Chapter 13
"That's it! I give up!"
In frustration, he jerks the piece of cloth away that he's been attempting to tie around his neck and turns from the mirror to glare at his friend.
"You know, Ike, I've always said I'd do anything for you if you needed it. And I would, but this is pushing it," he mutters glancing with disdain at what he's wearing.
Ike's only answer is the scowl stretched across his own face as he tries to finish dressing. With a look of absolute loathing, he pulls on the white kid gloves to complete his ensemble.
He hates gloves, always has - anything that interferes with the motion of his hands. Just yesterday he finally persuaded Mrs. Brarring and his grandmother to let him remove the restrictive bandages, and yet here he is, faced with a whole night of his hands swathed in cloth again with no other reason except that it's the fashion. With the air of a man being lead to the gallows, he stands and silently moves next to his friend to look in the full length mirror.
Both boys look remarkably unlike their former selves. When Mrs. Brarring said shopping, Ike was envisioning a new shirt and shoes at the worst, but the good woman obviously had other plans. Thanks to their little shopping spree, two of the finest dressed gentlemen stand where two pony express riders once did. Everything the boys are wearing is uncomfortably new and fancy. Highly polished leather shoes, silk stockings, wool trousers, fine cotton shirts decorated with fancy stitching, matching vests and coats of dark wool, silk cravats, and white kid gloves.
"This collar is choking me. I'm not even sure I managed to get half those stupid little buttons done up, and this neck thing is hopeless!" Buck mumbles in frustration.
Still looking at his reflection with a frown, Ike ignores his friend's outburst and asks a question. *You sure I can't wear my bandana with this?*
Buck simply answers with a fine imitation of one of Ike's famous 'hello! what do you think?' looks.
Ike turns away from the mirror in disgust. *Look at me! They might as well use me for a lighthouse, the way my head's glowing!*
Buck honestly tries not to let his eyes stray to Ike's hairless scalp or let the corners of his mouth turn up slightly, but he can't help it. Ike sees the smile forming on Buck's face and turns away looking hurt.
*It's not funny!* he gestures swiftly, then shoots a glare of pure hatred at his own hands. *And with these gloves on I might as well be waving white flags every time I sign! I hate gloves,* he finishes miserably, looking grumpy as a bear roused from hibernating two months too early.
"Come on, Ike, it ain't that bad," Buck tries to cheer him up, but Ike shoots him an incredulous look. "All right, so it is that bad," he concedes, sitting down next to his friend, "but at least we both look ridiculous together."
Ike scoffs slightly, but turns to look at his friend. Underneath the teasing, Buck appears even more miserable in the expensive clothes than he does and Ike remembers how supportive Buck's been the last few days. As if honoring some unspoken agreement, he hasn't even mentioned the topic of Ike staying, he's been getting along with Ike's grandmother, and even submitted without complaint to the torture of a day spent shopping. And even after it all, there he sits, staring at Ike with an 'I can be grumpier than you look' plastered across his features, almost daring Ike to laugh.
*I'm sorry, Buck. I'm sorry I got you dragged into this stupid party, and I'm sorry you're gonna be stuck talking for me all night,* Ike signs. What right does he have to sit there and wallow in self-pity like some pouting child, when he's the one that said yes to this lovely occasion in the first place? He hesitates for a moment, then a smile that he can't stop sneaks across his face. Looking rather sheepish, he signs, pointing to his head, *It is sorta funny.* Then, catching the humor of the situation, he adds, *At least we always have a good conversation starter!*
Recognizing the hidden apology, Buck grins. "Hey, it's alright, I don't mind talking for us both," he says nonchalantly, standing as he speaks. "That's what brothers are for, to help each other out of binds. Besides, I rather like your shine," he says, reaching down and rubbing Ike's head.
Ike slaps his hand away signing, *You're really annoying, you know that? Why I put up with you…* But the smile on his face betrays his true feelings. Laughing out loud, Buck turns back to the mirror.
"With that in mind, could you tie this stupid thing for me?" he hints, holding the cravat out to Ike who takes it, rolling his eyes. He quickly ties the cloth in place for his friend and then, with one last unhappy glance in the mirror, both boys start for the stairs.
"Besides," Buck adds with a wicked grin, "I'm gonna make you pay big time for this party thing."
