PART NINE — SUNDAY
CHAPTER 21: "All our dreams can come true if we have the courage to pursue them" — Walt Disney
Breakfast carried on amidst animated conversation among the reassembled cast—plus one—from the previous day's meal, the four Butler youth having been once again delivered by the inestimable Solánge along with one of the young female staff of Butler Hall. Dottie had already made a fast trip home to retrieve her party clothes and was imparting instructions to Esther, their au pair for the day.
In the crowded kitchen, Solánge clapped her hands. "Attention please!"
"I have explicit instructions from Elayne. The ladies of the household are to have no contact with horses or housework this morning. They are to spend the next few hours preparing for Dora's party—and nothing else. I am to ensure this. Slugger, you will see to it that your two young men are scrubbed and presentably attired by noon. And yourself, of course.
"Terry, Frankie, Richard, Robert... you go now so Esther can clear the table. Dottie, Dora, Hazel... upstairs with you right now."
"Right!" Slugger chimed in, fixing a gimlet eye on his two charges. "Steve, into the bath with yer. Ron, we're investigatin' yer closet an' yer'd better have a suit an' tie in there like I told you. An' I know I told both you boys to get haircuts," he scolded. "Well... too late now."
He was diverted long enough to help Solánge bring in two large suitbags and a heavy carryall and get them upstairs before trotting to the other end of the long upstairs hall to Ron's room.
Dora went to the shower first while back in her room Dottie and Hazel examined the contents of Solánge's carryall as she emptied it on the bed... hair dryers, curling irons, jewelry cases and other mysterious accoutrements of feminine camouflage including a multi-compartmented makeup case which the others concluded must be Elayne's as Solánge did not appear to be wearing any makeup at all. She hung the two suitbags over the wardrobe doors and unzipped it, revealing the garments inside.
"As you both missed out on the shopping trip last week, Elayne took the liberty of selecting a few items for you to choose from... she hopes you will accept these as gifts."
Hazel's eyes grew round as she removed one lovely sundress after another from the bag Solánge had indicated was hers. There were six altogether and she couldn't imagine how she could make up her mind. Dottie's bag contained four outfits and she had no difficulty at all in deciding on a simple cotton caftan in muted hues of blue and green. The staid dove gray twinset she'd brought from home now seemed positively dowdy in comparison.
Hazel dithered between two dresses until Dora emerged from the lav wrapped in a bath towel with a turbaned head.
"What dya think, Dora?" Hazel held up both frocks. "The coral or the beige?"
"Coral... definitely coral with your tan!" Solánge agreed with her choice so coral it was. Hazel tried it on briefly before taking her turn in the bath, as did Dottie with her choice. Both were amazed at how perfectly Elayne had estimated their sizes.
Solánge leaped into action, insisting on rolling Dora's hair on oversize brush curlers and parking her under the hooded hairdryer even though Dora protested she wasn't the curly-haired type. Hazel was next, with the same complaint but allowing herself to be curlered as well. Lastly, Dottie... whose naturally curly hair needed no assistance. Solánge determined Dora was done and removed her to the makeup table, moving Hazel under the hood. While Dora began applying her face, Solánge took charge of Dottie's mop of curls.
Assembled in the family room by a quarter past eleven, Slugger considered with satisfaction that they made a distinguished trio of gentlemen in their dress finery, even though it had take a battle of wills between himself and Ron to get the redhead to forsake his beloved denims. In the end it had required dire threats from Steve to convince Ron he had to wear a necktie and assistance from Slugger in getting it tied properly. Slugger had examined both of them with the diligence of a governess in a nursery to ensure clean fingernails and spitshined shoes and found everything in order. Trying to avoid wrinkling their trousers and the backs of their blazers, they now perched on the edges of their chairs, waiting for the womenfolk to appear... as males have been genetically adapted to do ever since the first caveman asked the first cavewoman out on a date.
Solánge was the first one down the stairs. Slugger was disappointed to see that she was still dressed as she'd arrived that morning in jeans and blouse.
"You're not going to be at the party?" he asked.
"I'll change when we get back to the Hall... fifteen minutes, tops. Then I shall be yours to command, monsieur... that is, if Madame Dorothy is generous enough to share you." She gestured toward the staircase as Dottie made her appearance, graciously transformed into a stylish matron with a loosely bouffant hairstyle that drew attention away from her plump little body and made her seem taller. Her naturally flawless complexion had been enhanced in some not immediately noticeable way that emphasized the bright blueness of her eyes, as did the floaty caftan.
