Page 92 of The Treasure House

He was frowning even more now, those thick eyebrows drawing together. He honestly didn’t understand her question.

She sighed, annoyed at having to spell it out. “Would you ever ask me to marry you?”

He laughed. “Sure, kid. In a decade or so.”

Freddie wasn’t taking her seriously. It annoyed her. No one ever took her seriously. She glared at him.

“You’re joking, right?” He seemed to decide that she was and relaxed again. “Come on, let’s go wish the happy couple good luck and get some food.”

Marly felt like screaming, but she didn’t; she followed him back to the party, hoping no one would say anything about her crying like a baby through the ceremony.

Sylvie had drunk too much champagne and was loudly telling everyone she loved them as they gathered to wave her off. She’d changed into her going away outfit, a pink suit and hat, and was still carrying her bouquet.

She hugged Marly’s mother tightly and told her how much she loved her, but Marly could see that her mom looked stressed rather than touched.

“And you, Marly,” Sylvie said, actually pinching Marly’s cheek like she was a little kid. “You look so grown up.”

“So do you,” Marly said dryly.

There were cheers as the happy couple reached Elton’s car, which had been well and truly decorated with toilet paper and whipped cream. A placard hung from the rear: “JUST MARRIED—HONK TO WISH US LUCK.”

“Time to throw the bouquet,” Cilla ordered, and then she got in position in the middle of the crowd.

Sylvie winked and threw the flowers straight to her sister.

Marly looked around to see if Freddie had seen it, but he was nowhere in sight.

“Pumpkin.” Dad appeared, with his coat and her mother’s handbag over his arm. “I’m going to take Mom back to the hotel room.”

“Okay. I’ll come.”

“No, no.” He forced a smile. “Stay. There’s still cake out. The boys can walk you back later.”

Marly watched as he led Mom to the station wagon, gently guiding her into the front seat. Marly’s stomach was in knots, and she felt sad and small and faded. But that was nothing compared to how she felt when she stole around the oak tree side of the house, trying to avoid people, and almost ran into Freddie and Priscilla having a scene.

“What do you mean, you enlisted?” Priscilla whacked Freddie with the bouquet, which made a fleshy slapping sound against his chest.

Marly darted behind the catberry bushes, hoping they hadn’t seen her.

“I mean exactly that. I enlisted. My buddy Cal just got drafted,” Freddie said, “and I got to thinking about it. And I thought, why the hell not? I’m not enjoying law. In fact, I hate it. And if I enlist, I won’t get drafted.”

“If you enlist, you won’t get drafted?” Cilla’s voice was dripping with contempt. “What does it matter, either way you’re in the army!” Marly had never heard her sound so angry before.

“Yeah. But I’ll control how, where, and why. I can choose which branch of the service I go into.”

Marly’s head was spinning. Freddie de Marche was joining the army?

“And what does this mean for us?” Cilla asked tightly.

Freddie went very still and very silent.

“Do you expect me to be an army wife, hauled from pillar to post?”

He stayed silent.

“I see.” Priscilla drew herself up to her full height and then slapped him roundly across the face.

Freddie took it. Then he placed his hand on his red cheek and softly said a single word. “Ouch.”