00000
The murmur of voices, the tinkle of china, the swish of silk, and the glint of jewels and fine stones fills the large room, carried on the gentle strains of music escaping from the strings and fingers of the musicians. Elegant gentlemen and exquisite ladies prance and swirl around, mingling, talking, and laughing. In the corner, behind a particularly large houseplant, Ike leans against the wall, trying to use the sparse leaves to hide from the swirling, swishing, laughing crowd.
"Isaac? Ike, where are you?"
Ike hears Mrs. Brarring calling his name over the noise of the room and inwardly groans. Wishing he could just melt into the wall, he scoots farther into the shadows of the plant.
"Ike? I want to introduce you to Colonel Perry and his wife."
Longing for the whole night to be over, Ike reluctantly steps out into Mrs. Brarring's view. Instantly, she's at his side.
"Oh, there you are. Colonel Perry and Madeline are anxious to meet you," she says, then looking around adds, "And where is Mr. Cross?"
That's a good question, Ike thinks to himself, but he only shrugs in response. His friend seems to have disappeared into thin air. Not that he can really blame him. He'd pull a disappearing act of his own if he wasn't the guest of honor.
"Oh well, I'll have to introduce him later."
Taking Ike by the arm, she steers him toward yet another waiting couple, and he prepares for it to start all over again. He knows his grandmother and Lorraine mean the very best, throwing this celebration, but they don't realize how uncomfortable it is for him. Still, these people are his grandmother's friends and for her sake he will endure a few more fake "welcomes" and "nice-to-meet-yous."
"Colonel, Madeline," Mrs. Brarring starts with a smile as they come to a stop in front of the couple. "This is Isaac McSwain, Margaret's grandson. Ike, I'd like you to meet Colonel Perry and his lovely wife Madeline. The Colonel and Mrs. Perry are some of you grandmother's and my oldest friends."
Ike takes the hand offered reluctantly to him by the Colonel and shakes it firmly, trying to ignore the eyes that coldly scan him over, coming to rest on his bald head before returning to peer condescendingly at his face. Ike can almost see the man's nose wrinkling up at being close to someone so "uncivilized." Thinking of his grandmother, Ike plants a smile on his face and nods cordially at both the Colonel and his wife.
"It's a pleasure," Mrs. Perry simpers, clearly showing that it's not. Even though she's at least five inches shorter than Ike, she somehow manages to still look down her pointy nose at him, obviously placing him just before pathetic and right after septic in her list.
A million nasty comments that would have made the nuns at the mission cringe rush through Ike's head. Thinking wryly that it's a good thing he knows how to hold his tongue, Ike grants Mrs. Perry as benevolent a smile as any crocodile ever flashed.
The sound of several small explosions coming from the direction of the kitchen interrupts at that moment, followed by the sudden appearance of a small hand beckoning frantically from the doorway. With the composure only possessed by those used to dealing with several crises a day, Lorraine speaks again. "Well now, I'd better go check on Millie and Ellen in the kitchen, so I'll just leave you to get better acquainted with Ike." Then, as if going to chat with the Queen, she glides away, and Ike turns back to the vultures alone.
"Oh, Maddy!"
Ike looks up with the Colonel and his wife at the sound of the new voice to see another bejeweled lady approaching them. With a sigh, he recognizes her as Mrs. Smith, one of dozens of guests he's been introduced to during the last torturous hour.
"Hello, Caroline," Mrs. Perry says, smiling about as welcoming at the beaming new arrival as she did at Ike. Sensing a deluge of female conversation, the Colonel quickly excuses himself to join a group of men in a hot debate over politics, and for one moment, Ike forgives him his superior attitude as he longs to escape as well.
I wonder . . . he thinks to himself, weighing his chances. Picking a painting, he slaps on a look of utmost care and concern for the poor, lonely thing, and starts to slide past the satin skirts. One foot…two feet…three…
"Oh, Maddy, I see you've meet Margaret's sweet grandson."
Rats!
Mentally cringing at the adjective "sweet," Ike attempts to look thoroughly involved in the conversation.
"Yes, I've just had the pleasure of being introduced to him," Mrs. Perry says icily.
"We're so pleased Margaret has finally found you!" Mrs. Smith rushes on, either unaware of or ignoring the frosty looks Mrs. Perry is shooting her. Engulfing Ike's hand in her own ample one, she continues, "And to think you've come so far despite your condition! You poor dear!"
Longing to snatch his hand back, Ike tries to hide his grimace as he seriously wonders if he's going to be sick.
"Condition?" Mrs. Perry inquires.