Slugger was spellbound. He did notice, however, that the wedding ring she customarily wore had been replaced with a star sapphire and that she had allowed Solánge to apply a quick coat of dusty pink nail enamel.
Hazel was next down in her A-line linen dress of vibrant coral that matched her nail polish and accentuated her all-over Mediterranean tan. A single strand of pearls glowed against the skin of her neck. Solánge had decreed she wear her hair loose and it rippled in gentle waves down her back.
Ron couldn't think of a single word—for once in his life, completely speechless.
Steve's throat constricted in wonder when the birthday girl herself made her descent. Solánge had done Dora's hair up with tendrils framing her face. Her simple sleeveless dress—a pale golden yellow cotton voile with a sweetheart neckline—was fitted at the waist, with a skirt that flared gently at the hips and brushed the tops of her knees. It was a woman's dress—not a young girl's gauzy, swishy, psychedelic minidress such as she had worn from time to time in the past. And Dora looked every inch the elegant woman in it. With it she wore a thin gold necklace and tiny gold studs in her ears. The topaz ring blazed with the brightness of the sun. The three men stared at her in fascination as she negotiated the staircase and favored them with a twirl. There was not a single thing to suggest this was a female who dealt with manure and worse every day of her life.
"You like?" she inquired demurely. The question was directed generally but meant for Steve, and she could see in his appreciative dark eyes that he did like, very much.
Slugger was grinning as proudly as if he had single-handedly been responsible for producing these magnificent birds of paradise from under a top hat. He bowed before each of them before taking Dottie's arm.
"Shall we, ladies?"
The party started off unremarkably as such fêtes usually do but soon gained momentum. Almost all of Dora's friends and acquaintances were in attendance with good wishes and presents, and many of Sir Hughes' associates and Elayne's cronies, not all of them known to Dora but equally celebratory. It seemed that anyone from the village and beyond who had ever come to know Dora over the past three years had been invited. Only a few tactless souls wondered out loud why the honoree's parents hadn't made an effort to attend their only child's coming-of-age party. Others were of the shocked opinion that they simply hadn't been invited. Caterers wove effortlessly throughout the throng and champagne flowed freely.
Steve's heart sank as he took in the crowd and at first could see only a throng of elite landed gentry. He didn't belong here. Only gradually did he begin to notice the ordinary people, his people, mingling among them—laborers, farmers, shopkeepers and their wives all in their Sunday best and all having an excellent time.
It had been Steve's intention to stick by Dora's side like a burr to a new saddle blanket but that proved to be impossible. He was constantly being jostled aside. Before the irritation could build into a thunderhead, however, he had a new problem with which to contend: he found himself inundated by middle-aged women from every walk of life, from housewives to titled matrons, intent on foisting off their unclaimed baggage in the form of unattractive, unhappy and unwilling daughters. Many of these were women who wouldn't otherwise have favored him with the time of day had they recognized him as that former jailbird Steve, that bad element their neighbor Colonel Maddocks had had the effrontery to bring into their community. Even when Steve gave his name, they still didn't make the connection.
No sooner than he extricated himself from one determined mother's grasp, another would appear... or a sadly hopeful spinster obviously some years his senior. Several extremely attractive young ladies who had arrived with other gentlemen contrived to pass phone numbers hastily scribbled on cocktail napkins. Two gaudily overdone divorcees made outright propositions which embarrassed him greatly.
He jumped into a self defensive posture when a throaty voice spoke up from behind. "There you are, darling! I've been looking all over for you." At first he didn't recognize the statuesque beauty resplendent in a silver brocade sheath, with her hair done up in a severe French twist and looking every inch the haute couture model. The pair of matchmaking cows currently competing for his attention took one look and retreated with alacrity under Solánge's glacial glares. The onslaughts abruptly ceased.
"I've come to rescue you before they eat you alive," She murmured in his ear, steering him toward the perimeter of the parade grounds. "You'll be safe with me." They walked slowly and Steve was finally able to look around for the other members of his party. Slugger and Dottie blended in seamlessly with a gaggle of nattily dressed older couples hovering around the open bar.
Solánge pointed toward another corner where the voracious hunter-mothers had regrouped and aligned their virtual spears on a stricken Ron, who could hardly be mistaken for anyone else. His flaming red hair seemed to be standing on end. Ron's reputation wasn't much better than Steve's... but he'd never been imprisoned and his father had buckets of money, which was good enough for them.
