Page 20 of The Formation of Us
“He surely was, but he married his neighbor’s spinster daughter anyhow, and added Aster to his garden.”
Duke saw the soldier-like woman with white hair lift her snowy eyebrows as if this was news to her, but she didn’t comment.
“For some reason Aster’s mother took Aster and went back to her father’s house, leaving Papa alone with Rose. Papa saw no reason to stop planting flowers, so he moved to Georgia and promptly added a wealthy southern belle to his arrangement.”
“Oh, Dahlia! Honestly,” Faith exclaimed, her face flushing crimson. “This is more than these poor ladies need to know.”
But it was nowhere near enough for Duke—or for his mother, if her now-keen gaze was any indication of her interest.
“Well, it’s the truth.” Dahlia stood and wiped her hands on her apron. “Papa was married to three women at the same time. But the problem was diminished when Tansy’s mother died during childbirth.”
The blond woman gasped, her hands flitting to her throat, reminding Duke that Tansy was the butterfly of their group. Aster was the white-haired soldier, Iris the saucy Oriental, and Dahlia was the one with the cantaloupes on her chest. Crude, but it was the only way he could keep these women straight.
Dahlia planted her hands on her ample hips. “You didn’t know Papa was a bigamist?”
Tansy squinted. “A what?”
“A three-timing rat,” Aster said with an odd gleam in her eyes. “But the story gets worse. You see, Dahlia’s mother was the robust Italian kitchen maid who worked for Tansy’s mother.”
Even Duke felt his eyebrows lift with this revelation, but Dahlia just laughed and straightened her apron. “Aster is teasing you ladies. My mama was Italian, but I would call her voluptuous rather than robust. Papa met her in New York City . . . at the theater. When Tansy’s mother died, Papa was much improved in the pocket, so he packed up Rose and Tansy, and moved to the city. While he was establishing himself as a businessman, Aster was delivered to his doorstep with a letter saying her mother had been killed in a carriage accident.”
Aster cast a mean squint at Dahlia. “This, of course, left him free to marry your mother.”
“Not quite. He was still married to his first wife, Violet. But Papa met Mama that very evening.” Dahlia’s eyes softened and her voice lowered. “She was at the theater with her father, and she got so excited during the performance, she dropped her fan over the balcony. It hit Papa on the head.”
Iris’s hoot of laughter snapped everyone’s attention to her. She clapped her hands over her mouth, but another squawk of laughter slipped from her throat as she stepped away from Duke’s mother. “I . . . I remember Papa telling that story,” she said, pushing her shiny black hair out of her eyes.
“Well, that was the only thing humorous about him meeting that woman,” Tansy said. “She was a viper after she married Papa.”
“Truly wicked,” Aster agreed, her voice filled with sympathy that was contradicted by the gloating look in her eyes. “Dahlia’s mother left Papa with another child and an empty pocket, then got her wealthy father to buy her a divorce.”
“Who’s telling this story?” Dahlia asked irritably.
For some reason these women were taunting each other, and Duke’s attention sharpened as he searched their faces and words for clues.
“Dahlia!” Faith caught the woman’s elbow. “We’ve only just met these ladies, and this story is . . . inappropriate.”
Dahlia drew in her breath, lifting a good-sized bosom in the process. “There’s not much left to tell anyhow. Papa already had three girls he couldn’t take care of, so he hired a soft-spoken Oriental woman as a nursemaid and promptly forgot his vow to stop planting flowers. His new Japanese wife added Iris to the garden, then died with Papa shortly thereafter in an explosion aboard a steamer.”
“Good heavens! Can this be true?” Claire asked, her shoe dangling forgotten from her fingers.
Duke nearly laughed aloud. Of course it wasn’t true. These women were actresses of the finest caliber. And he wanted to know what they were covering up with their acting skills.
Everyone looked at Faith, but her jaw was clenched and her stony gaze was fixed on Dahlia.
“Not entirely,” Dahlia said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I can’t remember every detail, so I decorated the cake a little bit. It would have been a lifeless and sad story otherwise.”
“It’s tragic.” Evelyn pressed her hand to her heart.
Duke grimaced. Leave it to the ever-compassionate Evelyn not to see past a mountain of blarney, and that’s surely what this all was.
Her concern must have nudged Dahlia’s conscience, because the woman heaved a sigh and shook her head. “I was teasing my sisters a bit just now, because the truth is we spent our childhood away from each other. Rose set up a house in Syra . . . Saratoga, and one by one we found her and transplanted ourselves to her garden.” She flipped her palms up and grinned like a pleased child. “But wasn’t the first version more exciting?”
Duke was just working up a line of questions when his mother burst into laughter and clapped her hands like an enthusiastic fan at a rousing performance. “I’m taking you women home with me.”
Iris joined in the applause. “Well done, Dahlia.”
Dahlia curtsied to Evelyn, Claire, and his mother, then boldly winked at Duke over her shoulder. “Welcome to the Evergreen House, where we treat our female guests to a healing massage with our special herbs and balms while entertaining them with fabulous stories.” She stepped back and hooked her arm around Faith’s shoulders. “My niece here is so worried that the ladies in town won’t buy our herbs and special treatments, she can barely sleep at night.”