"Oh, didn't you know?" Mrs. Smith acts surprised. "The poor child can't speak. Not a word. But we don't mind a bit, do we, Maddy?" she says quickly, flashing Ike a watery smile.
Mrs. Perry says nothing in return but her gaze suddenly makes Ike feel like he's stepped in something smelly. He's not sure which is worse, Mrs. Perry's outright revulsion or Mrs. Smith's overflowing pity. All night long he's been getting varying degrees of one or the other from the guests at this party, sometimes because he can't speak, sometimes because he's "uncultured," and sometimes for reasons he doesn't even know.
The two ladies continue their conversation around him, but Ike has had enough. Gently but firmly, he pulls his arm away from Mrs. Smith and signs that he's needed elsewhere, not caring that neither can understand a word. Deciding that Buck definitely had the right idea, he heads for the nearest exit, only to be met by Buck coming back through it.
*Where have you been?* Ike demands grumpily.
"Hiding," Buck answers honestly. Ike quirks his eyebrows up. "Well Millie wanted to hear stories about your life as a pirate," he continues with a wicked glint in his eye, "and so I followed her to the kitchen. Besides," he turns sober, "do you really think anyone here was sorry I left?"
*I think they'd like to get rid of us both,* Ike gestures, frowning at the annoying gloves still on his hands. *So, why'd you come back? I was just going to hide, too.*
"Mrs. Brarring found me and shooed me back. Said it was time to eat."
Sure, enough, just at that moment the room falls silent and all eyes turn to the long staircase at one end of the hall. There, bedecked in satin and jewels, Ike's grandmother is making her way slowly down the stairs. Not quite sweeping as she has to use her cane and is assisted by Thomas, she's still a sight to behold. Reaching the bottom, she makes her way to the head of the great table, motioning for Ike and Buck to join her. Once they are standing in place beside her, she turns to her guests.
"Thank you all for gracing our home tonight and honoring my grandson and me," she says graciously. "Please everyone be seated and join us in this wonderful meal."
The next hour of Ike's life is one he will always remember. He has no idea why so many dishes and utensils are required for one meal! As for the meal, it seems to go on and on and on. One dish after another appears in front of him, and each seems to have its own set of rules attached. Buck and he only get through the supper by carefully spying on their neighbors. Even so, Ike feels exhausted and stretched by the time it's done, like he's just taken a seventy mile run.
"I'll never understand why one fork and spoon ain't good enough for a meal," Buck grumbles quietly to Ike as the final course, a scrumptious looking piece of chocolate cake, is placed in front of him. Ike nods his agreement.
"Obviously these people have never had to help with the dishes."
Before Ike can comment on that statement, his grandmother rises slowly from her chair, briskly tapping her spoon against a crystal goblet for attention. The soft sound of chattering voices quickly dies.
"As I said before, thank you all for coming. I hope you've all had a chance by now to meet my grandson, Isaac Clark McSwain and his friend Buck Cross. Most of you are well aware of my long search for my daughter and her family. While I wish I could have found them all and brought them home safe and sound, I am still very grateful to have Isaac here now. My home is now his home as well and I intend to make him heir to all I have."
Polite applause follows Margaret's short speech, but Ike is too stunned to respond. Her heir? The way she speaks it's like she's sure he's already made up his mind to stay, which is far from true. He honestly doesn't know whether he is staying or not yet, but he can hardly correct her in front of everyone. Besides, Buck would have to interpret the whole thing and that would just get horribly messy.
Buck! Ike doesn't even dare glance at his friend now. He's sure Buck read the same implied message into the little speech that he did and now Buck must be thinking Ike has decided to stay and didn't even have the decency to tell him first! Taking a deep breath, he turns to Buck and touches his arm, wanting his attention to try and covertly explain, but Buck pulls stiffly away.
Well this is a fine mess you've landed yourself in, Ike McSwain, Ike berates himself with a sigh. Wishing intensely that Teaspoon were around to give his crusty advice, Ike braces himself to spend the rest of the evening stuck between a grandmother who's too stubborn to listen and a best friend who's too hurt to talk, all while surrounded by a crowd who couldn't care less anyway.
Author's Note:
I swear I posted this chapter before, but I guess not. I was editing this story today and realized I had one more chapter written on my computer than showed up on the site, so here it is. And for the 3 of you still reading this story, while I don't have any more to post yet, I am working on it.
Taking almost 20 years to finish a fic is pretty pathetic, huh.