"Dora and Hazel are having entirely too much fun dashing the hopes of the adoring multitudes." Solánge gestured to the far side of the lawn where the two young women were holding court at the center of a circle of admirers. "You may have to wait a while to make your announcement."
A revelation came to Steve as he strolled the grounds with this gorgeous woman whose only adornment was a plain gold wedding band. Men both envied and respected other men who had beautiful wives. Both single men and men with women attached to them approached Steve and Solánge freely and introduced themselves. And as with the mothers, none of them identified him as the same Steve Ross who had been living in their community for years. Steve began to understand how appearance and comportment counted, and how if you looked and acted like a person of substance, people would assume you were and treat you accordingly.
Insights flowed thick and fast after that and Steve wondered where his head had been the last three years. There had never been any question in his mind as to his position on the social scale; he belonged solidly in the disadvantaged working classes—the "us"—whereas Dora was one of "them"... the overprivileged upper class. He now saw clearly that Dora had recused herself from that world long ago, didn't seem to miss it or plan on rejoining it at some future time. She had recognized early on the emergence of a "middle class" and tried to explain to him on numerous occasions that this was a place in which anyone could thrive, where your value in society was based on what you made of yourself, not the circumstance of your birth... a totally alien concept to a miner's son who, had his father lived, would probably have been expected to follow in his footsteps.
Dora hadn't planned on becoming an heiress any more than he had envisioning marrying one and it had been incredibly stupid to continue punishing her due to an accident of birth and a twist of fate. It suddenly occurred to Steve that the very business they planned to build together—training horses for those who could afford to keep them for sport, recreation or entertainment—necessitated business and social involvement with the very class of people he'd been raised to despise... the affluent ones. He was going to have to undertake some major revisions of attitude to deal with this new direction in his life. And Bernard was right... higher education was going to be essential.
As the afternoon waned the crowd began thinning. The so-called "commoners"—the working people—had homes and farms they had to get back to, children to tend, livestock to feed or milk, shops to close up. The disappointed hunter-mothers dejectedly began gathering up their redundant progeny and departing. Party-minded singles realized they still had time to descend on other parties in the district or make the rounds of their favorite watering holes before closing time. There was still a fair number of "quality" folks milling around and Steve was able to study them more closely than he ever had before.
Solánge had said very little as they walked, sensing that Steve seemed to be working through some issues, but now she slowed and directed his attention to the white rail fencing separating the house grounds from the nearest pasture. A cluster of curious horses had lined up along the partition, intrigued by the number of humans ambling aimlessly on the other side. Among them was the familiar stubby figure of Squirrel, looking straight at Solánge with an almost humanly pleading expression of exasperation.
"Look who's come to visit," Solánge commented needlessly. She glided over to the fence with Steve in tow and put her hand out to stroke the ugly horse's muzzle.
"We'll be home soon, cher," she murmured and Steve puzzled over the meaning. She then perambulated in the general direction of a sizeable clump of guests gathered at a single round table while other smaller groups were scattered here and there across the lawn.
Sir Hughes Butler—nicknamed "Baby Huey" by Elayne after an iconic American comic book character—was regaling Slugger, Dottie and another elderly gentleman with anecdotes concerning a recent salmon fishing adventure. Two older couples, friends of the host and hostess, chatted companionably with several other pairs of younger people including Ron and Hazel... locals who, though not close friends of Steve and Dora, were known to them. They came to a halt alongside Elayne and Dora.
"I 'spect it's about time you two kids do your thing so some of these old folks can get on for home," Elayne drawled and let out with an eardrum-shattering whistle. Conversation hushed immediately and all eyes were on Steve and Dora as they approached the big table hand in hand. The outlying groups gathered in as well.
"Listen up, y'all," Elayne commanded. "Steve Ross and Dora Maddocks have an important announcement to make... take it away, Steve."
Steve experienced a moment of panic when the words wouldn't come to him although he'd rehearsed them often enough throughout the morning.
"I've... er... I've asked Dora to marry me... and I'm very happy to say, she's consented to do so." Cheers and politely restrained clapping broke out and various people rushed over to shake hands and offer congratulations. Another round of champagne was produced by the solicitous waitstaff and toasts made to the newly affianced couple. Inquiries were made as to the wedding date, which was as yet undecided.
