It wasn't a very long walk to the village hall, where the dance was being held, but it was long enough for Marigold to recover her equilibrium and poise. She was still furious over Rosy's insult to Mickey, but she managed to push the matter to the back of her mind so as to be able to enjoy the rest of the evening. She did reflect with satisfaction on the look on Rosy's face as Sylvia slapped her. That was a priceless moment.
Sylvia and Mickey now were looking at the stars and discussing them softly. Dean Priest had instructed Sylvia in the ancient myths and legends surrounding those far-off, crystal points in the night sky, and she was now relating some of them to Mickey. For his part, while he didn't know much about the names or tales spun around them, each star was a personal friend to him, seen from the deck of a ship, comforting him and guiding him through the most difficult times of his life. Marigold walked quietly along, listening to them talk. Uncle Klon had taught her about the stars when she was a young child, but she didn't want to interrupt the cozy chat between the other two. She shivered suddenly, not from cold, but from the odd feeling of being outside of things. For one forlorn moment she wished Charlie had escorted her, as originally planned. Then she would be part of a conversation as well, though not on stars. No, Charlie was essentially modern and practical. His conversation revolved around himself, cars, himself, the latest fads and styles, himself, and how pretty Marigold was. She admitted to herself, hurrying down the icy road, that sometimes she grew tired of such shallow talk. There were times when she longed to talk about ideas, about real things, about things that really mattered. However, with a little sigh, she guessed that perhaps it wasn't expected for women to show interest in such matters.
Her sigh attracted the attention of Mickey. "Cold, Miss Marigold?" he asked, tucking her hand a little more securely in the crook of his arm. "We'll be there soon."
"Mickey, I wish you wouldn't call me 'miss,' " Marigold said impulsively. "It seems to separate us so. Can't you just call me Marigold?"
He shook his head. "Wouldn't rightly be respectful."
"Don't be silly!" Sylvia exclaimed. "Mari's right, all it does is create a chasm between us that ought not to be there. Please, Mickey, can't you just call us both by our first names?"
"As a Christmas present?" Marigold added. In the moonlight, both girls turned their most bewitching smiles on the helpless young man.
What could he do but capitulate? He laughed. "Alright, so be it. But if Miz Babcock gives me a tongue-lashing for this, be it on your head—Marigold."
She laughed triumphantly. "I'll take full responsibility."
As they approached the hall, she shivered in anticipation. The lights and music pouring out of the windows seemed full of promise and allure. Her first dance! What could be more delightful?
Charlie had possession of his father's car that night, so he and Rosy were already well-established when the rest got there. Rosy was surrounded by young men, laughing and flirting, a bit of heightened color the only evidence that she even saw them come in. Charlie turned his eyes immediately toward Marigold, and then just as quickly turned them back again, smiling and laughing with a very pretty girl. Sylvia and Marigold glanced at each other, and then, by mutual unspoken accord, decided to act as though nothing had gone amiss that evening at all.
Sylvia turned to Mickey. "Will you honor me with this dance, sir?" she asked gaily.
He looked uncomfortable. "I ain't much for dancing, Mi—er, Sylvia."
"That's fine, just follow my lead," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the dance floor. "Don't worry, Mari, you can have the next dance with him!" she called back over her shoulder.
Marigold smiled, doing her best not to feel awkward and alone, or hurt over Charlie's indifference toward her. Perhaps she had been too hasty in thinking he really cared about her. She looked around and saw Sophie and Christine standing near the refreshment table, and started to move toward them.
She hadn't gone very far, however, when Charlie suddenly appeared in front of her, his eyes cold, his expression hard, and something overall in his demeanor that troubled Marigold vaguely.
"How could you do that to me tonight?" he demanded without preamble. "How could you just up and leave me like that? Don't I mean anything to you?"
Marigold was distressed. She had hoped that he would understand. "Charlie, it wasn't that I didn't want to come with you—I did!" she tried to explain. "But I couldn't just leave Mickey there like that. He's been like a brother to me ever since I got here. It would have been selfish and mean just to ignore his need." Even as she was trying to explain, her cheeks flushed again with anger at the memory. How dare Rosy insult him so?
