Part Four

    Meg was not prepared for all the people and certainly not all the noise.  Mr. Bridger had said it was mostly a party of some of his friends and relatives and would be held at his sister’s house.
    Amid the chatter and laughter shone many dozen silky gowns and gemstones glittered around every lady’s throat.  Bobbing in between the colorful gowns were the black and gray suits of various men.  Heels clicked across the polished wood floor, a woman shrieked in delight, a baby cried, and most of the people seemed not to notice her.
    Miss Amelia Bridger had let Meg in.  She was a stylish, black-haired woman wearing a red dress.  She had gorgeous dark eyes and a dignified long nose, but her face seemed pinched and the smile of greeting forced.  Meg rationalized that having all the people clustered in her house must be stressful, to say the least, and that the time of preparation had worn her out.  But inwardly Meg hoped the woman wasn’t looking down on her and her less elegant attire.  Soon after saying a few polite words, Miss Bridger had glided away to her own company of friends.
    Meg folded her hands together primly, scanning the tide of faces for Mr. Bridger.  He was in one corner, hemmed in by a group of three men and two women, whose faces were alive with smiles and whose heads were occasionally thrown back in laughter.
    Meg had always liked parties when she was growing up, but this one seemed a bit awkward and she felt extremely warm.  She searched for someone she knew, and finally spotted two women whom she had seen at church.
    Sighing in relief, Meg walked up to them.  “Hello, Mrs. Tubman, Miss Lydia.”
    Mrs. Tubman nodded, her pale eyes, as usual, as wide as silver dollars.  Lydia Davis, who was a teenager, smiled sincerely.  “Good to see you, Mrs. Brooke,” she said.
    “Thank you, Lydia; it’s good to see you, too.  How has your summer been so far?”
    “Very nice,” Lydia said.
    “And how is Sunday School going, Mrs. Tubman?  I hope Daisy and Demi have been behaving themselves.”
    Mrs. Tubman blinked, her eyes popping open again to their normal wide position.  “It’s going quite well, thank you.  Your children seem to be attentive listeners.”  She put emphasis on the word “seem.”
    “That’s good,” Meg smiled.
   “Would you like some punch, Mrs. Brook, Mrs. Tubman?” Lydia asked.  “I’m going over there myself, so I could get some for you.”
   Mrs. Tubman shook her head.  “Never did care for the stuff,” she muttered.
   “Thank you, but I’ll go over with you,” Meg said.
   “Give me decent water anytime,” Mrs. Tubman mumbled as Meg and Lydia drifted away.
   Lydia stifled a giggle behind her glove.  “She’s always acted this way, I’m afraid.  Ever since I started going to Sunday School when I was six.”  Lydia ladled punch into a glass.  “I know I shouldn’t make fun of her.  That’s just the way she is.”
   Meg smiled.
   “Meg,” Mr. Bridger’s voice started her from behind, and she swiveled sharply.  He was closer than she had anticipated.  He yelped suddenly, and Meg realized she had stepped on his foot.  She jumped back, her mouth dropping open.
   “Oh, I’m so sorry!  I’m sorry . . . ”
   Mr. Bridger smiled through his grimace.  “You’ve got a nasty heel, you know that?  I remember feeling it once before.”
   Meg couldn’t help smiling at his lightheartedness, but she still felt a wave of warmth on her face and she wished she were far away from everyone else at the moment.  A few nearby faces had turned their way curiously, and Meg felt like an ugly toad among lilies.
   She took a deep breath.  “I really didn’t mean to.”
   “Well, I hope not.  After all, I didn’t ask you to step on my foot, did I?”  He winked.
   Meg ducked her head.
   “Your punch, Mrs. Brooke,” Lydia said, holding out a glass to Meg.  Lydia’s eyes shone with subtle interest.
   “Th-thank you,” Meg said.  She cleared her throat, angry at her stammering.
   “Meg, why don’t we take a stroll?” Mr. Bridger suggested.
   Meg glanced around the room, wincing at the sight of Mrs. Tubman’s wide eyes directed her way.  “I guess so,” Meg murmured.
   Mr. Bridger led the way outside.  Meg breathed in the scent of pine and hyacinths.  The sky was a deepening orange and pink, framed by lavender clouds and a dusky blue sky.  Meg took a sip of her punch and trailed behind Mr. Bridger.  She liked the crunch of their feet over the twigs.
   They stopped at the edge of a river where tadpoles flickered among the rippling tide.
   “Won’t your company be suspicious?” Meg asked suddenly.
   Mr. Bridger gave her a questioning look.
   Meg twisted her gloved hands together.  “I-I mean—”  She sighed.  “Won’t they miss you?  You were talking to a group of people, and—now you’re gone.”
   Mr. Bridger laughed.  “I was done talking.”  He studied the tadpoles as they wiggled and darted.  “I hope you still feel like singing.”
   Meg bit her lip.  She felt tired, for some reason, and confused.  “I don’t know.  I suppose I’ll have to.  I couldn’t find anyone else to play the piano part, so I’m going to try to play it while I sing.”
   “You’ll do wonderfully,” Mr. Bridger smiled, looking into her eyes.  “You are a remarkable woman, Meg.”
   “Why—thank you.”
   A whippoorwill moaned in the distance.
   “Ready?” Mr. Bridger asked.
   “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Meg smiled.  “Though I’m shaking like a leaf.”
   Mr. Bridger took her arm and led her in.