The party ebbed fairly quickly after that and the remaining guests, other than the Follyfooters, took their leave. Praise and thankyous and the usual compliments were handed all around. Dora's birthday presents were loaded into the new LandRover Solánge had been driving and the keys handed over to Steve by Elayne. "Me and Huey's engagement present to y'all. I'll have the papers sent over tomorrow."
Ron, Hazel and Dottie had already piled into the Cortina and Dora was still talking to Elayne. Slugger approached Steve out of Dora's hearing and drew him aside.
"The Dairymen's Association Annual Dance is tonight and Ron and me are takin' our ladies. We'll be out late... very, very late... if you get my drift." He winked broadly and paused to make sure Steve was getting it. "You and Dora are welcome to come along if you like, but..." He left the idea hanging. It was already too dark to make out if the younger man was blushing but Slugger thought he might be.
"Thanks, Slugs... I'll ask her what she wants to do but I think she's tired now and so am I."
The fifteen minute drive home was unexpectedly awkward and quiet. Another of Elayne's young men followed along in the van that would collect the twins, the other two young men and Esther the au pair from their day's assignment and whisk them back to Butler Hall. When they reached the farm, Steve did a quick walkaround with the twins and found all in good order. He did note that some of the older horses and ponies which had acquired the normal gauntness and rough coats and rheumy eyes of old age seemed unusually healthier and somehow sleeker, but this he attributed to his own fatigue and inadequate lighting in the older stables. In the meantime, Elayne's young men quickly removed the many presents from the new LandRover and temporarily deposited them in the family room. Then the six Butler Hall people politely said goodnight and left.
Steve and Dora stood together in the drive, holding hands and curiously shy with each other as the moon rose beyond the hills.
"So... what now?" he finally asked.
Dora pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well... I suppose... we should talk? Make plans?"
"Plans... er... yes, of course," Steve fumbled and promptly tossed the ball back into her court. Planning weddings was strictly women's business as far as he knew. "What would you like, Dora?"
"We could just go to the registrar's office but that's so impersonal... I'd like for us to be married in a church or at least a chapel... something nondenominational. A very small wedding... just close friends and family. You'll have to choose who you want for your best man."
"That's easy... I want Slugger."
"Oh no... you can't have him... I need him to give me away!"
"But... what about your own father?"
Dora fixed him with a cool gaze. "You know I no longer have a relationship with my parents. If Uncle were still alive I'd have asked him before I'd ask Daddy. In fact, I have no intention of inviting my parents."
Steve wanted to argue that this was a most uncharitable view until he stopped to picture his own mother and concluded he didn't care one way or the other whether she was or wasn't invited.
"But you know..." she continued thoughtfully, "Why couldn't Slugger be both and Ron be a groomsman? After all, I'd like to have Dottie as matron of honor and Hazel as maid of honor and I don't think that's usually done, either."
"If everyone's in the bridal party, that would leave no one in the audience," Steve observed drolly.
"Or we could just get married in the stableyard and the horses could be our witnesses," Dora retorted.
Realizing the conversation was verging on the inane, they both laughed.
"Seriously..." Dora said, "Right now I'd love a long hot bubble bath... then I could make us some tea or coffee if you like... and we could take it into the family room while we talk...?"
"Sounds like a good way to spend the evening. Why don't you go ahead upstairs? I'll make the coffee and start the fire. On second thought, maybe I'll have a bath myself and then make the coffee."
They both went indoors and upstairs, exchanging a kiss at the landing before heading to their respective bedrooms to get their bath things.
As Dora shimmied out of her party dress and went to hang it in the wardrobe, her eye fell on Elayne's special present to her, one that had been handed over secretively with instructions to open it only in the privacy of her bedroom. It now flaunted itself provocatively from its padded hanger: an original Kenzo Takada peignor set in silky peach-colored satin—elegantly simple, devoid of ribbons, lace or other embellishments. Dora had never owned much less worn or ever considered wearing a garment with such a lasciviously implicit purpose. First time for everything, she challenged herself gamely, extracting from a dresser drawer a packet of Calgon bath oil beads she had purchased on a whim and never used. She considered presentation and removed every bit of makeup. Best he get used to seeing her without.
With no one else besides Steve on the premises, Dora left the bathroom door cracked open. She washed her hair first. Though flattering, the tendrily hairstyle just wasn't her and she didn't like the shellac-like feeling of hairspray. Luxuriating in drifts of scented foam, she recalled Elayne's pithy and succinct opinions regarding management of the male of the species.
