The River Rose by Gilbert Morris Page A

many-caped driving coat. Masters helped Jeanne get Marvel inside and get Jeanne seated, then asked, "How do I direct the driver?"
    "Tell him to go up to the intersection of Main Street and Overton," Jeanne said. "That will be fine."
    Masters instructed the driver, then climbed in to sit across from Jeanne and Marvel. When the coach started, Marvel stirred, then woke up. "Mama, you were going to let me sleep? When we're riding in a carriage?"
    "I don't know what I was thinking," Jeanne said. "But now you're awake. And apparently," she added with a knowing look at Masters, "Mr. Masters has told the driver to go slowly, so that you can see everything." They were going as slowly as the horse could possibly walk. Masters looked slightly bemused.
    Though it was after ten o'clock, most of the shops on Main Street were still open and doing a merry business. The strolling carolers had moved from Court Square to the business section, the snow was still glistening and pretty, the night was cold but clear, the air sharp and bracing. Marvel turned to sit on her knees so she could see out the window better.
    George Masters seemed to be struggling to find words. His eyes kept going to Marvel, then back to Jeanne. "Um, Mrs. Bettencourt, I can't tell you how very much I've enjoyed your company this evening. And Miss Marvel's, of course."
    "And we have enjoyed yours, Mr. Masters," Jeanne said politely.
    "No, I mean I have truly enjoyed our time together," he said insistently. "And I would like—that is, I hope—if you would be so kind—I mean—"
    Marvel suddenly sat up stiffly and said, "Mama, look! There's the Singing Man! Right there, walking with those other men! Hello, hello!" she called loudly.
    "Marvel, please," Jeanne said, flustered. "Don't shout. Ladies never call out to men. Especially men they don't know."
    "But he winked at me," Marvel said in a small voice. "He would know me again if he saw me, I know." She came up to a kneeling position, put her mittened hands against the windows, and stared out. She thought she saw the tall dark man look at her and smile.
    "No, he wouldn't. And don't wave." Jeanne said to Masters, "I apologize, sir. Marvel was very taken with the tenor soloist with the Calvary Choristers."
    "He's good enough for the stage," Masters agreed. "His rendition of 'Ave Maria' and 'O Holy Night,' with only the harpist's accompaniment, was very powerful. It sort of overshadowed the rest of the performance, I thought."
    "I thought the same," Jeanne exclaimed. "The Choristers, as a choir, are the best I've ever heard, but the man was outstanding. And the lady harpist was very proficient, and a fine soprano herself."
    "And so beautiful," Marvel sighed. "She looked like a queen."
    With amusement Masters said, "I'll have to tell her that you said that, Miss Marvel. She'll be pleased."
    Marvel turned to him. "You know her, that lady?"
    "I am acquainted with her, yes. Her name is Mrs. Eve Poynter Maxfield. Her father is a judge here in Memphis." He faltered a little as he saw the stiff expression on Jeanne's face. "My family has known the Poynter family for many years."
    And here it is, the name dropping, Jeanne was thinking. She turned to look neutrally out the window. An awkward silence prevailed.
    But Marvel didn't know it was an awkward silence, and she told Masters, "My mama and I said that when the Singing Man sang "Ave Maria," it made us both forget how cold it is." She said it all together, "avaymaria."
    "It is cold," Masters said with emphasis, his eyes on Jeanne's profile. "May I ask you ladies what part of the Regale you enjoyed the most?"
    Marvel readily answered, "The puppet show. And the Singing Man. And the huge Christmas tree. And the oranges. And the sleigh ride, I almost forgot! But this is just as nice, in the carriage." She turned back to stare out the window again.
    "Mrs. Bettencourt?" Masters said quietly. "I hope you, too, are finding the carriage ride as nice as the sleigh ride."
    Jeanne answered, "I