   As Meg walked in the door she saw Amelia Bridger whispering to Mrs. Tubman.  They didn’t seem pleased to see Meg’s arm looped through Mr. Bridger’s, even though it was customary for a man to take a lady’s arm.
   Meg tried to still her hands over the piano.  She was not used to playing such a wide ranged piano part.  She had practiced hours each day, and was quite comfortable with this piece, but she felt sure she would mess up.  She had practiced the piece with a few simplifications, but it was still a bit challenging to play while she was singing.  She took a deep breath and imagined herself at her home with no one else around.  It started out rather simply, but with beautiful, stately chords.  The tune was from Handel’s Largo, from his opera Xerxes, recently set to the words from Psalm 34, and titled Hope in the Lord.  Her voice came out surprisingly clear for her nervousness.  Her whole being became absorbed with the lovely melody and words, and she hardly remembered she was in a room full of people.
   As the last chord faded away, Meg was half surprised to hear a burst of enthusiastic clapping from around the room.
   She stood and bowed, smiling graciously.
   “That was lovely,” Lydia exclaimed, giving Meg a quick hug.  Even Mrs. Tubman smiled at Meg.

Copyright © 2002 by Melissa M.
(I made this picture using Paint Shop Pro.
Go to my Art page to see some of the steps.)

   Meg had allowed herself to mingle in the crowd of complimenting people, nodding and smiling her thanks.  She was tired of standing and perspiration dotted her brow.
   As she walked by Amelia, the woman grabbed her arm and leaned in close next to Meg’s ear.  “I know you’re setting your claws into my brother, but it won’t work!  If you get close to him again, I’ll see to it your reputation is ruined in his eyes!”
   Meg drew back, clenching her jaw and staring into the dark, squinted eyes for a moment before she pulled her arm out of Amelia’s grip.
   She squeezed through the crowd and finally managed to slip out the door.  She took a deep breath.  The sky was almost fully dark, now, with just a tinge of grayish pink at the horizon.  She sat down on a log and gazed at the color and the stars and moon peeking out at her.
   “Hello.”
   Meg turned halfway.  “Hello, Mr. Bridger.”
   “Meg, you allow me to call you Meg. . . . Won’t you please call me Harrison?”
   “Well, of course.  Harrison.”
   “May I sit down?”
   Meg nodded.
   “You were amazing in there, Meg.  Just like I knew you’d be.  You always are.”
   Meg blushed and looked down at her hands, breathing slowly to still her rapid heartbeat.
   “I didn’t always notice you the way I do now,” Harrison mused.  “You know I used to like Jo.  But now, I couldn’t think of a woman I’d rather be with.”
   Meg blinked as she looked at him, finding her face closer to his than she thought.
   “Do you like me—at least a little bit?” Harrison asked.
   Meg smiled.  “You should know that by now.”
   “I guess I want to hear you say it.  Just to be sure.”  He twisted his hands together.  “I’m not a very handsome fellow.  And more stubborn and silly than most people, I gather.”
   Meg’s lips twitched.  “Perhaps.  But I do like you.  Very much.”
   “This may seem sudden, but . . .”
   Meg looked intently at his face, urging him on silently.
   “Would you mind if I courted you?”
   Meg broke into a big smile.  “It would make me the happiest woman on earth!”
   “And I would be the happiest man on earth,” Harrison murmured.  He reached up and brushed his hand against her cheek.  “Goodnight.”
   And with a quick motion, he was gone.
   Meg smiled out at the pale moon above and put her hand to her cheek.
   “Goodnight, my love,” she whispered.

The End

(Or is it? . . . )

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