Dora had always assumed Steve possessed some practical experience in romance—it certainly wasn't a subject they had ever discussed, so it was somewhat startling when the thought came to her... what if he doesn't? What if he's just as innocent as I am? After all, she'd never personally observed him kissing someone else and wasn't positive he'd ever got up to anything with Tina or Wendy or anyone else, even though she suspected as much. So... what if? What a fearful muddle that would be! She tried to visualize the two of them in her double bed with not a clue between them as to where to start or what to do and found herself laughing out loud. She told herself to stop worrying about it and trust in what Bernard and Elayne had both assured her... that nature would take care of itself at the right time.
"Dora?" Steve's voice outside the door brought her out of her reverie. "Is everything all right? I heard you laughing..."
"Yes. I'll be out in a little while. Haven't you had your bath yet?"
"In a few minutes. Are you hungry? Would you like me to fix something for us?"
"Not really, no. Are you?"
"Me neither."
"Steve?"
"Yes?"
"Why are you shouting from the hallway?"
"Um... well... you're in the bath..."
"For heaven's sake come around where I can see you."
His head poked around the doorframe cautiously, with his eyes squinched shut.
"I'm covered in bubbles. You can't see anything." One eye eased open to ascertain she wasn't telling a story; then the other eye.
"Can I... er... can I get you anything?"
"A glass of wine would be nice."
"In the bath?" His voice was incredulous.
"Well why not? And you could do with one yourself. Oh... and bring the bottle!" she added, feeling quite daring. She recalled a time when she was a very small child and being taken upstairs to the nursery by Nanny. Her father had been approaching the door to the bath, carrying a bottle and two goblets. In the brief moment in passing Dora had glimpsed through the open door her father handing a glass to her mother in the bathtub, the bubbles cascading off her mother's arm as she reached up. Evidently this was something married people did so she felt a little practice was in order now.
But Steve was as scandalized as Nanny had been, refusing to sit on the commode lid and keep her company. Instead, he drained his wine at one go and excused himself. Presently she heard the sound of water running and knew that Steve was in the shower. She stepped from the tub and pulled the plug, quickly towel-drying her hair and wrapping herself in her voluminous terrycloth bathrobe. Darting into her room, she checked the alarm clock on the nightstand—it usually took Steve about five minutes to shower, so that was how long she had to prepare... time enough to blowdry her hair and apply subtly scented bath powder but barely anything else.
By the time the peach negligee fluttered over her head and into place, she was as ready as she'd ever be. She left on only a small bedside lamp and threw a chiffon scarf over it for ambiance. She turned the light off in the hall, leaving the door open, and positioned herself by the opened window where a slight breeze ruffled the curtains and moonlight pooled on the floor.
Finally Steve appeared, hovering in the doorway and looking comically endearing in his pajamas and dressing gown. "Are you ready to come down now? Should I start the coffee and the fire?"
He'd forgotten to comb his damp hair and it fell into his face and stuck out in tufts just like a small boy's. His face, too, put her in mind of a child's... hesitant and hopeful. Dora moved slowly toward him, mindful of the effect the muted lamplight and moonlight would have on the diaphanous material of her gown. Taking his hands in hers, she backed gracefully into the bedroom with Steve in tow.
"Actually, Steve... I'm not planning on going downstairs at all..."
Steve had the most mobile visage she had ever encountered and over the past three years Dora had learned to read it like a primer. She could interpret his emotions almost as quickly as he experienced them and what she saw there now was anxiety and a trace of panic, immediately followed by indecision and then enlightenment and joy. And that's when Dora knew she'd won his heart for good.
He took a halting step toward her. "Dora... are you sure about this?"
She nodded. "More sure than I've ever been in my life. Trust me."
FIELD JOURNAL — SUNDAY, 8 SEPTEMBER 1974 —6:00PM
Immediate location: In transit... and happy to be going home more or less intact! I'll say this for alternative transportation: sure beats hours on a plane or days on a cruise ship, even though I've spent ten of the fifteen minutes of time travel involved here in the bathroom throwing up. Figured as long as I was in here I might as well make one final entry in this journal.
I don't know what might have happened last night after I left or might be happening tonight, but I sure hope they've finally found the happiness they've both been searching for. I'm almost sorry I couldn't stick around for the finale.