“Pattie will straighten him out.” Margaret exuded a confidence that Brad could not quite bring himself to feel.
“Maybe. But first, speaking of Pattie, I'd like to straighten you out about something.”
“I beg your pardon.” His mother looked shocked at his tone, and he did nothing to soften it as he continued.
“You should beg my pardon, Mother. Or rather, Serena's. And I want to make something clear to you once and for all. Serena is my wife, whether you like that fact or not. Apparently you asked her not to come to Greg's wedding. That you would dare do such a thing astounds me and hurts me. If you'd like us both not to come, that would be fine, but if you'd like me to be there, then you'd best know that I'm bringing Serena.” There were tears in his eyes now as he went on. They were tears of anger and fury and disappointment. “I love her with all my heart, Mother. She's a wonderful girl, and in a few months we'll have a baby. I can't make you accept her. But I won't let you hurt her. Don't ever do anything like this again.”
With a hesitant step his mother walked toward him. “I'm sorry, Brad. I—I misunderstood … I'm afraid this has all been very hard for me too. I just never expected you to marry someone … different. I thought you'd marry someone here, someone we knew.”
“But I didn't. And it's not fair to punish Serena for it.”
“Tell me.” His mother looked at him with interest. “Did she tell you this herself?”
“No, you see, Serena loves me too much to put herself between you and me. She confided in Teddy, and he told me.”
“I see. Did she say anything else?”
He looked at his mother strangely. “Is there more to tell?” Could his mother have done more? Had he been right to worry about Serena's obvious upset the day before? “Is there something I should know?”
“No, not at all.” With relief she realized that Serena hadn't told him, not that it would have changed anything. She wouldn't have given that paper up to anyone now. The paper Serena had signed was already in her vault. She was still convinced that Serena was after his money, and years later when she left him and tried to soak him, his mother would save the day with the paper she had had the foresight to force Serena to sign. One day he would thank her.
He had one more thing to tell her. “I think, under the circumstances, that it will be better if we leave today, after the wedding. I'll try to get a compartment on the night train to Chicago, and if I can't, we can stay in a hotel and leave in the morning.”
“You can't do that.” Suddenly her eyes blazed.
“Why not?”
“Because I want you here. You haven't been home for any decent amount of time in years.”
“You should have thought of that before you declared war on Serena.”
Her eyes were angry and cruel and bitter. “You're my son, and you'll do what I tell you.”
Brad's voice was oddly quiet. “I'm afraid you're wrong. I'm a grown man with a wife and family of my own. I am not your puppet. Father may be, and my poor weak brother, but I'm not, and don't you ever forget it.”
“How can you talk to me this way? How dare you!” Brad took a careful step toward her. “Mother, stay out of my life or you'll regret it.”
“Brad!”
But he said nothing as he turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
25
Serena was sedately led to her seat by her brother-in-law Teddy, in St. James Church on Madison Avenue, in New York, at exactly ten minutes before eleven. The church was filled with towering trees of white flowers and everywhere there were garlands of fragrant white blossoms, lily of the valley, fressia, white roses, tiny spicy white carnations, with mists of white baby's breath intertwined among the larger flowers. There were white satin ribbons threaded between the trees, and a long white satin runner down the aisle. But the atmosphere in the church was solemn more than festive, and on either side of the aisle were elegantly dressed women and men in dark suits or striped trousers, there were large flowered hats and bright colors, and old people and young faces, as the organ began to play softly. Serena had been placed in a pew by herself, and a few