She looked so pretty, standing there in her golden gown, her eyes sparkling with anger, her face tinted with red, that Charlie softened toward her immediately. Still, he wanted to salve his ego, so he was careful not to let his expression change. "Here I thought it was a prime chance for us to show up somewhere in public as a couple—prove that you're my girl. You are my girl, aren't you, Marigold?"
"I—don't know," she answered confusedly, yet with a delightful thrill running through her at those magic words my girl. "I wasn't sure if you were that serious about me."
Charlie allowed his eyes to grow sentimental. "Serious about you? I'm crazy about you! You're the prettiest girl I know. Why else would I spend so much time with you?"
Marigold wished briefly that he had mentioned another reason for wanting to spend time with her besides just her looks, but she was given no time to reflect on that as he continued.
"The question is, though, Marigold, do you want to be my girl? If you've just been playing around, tell me now, so I can turn my attentions elsewhere, to someone who is interested."
""No—no!" she said emphatically. "I do want to be your girl, Charlie, really I do," with another thrill.
Charlie immediately gave her his most charming smile. "Then in that case, may I have this dance, Miss Lesley?"
She smiled up at him, relieved he was no longer angry with her, and elated that things were finally secure between them. "Certainly, kind sir," she answered lightly.
He took her in his arms and they floated off on the dance floor. Charlie was an exquisite dancer, and for the first few steps, Marigold thought that her first dance was going to be everything she'd ever dreamed.
Then, suddenly, Charlie swept her off into a dark corner. Marigold let out a startled squeak.
"Charlie! What are you doing?"
He didn't answer her in words, just bent his face toward her and, before she realized it, kissed her on the lips.
Marigold gasped and pushed him away instantly. "Charlie! How dare you?" she cried indignantly.
He laughed boldly. "You silly goose, what did you think it meant to be my girl?" He tried to put his arms around her again, but she stepped away, furious.
"I do not kiss," she said in a killing imitation of Grandmother's dignified manner. She didn't feel dignified, though. She felt soiled, unclean, as though a veil had suddenly been torn away from her innocent eyes, revealing an ugly pit before her very feet.
"Why do you think I wanted to go with you, if not to kiss you, little fool?" Charlie said, starting to get angry himself now.
"I suppose," said Marigold, her voice still icy, "That I thought perhaps you actually cared for me as a person, not just as a decorative plaything for your amusement!" With that, her composure broke, and she fled from the corner, tears streaming down her face.
She didn't see anybody or anything, just ran blindly out the door and stood on the porch, mindless of the cold night or freezing wind on her bare arms. She wrapped her arms around a post and sobbed bitterly. She had been such a little naive fool! How could she let herself be taken in by his surface charm and shallow compliments? She went hot all over with shame as she remembered his lips on hers.
"I can never show my face in public again," she sobbed. She desperately wished Sylvia or Mickey were there to comfort her, but the two of them had been dancing on the other side of the room and noticed nothing.
Then a gentle voice spoke from behind her. "Marigold?"
She turned her face to see Murray standing there, a concerned look on his face. She didn't want to see him, of all people! He was so withdrawn and reserved, and she always felt a little uncomfortable whenever she met his gaze. She hurriedly tried to wipe away her tears, but it was too late.
"You'll freeze out here like this," he said, taking off his coat and gently placing it around her shoulders. Then he looked directly into her eyes. "Are you all right?"
"F-fine," she replied, her teeth starting to chatter, partly from cold and partly from reaction.
"No you're not," Murray said quietly. "Charlie's a scoundrel. He ought to be thrashed."
Marigold blushed. So he had seen! Had everyone seen? Did they think she was the kind of girl who—who—well, one of those kinds of girls? For the first time since arriving in Blair Water, she desperately wished she could go home.
Murray appeared to notice her distress. "Don't worry," he said, touching her arm lightly. "I don't think anyone else saw. I—I happened to be watching, that's all. It's my fault, really. I know Charlie, you see. We've been friends since we were kids, although we've grown apart considerably since. I know how he treats girls, and I was watching to make sure he didn't try—well, try what he did. But by the time I saw, it was too late for me to get across to stop him. I'm sorry."
Marigold felt much calmer, strangely. Murray's voice, while not mellifluous and heart-stopping like Charlie's, was deep and soothing. And what a kind face he had! None of Charlie's bold handsomeness, but there was depth and character to it. "I just feel so foolish," she admitted.
