Free Five Brides by Eva Marie Everson Page B

how. I mean, we don’t even have a . . . phone . . .” Her voice trailed. Maybe she’d said too much. She took a deep breath, and in her best effort to be as worldly and glamorous as Betty, she squared her shoulders. With one finger, she turned the coffee cupall the way around as she’d seen Betty do earlier. But unlike Betty’s smooth move, she nearly knocked the delicate cup off its saucer. “How do you know Betty, Mr. Volbrecht?” she asked, hoping to keep the conversation flowing.
    The man’s jaw flexed and his eyes flashed in the candlelight. “George.” He smiled so briefly, Evelyn wondered if she’d imagined it. “Please call me George.”
    “Okay. George.” The name sounded strange on her lips, even though she had an uncle named George. Still . . .
    Their waiter appeared then, carrying two plates of steaming food George had ordered, most of which Evelyn had never heard of and felt sure she’d never be able to pronounce. As soon as they were served, Evelyn bowed her head and said a silent prayer of gratitude, although whether it was for the food or the dinner companion, she wasn’t sure. When she opened her eyes, George stared at her from across the table.
    “Is something wrong?” he asked.
    “No. Why?” She slid the folded powder-blue napkin into her lap, picked up the fork that had been beside it, and stabbed at what she thought might be some type of potato.
    George was midway through a mouthful. He waved his fork over his plate and said, “I thought perhaps you’d gone to sleep.”
    “Oh. I just said the bless—I was just thanking God for the food.” She took a small bite, chewing slowly. Yes. Most definitely a potato. “Um, how do you know Betty?”
    “We’ve been friends all our lives.” He took a long drink of water from a goblet so delicate Evelyn was almost afraid to pick hers up. Even her mama’s wedding crystal didn’t come close to the intricacy. “Our fathers have known each other since they were in diapers, I believe. They both tell stories of rolling around on the carpets, wrestling over a toy. Today my father is the attorney forher father’s company. We’re not sure who’s wrestling who anymore.” He smiled at his own wit.
    Evelyn smiled with him, hoping the response would relax her. “I’ve only just met her.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. Not that they had slipped, but it gave her hand something to do, and her stomach had tightened to the point where she wasn’t sure she could eat. “Why did you—did you want me to tell her something for you, maybe?”
    George sliced into his meat with his knife. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, why did you ask me to come out with you? Did you want me to give her a message?”
    He chuckled. “Yeah . . . yeah. Ah, no. I thought . . .” He paused as if gathering his thoughts. “I hoped to take my old friend out to dinner, and since she obviously wasn’t biting—pardon the pun—I thought perhaps you’d like to go. Out to dinner with me.” He pointed to her plate with the knife. “Eat up before it gets cold. Excellent filet mignon, by the way.”
    She watched the way he held the knife and fork. The way he used them, together, to cut the meat. Not the way she’d always done, almost as if she were attacking it, hoping that if it were not already dead, she’d kill it. The way George did it held an air of such sophistication. Fork held in the left hand. Upside down . . . then slice . . . slice . . . slice.
    She did it. Evelyn smiled, then looked up at George, who looked back at her. “What?” he asked.
    She giggled, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “Nothing.”
    George leaned over the table and she did the same. “There is something you can tell Betty for me, if you will.”
    “Okay.” She hoped she didn’t sound too anxious.
    “Tell her that I tried to warn her, but she didn’t . . . hear me.”
    Evelyn dropped her silverware onto her plate, making an awful racket. “Warn