Outcast. Joan Johnston

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СКАЧАТЬ The wedding party of fourteen was spread out along the length of it. Four tall silver epergnes holding white beeswax candles and layered with pale pink roses made conversation with those sitting across the table difficult, if not impossible.

      Ben leaned to his left and whispered to Julia, “Remind me again why we’re having the rehearsal after dinner, instead of before?”

      “Archbishop Hostetler is performing another wedding right now,” Julia said. “He should be done by the time we’re finished with dinner.”

      Ben wished Waverly were sitting closer. He was at the end of the table on the other side of Julia. Ben could see his friend was uncomfortable with the undeniable evidence of the Hamiltons’ wealth—the silver service, the gold-trimmed china and the servile waiters.

      He was clearly too nervous to enjoy his food. Ben watched as Waverly’s bowl of she-crab soup went back full, then watched Waverly fidget as a uniformed waiter served him orange-glazed pork loin, new potatoes and honeyed peas and carrots.

      For the next hour, Waverly tossed back champagne like there was no tomorrow. And Ben was pretty sure he hated the stuff.

      Ben kept his gaze focused on Waverly, because he didn’t like what he saw when he glanced at his father, who was sitting near the center of the opposite side of the table. It was annoying to watch his father glancing surreptitiously at his mother.

      Ben wondered how his stepmother, who was positioned near the head of the table beside Ham, could sit there and ignore his father’s disrespectful behavior.

      Ben heard laughter at Rhett’s end of the table and watched as his mother shot her youngest son an admonishing look. Rhett’s grin was unrepentant. He picked up his champagne glass and drank deep as he stared into the eyes of the blushing bridesmaid to his right.

      Ben heard Waverly loudly clear his throat. His friend scraped his chair back as he stood, champagne glass in hand. It seemed the groom was about to offer a toast to his bride.

      The first words out of Waverly’s mouth made it clear Ben was wrong.

      12

      “Mr.—Senator—and Mrs. Hamilton, I love your daughter,” Waverly began. “My goal in life is to make Julia happy. Without using her money.” He flushed deeply and added, “I mean, with the money I earn. I mean, I intend to be the one to support my wife.”

      “Why, you … “ Ham spluttered.

      “Honey,” Julia said to Waverly, “we can talk about this later.”

      “Insolent puppy!” Ham snarled.

      “Let the man have his say,” Ben’s father interjected.

      “No one dictates to me in my own home,” Ham said ominously.

      “Waverly has a right to speak,” Ben’s father insisted.

      “He has no rights in this house!” Ham said heatedly. “Not where my daughter is concerned. I will be the one—”

      Waverly interrupted, “Sir, I only want to make it clear—”

      Ham whirled on the groom and said, “If you know what’s good for you, young man, you will keep your mouth shut.”

      “I will not,” Waverly said, his face pale.

      Ben was surprised at Waverly’s stubbornness. At his courage in the face of a very powerful—and unhappy—future father-in-law. He felt the knot growing in his stomach. He watched carefully, alarmed because his father looked agitated enough at Ham for the two of them to come to blows. Ben began figuring the quickest way to get between them if that happened.

      Julia had insisted on being seated next to her future husband, and now Ben realized she must have anticipated some sort of confrontation during dinner. She reached out and laid a hand on Waverly’s arm, attempting to tug him back into his seat.

      It didn’t work.

      “Julia and I don’t need your money,” Waverly said to Ham, his brown eyes earnest. “We plan to live a simple, happy, loving, long life together.”

      Ham’s lips became a rigid hyphen.

      Ben’s glance slid to his mother. Abigail Coates Benedict Hamilton delicately dabbed at the sides of her pink-painted mouth with her napkin. With exquisite grace, she raised her eyes from the antique lace tablecloth and met Waverly’s troubled gaze.

      “I know you love Julia,” she said in a calm, quiet voice. “And that you will do your best to make her happy.”

      Ben held his breath. Do your best? The insinuation was there that Waverly’s best wouldn’t be nearly good enough.

      “What does that mean?” Ben’s father demanded.

      Ben nearly groaned aloud. Why couldn’t his father leave well enough alone?

      “Just what I said,” his mother replied, her voice even.

      “It sounded like you were denigrating the boy.”

      “The boy?” his mother said, lifting an eyebrow.

      Ben watched his father scowl as he corrected, “The young man.”

      “That certainly was not my intention,” his mother said, her voice showing agitation for the first time.

      Julia rose abruptly from her chair and stood beside Waverly. She stared with dismay at her mother and said, “Wave will make me happy, Mother.” She gazed imploringly at her father and said, “I love him, Daddy.”

      The bridesmaids and two younger groomsmen lowered their glances nervously. Hands gripped napkins in laps.

      Ben felt the muscles tighten in his neck and shoulders, felt his legs tense for action.

      “I know you love Waverly, dear,” his mother said to Julia. “But—”

      “But what, Abby?” his father interrupted. “He’s not good enough? Your daughter deserves better?”

      “What the hell is your problem?” Ham demanded.

      “Honey,” his father’s second wife implored. “Maybe—”

      “Stay out of this, Patsy!” his father snapped.

      Ben watched his stepmother’s hazel eyes flash. Watched her lips press flat. In his experience, Patsy Taggart Benedict gave as good as she got. She shot a look toward the end of the table, but she held her tongue.

      Ben followed Patsy’s glance to his mother and saw that her eyes had narrowed. Saw her mouth begin to purse. And felt his stomach roll. His mother had a very long fuse, but the explosions when she blew were dangerous and devastating.

      Ben was seven—his younger brother Darling had just died in an accident—when his parents began to fight on a regular basis. He would grab five-year-old Carter and head for the nearest closet, where they would hide until the yelling had stopped.

      It СКАЧАТЬ