacco, and a top note of wool.
“Benjamin.”
“Ahuh.”
Another sigh. “No. Never mind.”
He snorted. “If it’s important enough to say my name, it’s important enough to talk about.”
“Not really. I was just being—a rather flighty female...”
“Nothin’ wrong with that, Cam. I wouldn’t expect any less. About the female part, I mean. Not the flighty. Seems to me you’re right steady on your feet, and we’ll get along just fine.”
No doubt. After his initial doubts about joining their so dissimilar backgrounds, hadn’t he then assured her he was a man of his word?
He hadn’t even really kissed her yet, unless you could call that split-second peck on the lips at the altar, after Rev. Beecham’s pronouncement, a kiss. She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to participate once his body, mind, and soul were equally engaged.
They arrived at the house with the faraway noise of revelry still going on in the background. Someone had gotten hold of some firecrackers to light up; nothing daunted, someone else had actually fired off a few gunshots. Camellia hoped Hannah and her sisters had safely retired to the boarding house, and their own snug beds. Surely they had. Hannah was a good girl of common sense; she would be watching out for the younger ones.
The buggy shifted a little as Ben climbed down and circled around behind to escort her inside. “Nice and quiet,” he said with relief, as he lit a kerosene lamp. “I’ll just take the rig over to the stable, then I’ll be back again in a few minutes. Okay?”
Feeling suddenly struck dumb, feeling suddenly so nervous and apprehensive that every muscle began to tremble, she nodded.
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