You May Now Kill the Bride Page 4

  The old stories seemed impossible. Crazy. Like something out of the dime adventure novels that boys liked to read.

  Still, the old books comforted her.

  I have powers no one knows I possess.

  One afternoon, Ruth-Ann was passing the library when she heard a familiar voice. The door was open a few inches. She stepped behind it to peer inside. She clapped her hand to her mouth, surprised to see her father talking with Nelson Swift.

  Nelson, the forgotten man.

  Nelson had made the big mistake of going away. Mr. Fear had sent him on a two-week business trip to the West. Two weeks that changed everything for Nelson.

  Big, blond, brawny Nelson had been Randolph Fear’s preferred candidate to marry Rebecca. And now the two men stood so tense, facing each other over the mahogany desk in the center of the room.

  “I went to California for you. I settled your business there because promises were made to me, Mr. Fear,” Nelson was saying.

  Ruth-Ann saw her father’s face darken, his mouth form a scowl. He fiddled with his necktie. “You have to understand—” he started. “I . . . made no such promises. I—”

  But Nelson interrupted. “Have you conveniently forgotten? I was led to believe I would become a part of this family.”

  Randolph Fear shook his head. “I’m sure I don’t understand the minds of young women any more than you do.”

  “Have you no control over your own daughter?” Nelson slammed a fist on the desktop. “You are her father. Surely, she must obey you.”

  A humorless laugh escaped Randolph Fear. “Obey? Where do you live, Mr. Swift? In the nineteenth century?”

  Nelson reacted with a growl. “My father is an attorney-at-law, sir. He has told me I could have an alienation of affections lawsuit against your daughter.”

  Ruth-Ann pressed her hand over her mouth to keep from making a sound. Nelson was threatening her father! She could see that Nelson was trembling, big drops of sweat rolling down his broad forehead. Did he know who he was trying to intimidate?

  Mr. Fear remained silent for a long moment, fingering his necktie, his eyes locked on Nelson’s. “Please take this news to your father,” he said finally. “Tell him you may have another lawsuit because you have been dismissed from your job.”

  Nelson made a choking sound. “I—what?”

  “You are fired,” Mr. Fear said softly, barely above a whisper. “Please clean out your office by the end of the day.”

  Another long silence. Nelson mopped the sweat off his forehead with the palm of one hand. Ruth-Ann could see that he had sweated through the stiff collar of his shirt.

  Nelson flashed Mr. Fear a final angry look. Then he spun on his heel and stomped to the door.

  Ruth-Ann didn’t have time to back away before he came storming out, shoving the door in her face. She cried out and stumbled back.

  His eyes bulged in surprise when he saw her. “You haven’t seen the last of me,” he said, snarling the words. “I have ways of teaching your family a lesson.”

  “Get in line,” Ruth-Ann said.

  Nine

  The wedding took place on a cliff top at Randolph Fear’s mountain retreat in Colorado. A dirt road led up to the majestic lodge, built like a pioneer cabin, perhaps the biggest log cabin ever built. The building was wide and low, tucked into the rock outcropping behind it, chimneys lining the red slate roofs.

  The mesa stretched beyond the lodge, tall grass and wildflowers on both sides of a winding path. Blue sky as far as you could see. The mesa ended in a jagged rock cliff, a steep drop to the canyon below with its dark boulders and a narrow ribbon of a river.

  Beautiful—as if a painter had created a perfect rustic mountain scene. This was where Rebecca wanted her wedding. She said she wanted to be married at the top of the world, and this spot came close.

  Ruth-Ann’s parents begged her to come to the wedding rehearsal. But she refused, claiming she had a stomachache.

  She had no intention of being part of the wedding party. She didn’t plan to walk down the long white aisle with her mother and father. She planned to sit quietly near the back of the seating area, watch the ceremony, then retreat to her room.

  The morning of the wedding, while everyone was having breakfast, Ruth-Ann sneaked out of the lodge and climbed the mesa to inspect the wedding site. The sky above her was cloudless; a red morning sun hung low on the horizon. A warm breeze hinted of the perfect day to come.

  Ruth-Ann shielded her eyes with one hand and watched two red hawks swoop low overhead, then glide away.