Murray perched himself on the porch rail next to her. "Don't," he said. "Charlie has all of Aunt Ilse's charm without her strength. He and Rosy both have been petted and given their own way their whole life. It's no wonder they're both selfish and thoughtless—not that I'm trying to excuse them. They were both completely out of line tonight, Rosy with Mickey, and Charlie with you."
Marigold turned and leaned her arms on the rail, gazing out at the brilliant moon. "My first dance," she mused. "I thought it was going to be so rainbow-y and glorious. And now it's been tainted forever. I'll never be able to look back on this night without feeling ashamed and embarrassed."
"Try to look at it as a growing experience," suggested Murray with a faint, mischievous smile hovering around his lips. "Lesson One: Never trust men."
Marigold couldn't help but laugh, but she grew serious again shortly. "I think some men can be trusted," looking directly at him. "Thank you, Murray."
To her surprise, he blushed. "Do you think you can go back inside now?" he asked, hopping off the rail.
Marigold shivered. "I don't want to," she said. "I just want to go home, but Mickey's busy, and I can't leave by myself."
"Looks like you're going to have to face your fears," Murray said sympathetically. "I'll go with you, and I won't leave your side until and unless you tell me it's all right."
He was so compassionate and understanding that she felt ashamed of her cowardice. Remembering that she was a Lesley, she tilted her chin up a little. "Let's go." She handed him his coat back and walked back inside the crowded hall.
Despite her resolve, her heart was beating rapidly, and she could feel her cheeks heating. To her amazement, it was just as Murray had said. Nobody had seemed to notice the kiss or her rapid departure at all! She didn't get so much as one strange glance or sneer from anybody. Fearfully, she scanned the room for Charlie. He was back talking to the pretty girl, apparently determined to punish her, Marigold, for not properly appreciating his attentions.
Murray nudged her. "That's Betty Crowe, the daughter of Rhoda Stuart and Brian Crowe. Mother knew Rhoda when they were in school, and she says she was a pretty girl, but poisonous underneath. Charlie's chosen a bad target for his revenge."
"I don't care," Marigold said, but she did care, despite her brave act. It hurt horribly to see Charlie, for whom she had cherished some romantic feelings and had such a—what was that word she had heard for the first time recently? oh yes, had such a crush on, flirting casually with some other girl. Marigold felt as disillusioned as if all her dreams and ideals had come crashing down around her ears at once.
Murray, looking down at her trembling lips, scowled. He was not a man of violence, but at that moment he earnestly desired to take Charlie outside and give him a pounding. Feeling that it would only embarrass Marigold more, and cause a worse scene, he restrained himself, and instead directed Marigold over to where Sophie, Christine, and David were talking.
"Not dancing?" he asked them lightly.
His twin made a face. "The last boy I danced with tried to compare my eyes to 'twin ponds of blue," and my hair to 'straw spun to gold.' I decided I had had enough of dancing until someone with intelligence asked me."
Murray stifled a laugh. Sophia was essentially practical, with a keen mind and a brilliant intellect. Unfortunately, her classic beauty fooled many people into not taking her seriously or looking beyond her pretty face and lovely figure. He turned his attention to the Morgans. "What about you two?"
Christine shrugged. "I got bored with it all, and Dave's just being kind enough to stand with us so that nobody bothers us. What about you two? Where've you been?"
Murray felt Marigold stiffen beside him, but he answered lightly enough. "Oh, it was getting a bit too stuffy in here for us, so we slipped outside for a breath of fresh air. There really is a beautiful moon out there tonight."
"I'm not really up for much dancing tonight, either," added Marigold, her voice commendably steady.
"Why don't we leave, then?" David spoke up. He was a rather handsome young man, with dark hair and eyes and polished features. "I don't feel much like dancing myself, and although I know how Murray adores it," turning a twinkling gaze to his friend, "I'm sure he could be persuaded to go with us. I'm sure there are much more profitable ways to spend the evening than standing around watching our peers make fools of themselves."
"A very good idea, David," said Sophie. "If you boys would be so kind as to find Sylvia—oh, and Mickey for you, Marigold, we ladies will get our wraps and meet you outside."
Murray heard Marigold's relieved sigh and nodded at his sister. "Good idea."
