Coke eyed Josiah carefully, then turned his attention away, drawn by a question from an unknown man to his right.
Standing around and beyond the governor was an assemblage of men Josiah did not know, but who he assumed were members of Coke’s political party, administration, and inner circle. There were at least twenty people stuffed into the parlor, and a few others lingered outside in the grand foyer.
Josiah did recognize Rory Farnsworth, the local sheriff, with whom Josiah had had some dealings in the past. And to his surprise, Major John B. Jones was also in attendance, standing in the center of three lovely young women in the corner, just to the left of the piano. A large, wavy fern almost obscured the major. Once Jones looked up and saw that the distraction was only a meager sergeant, he quickly turned his attention back to the fawning and giggling women.
Jones had taken a liking to Pearl earlier in the spring, at the time of her father’s death, or so Josiah thought, but she obviously was not the center of the major’s attention at the moment. He had a reputation as a man with a different woman of favor in every town he entered, leaving behind a broken heart or a waiting woman in his wake. At forty, Jones was still a bachelor, with a reputation bordering on being a cad. The competition for Pearl’s affection looked to have been pared, but for some reason, Josiah wasn’t lightened by the prospect, though he would have been disappointed to see Pearl fall under the spell of Jones’s apparent charms.
A Negro sat at the piano, waiting for Pearl to resume singing. He was dressed identically to Pedro—formal, in a black suit, starched white high-collared shirt, with a black string tie—only the Negro wore white gloves, as if his brown hands were not allowed to touch the white keys of the piano.
Josiah had never seen the Negro before and didn’t know his name, but he was sure the Fikes house employed more people than he could count or know of.
Pearl motioned for the Negro man to start playing again, then whispered something in his ear. The Negro looked to Josiah, smiled brightly, and nodded.
A soft tinkling immediately filled the room, happy music, not a ballad, as Pearl made her way through the crowd toward Josiah.
Everyone parted, allowing her eager exit from the piano, very much in the manner that the crowd had parted earlier in the day for Blanche Dumont—who was missing from the elite gathering, but who surely knew some of the members in attendance intimately.
Josiah stood stiffly, unsure of what to do other than wait for Pearl. He did not want to greet Pearl in front of everyone. He wasn’t sure he knew how. A handshake, a kiss on the cheek, or a bow?
To make matters worse, not only had Pearl’s attention and action been drawn to him, but so had the Widow Fikes’s.
She was sitting on an Empire sofa framed in an exotic wood, probably mahogany. The back crest was undulating in style, and the upholstery was a soft brown color, beige, with thin beaded pleats. The sofa sat under a portrait of a very much younger Mrs. Fikes, who was never a beauty like her daughter, but had obviously come readily equipped with a regal air; she looked like a princess of a foreign land waiting on a servant to feed her.
The portrait was surrounded by thick red draperies that hung all the way from the twelve-foot ceiling to the floor. The widow was not as tall and thin as Pearl, but rotund, or at least she appeared to be since she still dressed in widow’s weeds—a thick, ruffled black dress, a lacy hat with the veil pulled back, and tightly bound boots—that made her look very big, like a big old laying hen with her feathers all puffed up in defense. She bore no other color but black from head to toe, a continued show of mourning.
The widow curled her lip in distaste as she met Josiah’s gaze, recognizing him. He did the same. He looked away, then, back to Pearl, who was nearly in front of him.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” Pearl said.
Josiah’s throat was parched, like it had closed up in fear. “I had to get Lyle settled. Ofelia returned or I would not have been able to come.” He stood still, hands plastered to his side. It seemed the most appropriate hello he could conjure.
“You could have brought him,” Pearl said. “We got along just fine.”
Pearl stared at Josiah, her deep blue eyes penetrating his. He was tempted to turn and leave, but he had made it this far, it was too late to back out now. Besides, staring back at Pearl, Josiah became less aware of the rest of the room and the eyes still targeted on them. It was like they were the only two people in the world. A surge of energy compelled him to reach for her, at least touch her hand, but again he resisted, unsure if it was the right and proper thing to do, if a public touch was socially acceptable.
“Lyle is not ready for this,” Josiah said. He wanted to add that he wasn’t either . . . but let the words die before they left his mouth.
“I suppose you are right. I am glad to hear of Ofelia’s return. Juan Carlos has told me of her importance to you.”
Josiah nodded, heard a rustling behind Pearl. “Why am I here?” he whispered.
“Because I wanted you to be comfortable in this house.”
Before Josiah could answer, before he could tell Pearl that he doubted that he could ever be comfortable in a house so big, proper, and unknown, Pedro stepped out of the parlor, chimed a silver triangle, and announced that dinner was ready to be served.
The chair at the head of the table sat vacant. The dining table was long, easily seating the thirty or so guests. Josiah had never seen a table so long, or one so full of food and adornments. The aromas were hard to decipher, the mix a feast of beef, roast turkey, vegetables, salads, puddings, and things Josiah had no idea the names of.
The vegetables were still fresh from the recent harvest, and the breads were so warm that the yeasty smell almost overwhelmed all of the other aromas in the cavernous room.
A log blazed gently in a fireplace big enough to store three or four good-sized sheep.
Three chandeliers hung over the table, one right after the other, hanging high from the ceiling. Candles lit the table in a perfect sequence of candelabras forged of pure gold. Each place setting had three plates, a bowl, a glass made of crystal, and more silverware than Josiah had ever seen or knew what to do with.
He chastised himself again for being there. It felt like he had just walked into a camp of Indians, unaware of the language, the mores, which way to move without offending his hosts and sending them into a fit of rage.
The crowd had intervened, separating Pearl and Josiah, as they made their way out of the parlor. He stood, now, lost in another moment of uncertainty.
The Widow Fikes sat on one side of the empty chair, and Pearl sat across from her mother, directly on the other side of the table. A massive centerpiece nearly blocked their view of each other. Pearl sat blank-faced, staring into the flame of one of the low candles on the candelabra. For some reason her expression and demeanor had changed once the crowd had separated her from Josiah and she had taken her seat.
A murmur of voices echoed off the plaster walls, bouncing down from the ceiling as the guests made their way to their spots. It seemed most everyone knew where to sit, except him.
Governor Coke headed for the chair next to the Widow Fikes, his wife, Mary, comfortably on his arm. Almost as if on command, or from an unseen finger snap, servants appeared out of nowhere, easing the chairs out for the women of the major dignitaries.
Josiah was not surprised to see Juan Carlos, decked out in finer clothes than he had ever seen him wear, ease the chair out for the governor’s wife. The woman, tall and proud, almost royal, smiled at Juan Carlos as she sat down.
Juan Carlos stayed true to the expectations of servitude and showed no emotion, though Josiah was almost certain he saw him quickly whisper something in the woman’s ear as he pulled away from her. Mary Coke smiled, then looked down to her lap as Juan Carlos made his way to the next woman.