  Rebecca got her perfect day and her perfect setting for her perfect wedding.

  An altar had been constructed at the top of the mesa. An arch had been built over that, and covered in white peonies and stephanotis. A narrow podium for the minister stood beneath the flowers.

  The white-carpeted aisle stretched between two sections of folding chairs. The carpet made its way down the path to the lodge, tall grass and wildflowers swaying on both sides.

  Ruth-Ann stood under the arch. The flowers smelled sweet. She gazed down over the edge of the mesa. Then she raised her eyes to the white flowers covering the arch.

  This is where Rebecca will stand. This is where she will stand with Peter.

  She suddenly realized she was making it all even more painful for herself. Why was she standing there? Why had she come up here this morning?

  Abruptly, she turned and hurried down the aisle, following the carpet down the sloping hill to the lodge. She had a light breakfast. Then guests began to arrive.

  The wedding was large. Her parents had invited two hundred people. But Randolph Fear would spare no expense for his eldest daughter. He had rented an entire train to bring them all to Colorado from the East.

  After breakfast, Ruth-Ann retreated to her room. Lily was the maid of honor. Of course, Ruth-Ann hadn’t been asked.

  Her parents had bought her a dress nonetheless, violet with white lace, long pleated skirt to her ankles, a cute vest over a frilly top. She didn’t want to dress up. Still, Ruth-Ann had no choice but to wear it.

  The wedding was scheduled for one o’clock. As Ruth-Ann got dressed, she heard scurrying in the hallway, excited voices. Last-minute preparations had everyone tense.

  A knock on her door startled her. And when she pulled open the door, she had an even bigger surprise.

  Rebecca stood there. She was in her wedding dress but held the sparkly tiara-shaped headband in her hand. The dress was a beautiful ivory, open at the back, beaded all over, with lacy butterfly sleeves and a filmy sweep train flowing down the back. Her hair was tied with a wide silk ribbon so that it flowed like a golden waterfall down the back of the train.

  “Ruth-Ann—” she started. Then she stopped and narrowed her eyes, as if she didn’t know what to say next.

  Ruth-Ann pulled the door open a little wider. “Rebecca? What are you doing here?” She couldn’t hide the coldness in her voice.

  “I—I need you to forgive me,” Rebecca stammered. “Please, Ruth-Ann. I know what I’ve done. I know I’ve hurt you. But . . .”

  Ruth-Ann had never seen her sister so unsure, so nervous, almost unable to speak. She took a step back, allowing Rebecca to enter the room.

  Rebecca rolled the sparkly white headband between her hands. “Please say you forgive me,” she said, locking her blue eyes on Ruth-Ann. “Please say it. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. I promise.”

  Ruth-Ann’s mouth dropped open. Was Rebecca really saying these things?

  “It’s my wedding day,” Rebecca said. “I need for it to be perfect. And it won’t be perfect unless I have my whole family behind me, especially you.”

  The two sisters stared at each other. The silence grew heavy and awkward. Finally, Ruth-Ann relented. “Okay,” she said in a whisper. “I forgive you.”

  “Oh, thank goodness!” Rebecca cried. She flung her arms around Ruth-Ann. She pressed her cheek against Ruth-Ann’s. Her cheek was hot and
wet with tears.

  Ruth-Ann pushed her back gently. “You’re going to spoil your makeup.”

  Rebecca stepped back, wiping her eyes. “Help me with this headband, okay? And with the train. It got all twisted.”

  “I forgive you, but I won’t walk down the aisle,” Ruth-Ann said. “I’ll be there for you, Rebecca. I forgive you. I really do.”

  “That’s enough,” Rebecca said, taking both of Ruth-Ann’s hands in hers. “Thank you, Ruth-Ann. Thank you.”

  They were the last words Rebecca ever said to her sister.

  Ten

  The white flowers on the arch ruffled in a light breeze. The sun floated directly above the mesa, hovering in a robin’s-egg-blue sky.

  Ruth-Ann took a deep breath. The air up here smelled so cool and sweet. She sat in the fourth row of seats, to the left of the aisle, pulling her silk violet hat over her hair, arranging her long skirt, the ground soft beneath her shoes.

