One
It was a splendid day for a wedding—splendid, that is, if one took no heed of the dark clouds gathering on the horizon and the ominous rumble of thunder sounding low in the gentle rise of green hills forming the Hudson River Valley. But for most, the warning was lost in other noises emanating from Westvale’s fairgrounds—the shrill clamor of the calliope, the circus barker’s cries, the laughter and squeals of children, the strange hiss of the hot air balloon being filled with gas.
For hours, the yards of silk fabric had lain spread out on the grass. Earlier, it had been a pool of blue, but now the silk billowed, taking on shape, a giant monolith straining against the ropes holding it earthbound. The crowd, which had gathered before noon, eager for the spectacle, could now identify the form of the painting on the balloon’s gores. It was a demure young woman holding the flags of both the United States and Ireland in her outstretched hands.
The crowd’s excitement mounted and the people pressed closer. Several daring boys ran forward to touch the wicker basket being attached to the netting of ropes that surrounded the hissing monster. Mr. Dutton, the circus owner, grabbed up a bullhorn to warn the people to keep back.
“La-a-adies and gentlemen, your patience please! Very soon you will be witnessing the romantic event of the decade, the airborne wedding of Miss Glory Fatima, our equestrienne star, to the Fantastic Erno, the world’s greatest lion tamer.”
Mr. Dutton’s voice boomed out over the fairgrounds, reaching the distant canvas of a small tent where Aurora Kavanaugh was changing her clothes. Rory’s silvery-blue eyes gleamed with amusement at the circus man’s exaggerated patter. She discarded her white shirtwaist, the last of her sensible garb, and folded it neatly beside a straight navy skirt and jacket.
Standing only in her drawers and camisole, she stared at the frothy confection of peach silk she was about to don. Rory’s amusement faded. Her features were delicate for such a determined young woman; only the firm line of her chin revealed her strength. The pert tilt of her nose and a dusting of freckles gave a pixyish appearance to a face that had no art of concealment. At the moment, disgust could have been read plainly as Rory snatched up the silk gown.
Although she grimaced, she eased the folds over her head, careful not to disturb her coiffure. It had taken too much time and too many curses to arrange her thick chestnut hair in the elegant pompadour to have it all come tumbling down now. Enveloped in a cloud of silk, Rory once more caught Dutton’s blaring voice.
“Soon, very soon, ladies and gentlemen, Miss Fatima and the Fantastic Erno will exchange their vows suspended one mile above your heads.”
“Five hundred feet,” Rory muttered, struggling into the gown’s sleeves. “I said I wasn’t taking them up any higher than five hundred feet.”
“All under the auspices of that daring young lady, Miss Aurora Rose Cavenish.”
“Kavanaugh,” Rory corrected through clenched teeth as she fought with the flounce and nearly lost.
“...the daughter of the late, great balloonist, Mr. Seamus Cavenish.”
“Aeronaut,” Rory said. “My father was an aeronaut.” Although she spoke only to the small mirror on the dressing table, her voice was filled with a quiet pride and the familiar ache of loss.
It had been over a year since her father’s death, but her grief still struck her at odd moments. To avoid the sting of tears, Rory concentrated on her loathing for the gown instead.
She couldn’t imagine what had induced her to rig herself out in such a damn fool fashion. She rarely agreed with Dutton’s idiot notions.
“Please, Miss Aurora,” the circus owner had pleaded, “I know you are only going up to operate the balloon, but it would add so much more to the spirit of the thing if you were attired like a bridesmaid.”
Rory would have told him to go to the deuce, but her friend Gia had stopped her. Gia had been entranced with the idea of making Rory a new gown. Rory had no delusions about her friend’s motives. What Gia, with her own happy marriage and two toddling babies, really desired was to outfit Rory with a wedding gown. But since there was no prospect of that, Gia had settled for second best: the bridesmaid costume. Using her considerable needlework talent, Gia had copied this thing from a fashion plate in Harper’s Bazaar. Now that she had the gown on, Rory could see that Gia had wrought a miracle. It was too bad it would be wasted upon her. She didn’t have the curves or the graceful carriage to do justice to such a dress.
The puffed sleeves were going to be a great nuisance, Rory thought. She felt as if she were wearing a pair of miniature balloons, one rising off each shoulder, and no matter how hardshe struggled, she would never be able to fasten the dress hooks herself. The waist was narrow even for her boyishly slim figure. She should be wearing a corset, but Rory drew the line at lacing herself into one of those female torture devices.
While she pondered what to do about the hooks, the tent flap was edged aside. A tall young man dressed in blue denim stood silhouetted in the opening. Rory whipped around, flustered, until she saw that it was only Anthony Bertelli. Since her father’s death, Tony had become the foreman of the Transcontinental Balloon Company. Her company now.
“Rory?” Tony called uncertainly.
“It’s all right. I’m decent,” she said.
Tony ducked through the opening, the tent flap brushing the top of his tightly-curling jet black hair. His handsome features were clouded with a worried frown.
“Rory, the wind’s getting pretty stiff. I don’t think you’re going to be able to go through with this thing.”
Tony always thought the wind was too stiff. If he had his way, the balloon would only go up in conditions of dead calm. Accustomed to his gloomy cautions, Rory ignored the warning.
“Come on over here.” She beckoned to him with a jerk of her head. “I need your help. I can’t get this damn thing fastened.”
As Tony started forward, she turned her back to him. She sensed him pause within a few inches of her and wondered why he hesitated.
“Come on. Hurry up,” she said impatiently.
After another long moment, she felt him fumble with the fastenings at her waist. Rory sucked in her breath. She did not feel in the least self-conscious making such a request of Tony. She had known him from the cradle. He was Gia’s big brother, and as such, Rory had adopted him as her own.
Tony secured the gown’s waistline. Rory didn’t notice anything was wrong until his hands moved farther up her back.By the time he reached the fastenings at her neckline, she could hear his breath quicken.
