We followed Martha past rows of tables till we reached one set up on a short wooden platform. Garlands of white roses had been tied around the edge, and several bouquets sat on top, nestled amongst the pewter place settings. Henry and I took our seats in between Martha and her husband Amett. Anne and Gideon Boyle, the Goodwins, and the Oswalds’ two eldest children, Karl and Katrina, filled in the remaining seats. The other guests waited for us to be seated, then filled in the remaining tables.
Maids and farmhands especially hired for the occasion began to carry out the food. I watched in delight as large platters of roasted pheasants, pigs and venison were set down, followed by boiled potatoes, squash puddings and large baskets of Indian corn bread. My mouth watered in anticipation, though not a morsel could be touched until Gideon blessed the meal. He stood with great dignity, and for five full minutes waxed eloquently on the bounty of the feast and the joyous occasion that had brought us all together. While he prayed, Henry took my hand beneath the table, his grip noticeably tightening when I tried to pull away. My skin tingled delightfully from his touch, and I promptly conjured up images of gangrene and nasty abscesses to keep proper control of my senses. A resounding Amen was quickly followed by happy voices and the clatter of utensils.
While everyone talked and served their plates, Henry leaned over to whisper in my ear. “People may begin to suspect the harmony of our union if you keep pulling away from me.”
I tried to keep a pleasant tone, but I was growing increasingly frustrated by his complete lack of understanding. “Well, if you would stop grabbing me, then I wouldn’t have any reason to pull away,” I whispered back.
He stiffened and dropped my hand. “Please accept my apologies.” He promptly turned his attention to Amett, who sat directly to his left.
In a matter of seconds, my appetite had disappeared. Why couldn’t you just keep your stupid mouth shut for once! It wasn’t Henry’s fault that I couldn’t contain myself, that his touch drove me crazy. He had only meant to be kind, and earned a stern rebuff for his efforts. I wanted to apologize, but he continued to studiously ignore me.
To my right, Martha spoke to Anne, and Nora was too far away for any polite conversation. I occupied myself with pushing bits of pheasant around my plate, and looking out at the other guests. Everyone was eating and laughing, caught up in the gaiety. Everyone except for Phoebe, who sat at a nearby table, watching me with a knowing smile. I smiled back the best I could, then tried to return my attention to the pheasant.
The sun was long set when the meal finally came to a close. Henry had continued to ignore me, even when cups of wine and spiced cider were raised in our honor. Desperate to make amends, I nearly reached under the table at one point to take his hand in a sort of nonverbal apology. My fingers twitched with indecision, but in the end I held back for fear of crying if he rejected me.
The sound of musicians came from the house, signaling that the dancing would soon begin. Amett stood up and hit a knife against a pewter mug to get everyone’s attention. “The fiddlers are calling,” he said jovially. “Gentleman, please escort your ladies inside. Henry and Selah will open the festivities with a minuet followed by a country dance of their bidding. After that, Henry has promised to dance with our single ladies, and I’m sure Selah will have her own list of contenders.”
A small cheer rose up from the guests. Henry stood and politely pulled out my chair, but offered nothing else, not even his arm as we walked toward the house. My heart ached from the return of the cold formality that had marked the first days of our acquaintance.
The minuet was a daunting dance, usually performed by one couple at a time for the benefit of the other guests. With all eyes focused on Henry and me, any missteps or awkward moves were sure to be noticed and spoken of throughout the evening. I tried to care, but when the music started, I moved like a sleepwalker, barely aware of my own limbs. Our eyes met where appropriate, though we might have been complete strangers from the indifference in his gaze. No sign of tenderness remained, not even a shadow of his previous sentiments. A chill gripped my heart, dug into the vulnerable tissue until I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. Glancing toward the audience, I found Phoebe watching him like a hawk. Her lips curled as she assessed the situation and prepared to swoop in at the first opportunity.
The minuet mercifully ended, and Henry called out Betty Fair, the popular country dance, which brought a flood of happy couples to the floor. Having secured Karl Oswald for a partner, Phoebe took her place right next to me. The music started, and we went through the steps, Henry practically a ghost at my side.