  A buzz of voices surrounded her. Peter’s family had already taken their seats at the front on the other side of the aisle. Ruth-Ann admired the dresses worn by a group of cousins edging their way into the row in front of her. Everyone in their most colorful finery. The men in such dark, serious suits and the women in their fanciest plumage, colorful as birds.

  She craned her neck to survey the guests behind her. A solitary figure caught her eye. She shielded her eyes from the sunlight and squinted.

  Nelson Swift?

  Yes. Nelson in a pinstripe suit, a black necktie pinching his starched white collar. Nelson, his light hair blowing in the wind, his face locked in a blank stare at the altar.

  Why was Nelson here? Why did he travel all the way to Colorado? Ruth-Ann knew for a fact that he hadn’t been invited. His name hadn’t been mentioned in her house since the day he threatened Randolph Fear and lost his job.

  Ruth-Ann had an impulse to go back to his row, to walk up to him and just demand, “Nelson, what are you doing here?” But she was settled in her seat, and she would have to disturb four or five others to get to the aisle.

  Instead of getting up, she stared hard at him, hoping her mind waves would draw his attention. But Nelson kept his gaze on the altar, his expression blank, mysteriously vacant.

  Ruth-Ann heard oohs and aahs. She turned, thinking the wedding ceremony had started. But the guests were reacting to a large red hawk that soared low over the mesa, floating with raised wings, then vanishing below them.

  The voices all stilled as the organist, a young man in a black tuxedo, began to play. How did they get an organ up here? Ruth-Ann wondered. They must have brought it in a horse cart.

  Ruth-Ann raised her face to the sun. The warmth felt soothing, almost calming. She settled back in the chair, thinking about how happy she was not to be in the wedding party.

  I can enjoy the spectacle, she thought.

  But when Peter appeared, doing his slow walk up the aisle between his two parents, she suddenly felt cold, as if the sunlight had disappeared.

  Will all my old feelings come rushing back to me?

  Will my anger, my feelings of betrayal, my dismay at being cheated of the boy I cared about—will they all come sweeping in now and send me back into dark despair?

  Ruth-Ann held her breath and watched Peter walk up the aisle with his parents, watched and waited for the powerful feelings to return.

  No. She was fine. A single shudder shook her body. She was fine.

  I can make it through this. I’m going to be okay.

  Peter’s mother wore a satiny blue dress, the skirt short, the back cut out, and had a bell-shaped cloche hat pulled down over her straight gray hair.

  That outfit is much too young for her, Ruth-Ann thought. Does she think she’s the bride?

  Ruth-Ann was amused by how much Peter resembled his father. They both had owlish round faces and wore circular, black-framed eyeglasses.

  Peter had his dark hair parted in the middle and so slicked down with hair oil, his head reflected the sunlight. He wore a stephanotis corsage on his lapel and had a bright purple handkerchief in the pocket of his suit jacket.

  Not his usual style, Ruth-Ann sneered. He looks so nervous. Why doesn’t he at least force a smile?

  Jonny Penderman followed. He was Peter’s best man. In contrast to the groom, Jonny had a wide, goofy grin on his face, as if he thought the whole thing was a hoot.

  Ruth-Ann’s parents walked arm in arm toward the altar. Her mother already had tears in her eyes. She dabbed at her face with a white lace handkerchief. Randolph Fear winked at Ruth-Ann as they passed.

  Lily followed them, looking lovely in her simple cream-colored maid of honor dress, a satiny sash tied in a graceful bow at her waist. Ruth-Ann watched the five bridesmaids march in and form a line facing the altar.

  Then all eyes turned to the back as the bride approached the altar. Beautiful Rebecca. A tense smile frozen on her face. A bouquet gripped tightly between her hands. Her normally pale face slightly flushed from her excitement. Her eyes on Peter as she walked slowly, gracefully along the white carpet.

  The parents took their seats. The minister appeared behind the podium. Ruth-Ann squirmed, trying to see him better. But the bride and groom blocked her view. She saw that he was tall and thin and tanned with a shock of white hair over his forehead. “Welcome, everyone!” he exclaimed. “Welcome. Welcome, everyone.”

  He had to shout. Ruth-Ann knew that her father had wanted to try one of those newfangled loudspeakers he had read about. He had contacted the Edison Company to see if they had one that would work. But he was disappointed to learn that no loudspeaker could work since there was no electricity on the mesa.

