That was the kind of future that Cora envisioned for herself—not this big, extravagant house, but a simple existence filled with love.
But there was no use in entertaining that fantasy. Roy had made it clear how he felt about the prospect of a future with her when he shut the door on her that day. Everything that had transpired between them from the moment she arrived in Wheats Ridge through the night of the carnival had been a mere fantasy that could never transpire, and she was better off forgetting about it and focusing on the future. Even if that future involved Alfred Mills, who she still found repulsive. Perhaps her father was right, and she could find a way to be happy in a loveless marriage, maybe even growing fond of him over time, although she had a hard time imagining any semblance of fondness toward Alfred. There was no honesty, no warmth, in his eyes. There was only an iciness that made Cora feel cold inside.
They knocked on the door using the big, brass knocker, and were greeted by a member of the household staff wearing a black suit, white dress shirt, and a bowtie. Cora wondered why such a uniform could possibly be necessary when one’s job was merely to wait on this family hand and foot.
As they stepped inside the threshold of the Mills’ residence, she saw the home was even more elaborate than the outside, with high chandeliers and a long banquet table, already set for the evening meal. On each side of the room was a carpeted staircase that curved and led, Cora assumed, to the upstairs bedrooms. The kitchen was out of sight, hidden behind swinging doors, but every so often she caught a glimpse inside as servants bustled in and out, taking care of last-minute preparations for the night’s dinner.
Cora stood in the entrance hall, feeling small and out of place. She already knew she would never be comfortable enough to call a place like this home, and she felt a sinking of dread in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to turn and run out the colossal front doors, but before she could even entertain that thought, a high-pitched voice rang throughout the room.
“Welcome, welcome!” Violet bustled in wearing similar attire to the first day Cora met her, only this time a deep purple instead of blue. She kissed Cora on each side of her cheek and took her by the hand to lead her to the dining room table. “We are so glad you could join us at our home. Alfred is just so excited to get to spend another dinner getting to know his future bride!”
Cora winced at the word ‘bride,’ and she wondered whether it was noticeable. Part of her didn’t care if it was.
As if on cue, Alfred came down the staircase, wearing black slacks and a long, black suit jacket, buttoned up almost to the top, revealing white ruffles from his shirt under the jacket. He had on a black top hat, a style that Cora found obnoxious, and was balancing a cigar between his fingers.
“Ah, there he is.” Violet clasped her hands together as Alfred descended the landing of the stairs, extending his hand to Sheriff Williams and bowing his head slightly toward Cora. She thought she caught a glimpse of a smirk playing on his lips.
“Sheriff Williams, welcome to my home,” Alfred said, his voice oozing with a politeness that felt too thick to be genuine. Like trying to hide a foul-tasting dessert under a mound of syrup. “And Cora, my future wife, I’m so glad you are here as well.”
He pulled Cora’s hand toward his lips, and it took all the self-control she had not to physically recoil. As soon as he had turned his back, she wiped the slobber from the back of her palm onto the folds of her dress.
“Let’s sit down to eat, shall we?” Violet gathered everyone to the table, and the servants began serving the first course of the meal—salmon, covered in a sauce Cora didn’t recognize.
As usual, Violet lead the conversation, discussing all the plans for their wedding, which was set for merely four weeks from now.
“Now that seems far off,” Violet said, although Cora was thinking quite the opposite, “but it allows plenty of time for all of our out-of-town guests to arrive. We have family living in Paris, you know, and they are quite excited about the celebrations. I suppose your guest list is rather short, yes?”
Cora glanced over at her father, deferring this question to him, as she had not bothered to put any thought into the guest list—or any of the wedding planning for that matter, beyond what she was forced to do when they drug her from store to store.
“To be honest, Mrs. Mills, it’s really just Cora and me. Her mother passed away a long time ago, when she was just an infant, so it has always just been the two of us.” Her father reached over and squeezed her hand lovingly. “Although we do have some friends and neighbors from church who might want to attend.”
“Not Roy Burns, I expect,” Alfred said, looking back and forth between Sheriff Williams and Cora. Cora’s heart jumped at the sound of his name, and she focused on the salmon, which was actually quite tasty, despite the mystery sauce.
“Oh no, you don’t have to worry about that, Alfred. That matter has been resolved.”
“Good,” Violet said crisply. “We certainly don’t want any scoundrels disturbing the peace at our wedding.”
“He’snota scoundrel,” Cora mumbled into her food, and her father kicked her foot under the table to hush her.
Thankfully, neither Violet nor Alfred seemed to hear her, but unfortunately, the subject of Roy also didn’t drop.
“Now I’ve never met the boy personally, but I have certainly stood witness to the effects of his poor nature. Did you know that when Alfred was in grade school, he came home having been punched in the face by that boy?”
“I don’t think I recall that incident,” Sheriff Williams said objectively. Cora wondered what Alfred had done to deserve it, but she had the good sense to keep her mouth shut this time, lest she be kicked under the table again by her father harder this time.
“Oh, you wouldn’t have. We didn’t involve law enforcement, at Alfred’s request.”
“Well, it was hardly necessary, Mother. Roy Burns can hardly throw a punch. It barely left a mark.” Cora stared down at her plate so no one would see her smirking. Alfred was so obviously overcompensating to defend his wounded pride from years ago that it was hard not to laugh. “But nonetheless, it gave testament to his uncivilized ways. It’s no wonder he left for Wheats Ridge.”
“But you would punch someone if you had to, wouldn’t you, Alfred?” Cora asked, fluttering her lashes exaggeratedly and making her voice small and innocent. “Perhaps if someone was threatening me, and you needed to defend my honor?”
Sheriff Williams gave Cora a side eye, knowing that she was up to something, but he kept his mouth shut.
“I’d like to think that I would not have to ‘defend your honor’ in the first place. These walls are thick, and I only hire the best staff. I can’t imagine what you would need protection from in the first place.”
“Well, I assume I would leave this home at some point, would I not?” Cora pressed, raising her eyebrows.
“Oh, this depressing talk about potential threats is hardly dining room conversation!” Violet exclaimed, laughing in a high-pitched way that felt forced. And then she was back to rattling on about wedding plans. She spoke about alterations to the dress (“Cora just has such a willowy figure, but I’m sure the seamstress can get creative”), floral arrangements (“I don’t think we can go wrong with roses, and we can certainly afford the expense”), and other logistics that Cora took no interest in.