  “We are gathered here today to join Rebecca Ellen Fear and Peter Arthur Goodman in holy matrimony.” The minister lowered his eyes to the podium as he began the ceremony.

  His voice drifted in and out of Ruth-Ann’s hearing. A burst of wind brought his words loud and clear. When the wind reversed, he sounded muffled and far away.

  Peter and Rebecca held hands as the minister spoke.

  The sight of them there. The perfect wedding tableau. Everyone so good-looking and well dressed and happy. The lucky couple with their hands clasped, already united even before the ceremony was over.

  How could Ruth-Ann not feel bitter?

  She gritted her teeth, her whole body suddenly tense. She tried to slow her pounding heartbeats. She shifted in her seat, the minister’s words flowing past her, not really hearing them, only hearing a steady drone of voice and wind.

  And then she heard the words clearly as the minister gestured to Peter, raising both hands. “And now . . . you may kiss the bride.”

  Ruth-Ann saw people arching forward, twisting in their seats, to get a better view. The big, happy conclusion. The kiss that everyone anticipated.

  Peter turned to Rebecca. He didn’t smile. Squinting, Ruth-Ann was surprised to see a blank, emotionless look on his face.

  And then people gasped as he bent and lifted Rebecca off her feet. He picked her up and held her in front of him.

  And whispered voices rang out all around Ruth-Ann . . .

  “How romantic.”

  “Look. He picked her up to kiss her.”

  “So adorable. The most romantic thing I ever saw.”

  Holding Rebecca like a baby, Peter lowered his face to hers and kissed her lips. And as they kissed, he walked to the edge of the mesa. He held the kiss for another few seconds. Then he raised her in his arms and tossed her over the side of the cliff.

  Rebecca’s shrill scream would linger in everyone’s ears for weeks, even though it lasted for only a few seconds.

  Eleven

  Time froze for Ruth-Ann. The world stopped.

  Rebecca’s scream faded as she plunged to the ravine below. She fell too far for anyone to hear the crunch of her landing, but Ruth-Ann imagined it.

  A shudder shook Ruth-Ann’s body. And in that brief moment of frozen horror, what lingered in her mind was the expression on Peter’s
face as he carried her to the cliff edge. The empty eyes, the blank stare. As if he was no longer inside himself, as if he had vacated his own body.

  Screams rang out all around her. Guests leaped to their feet, faces pale, mouths open. But no one moved. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape or erase the horror of what they had just seen.

  Children wailed. Screams and screeches of horror and disbelief rang off the mesa walls.

  Ruth-Ann’s eyes refused to focus. The people around her became a colorful blur. Loud sobs and shouts and animal moans rose, more and more shrill, until Ruth-Ann clamped her hands over her ears. It was then she realized she was screaming, too.

  And then she saw a dark blur rise up in front of her. Someone lurched forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. Grabbed her and shook her.

  He finally came into focus. Her father. His face red, radiating anger. His eyes bulging. He kept shaking his head, his lips moving but making no sound.

  He dug his fingers into the shoulders of her dress and uttered a curse through gritted teeth. “YOU did this!” he screeched, spit flying into Ruth-Ann’s face. “You killed your own sister!”

  “N-no—!” Ruth-Ann stammered. She tried to pull free of his painful grasp. “No, Father—”

  “You did it! You did it!” he screamed, shaking her. Her hat flew off and landed in the grass at her feet. “You swore she would never marry Peter, and you kept your promise!”

  “No!” Ruth-Ann screamed. “No! How could I? You’ve got to believe me, Father. I didn’t. I didn’t!”

  Some guests were running down the hill to the lodge. Others stood sobbing, shaking, comforting one another. A small crowd circled Ruth-Ann and her father, watching their angry confrontation.

  Randolph Fear uttered a string of curses. He shook Ruth-Ann hard. “You put a spell on that boy. I know you did. Think I didn’t know what you were doing up in that attic room? Did you really think you could cast a spell and I wouldn’t know?”

  “No, Father!” Ruth-Ann cried. “No!” And then a frightening thought flashed into her mind. “You—you know about that room. You know those spells, too—don’t you, Father?”