Chapter 19

 

Edith didn’t awaken when Jeff carried her up the stairs. He laid her carefully on the bed after taking off her hat. Though he considered loosening her clothing, he knew he couldn’t trust himself, not while his body was still ablaze.

A cold bath for you, right now, he thought. But still he stood over her, gazing at her rose-colored cheeks and crumpled clothing. Just one more to go, Miss Edith Parker, and then you’re mine. I’ve got ‘till Sunday to get Miss Albans paired off. So far, this matchmaking business hasn’t been that hard. Maybe we’ll have more than one kind of partnership before we’re done.

She stirred, rolling over onto her side. Her smile was that of an angel, if an angel slightly tipsy on cordial and pink with loving. He wondered if she were dreaming of him, or of one of her fantasies.

Using powers he hadn’t acknowledged until she entered his life, Jeff sensed mysteries at the heart of this woman that a man could spend a lifetime exploring. Modesty in word and speech mated with the unrestrained ardor she gave him when he kissed her. Her deep sensuality mated with a deeper innocence, not just of men but of the world. And yet she lived in a world he could not touch. Endless paradoxes, strange conundrums that he knew he would never solve but would never tire of trying to unravel. It would take so little for him to fall endlessly in love with her.

As he admitted that, he knew it was too late. He already was drowned in love for her. Love at first sight, probably, though he couldn’t tell for sure. All at once, Jeff surrendered to his love, unable to fight anymore. In surrender, he found a great peace that for now, ended the war between his head and his spirit. His body was delighted too.

He had to get out of there. But it was too late. Edith’s lashes fluttered. She stared for a moment at the candlewicking that decorated the spread; then her focus took him in. “Oh,” she said, pushing up. “Did I fall asleep?”

His voice came from his boots. Would she remember? “Yes.”

“How rude of me. I’m sorry, Jeff. Perhaps you’re right and that cordial was stronger than I knew.” She ran her hand over her disordered hair and glanced around for her hat. The sight of it hanging by its ribbons from the back of the chair reassured her. “Thank you for carrying me up here.”

She was obviously waiting for him to go. “Well, good night,” he said.

“Good night.”

He got as far as the door before his reprobate body made a demand. “Edith, could I kiss you good night?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you? After all, soon you’ll be courting other women.”

She didn’t remember. Jeff knew by her calm response that she had no memory of flinging herself at him, or of going wild in his arms. “I know,” he said. “But I’m kind of out of practice.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Edith tightened her lips as though she regretted saying that. “After all, you’ve kissed me twice.”

Jeff noticed that her hands clasped the bedspread. “Third time’s the charm,” he said, crossing back to her.

His weight made the mattress list toward him. Edith sat very still. “Just ... a good night kiss?”

“That’s all,” he promised.

He brushed her lips with his own, as delicately and lightly as a caress with a flower petal. “Was that so bad?”

“Is that it?” she asked. “Is that all?”

“Just a good night kiss. Like between new friends or old married people.”

“It was nice.” She tilted her chin up. There was no reason not to do it again.

Jeff could imagine kissing her like this after a hard day’s work, or after a long night’s sleep. It was a kiss to be given after a bouquet of flowers, or before he went to the general store. Jeff could imagine all these kisses, but he couldn’t imagine these being the only kisses he’d give her.

There’d be others. Deep kisses in the night, swallowing up her wanton cries. Kisses when he’d catch her unawares, pressing her into the wall while the fried chicken burned on the stove. And gentler ones, too. When she held their first child in her arms, he’d kiss her with all the joy in his heart. Should death threaten them, his kiss would keep it at bay.

Perhaps something of these thoughts showed in his face when he lifted his head. Edith stared up at him in wonder, her eyes the color of wild violets. “Jeff . . .”

“Go to sleep, Edith.”

After he’d gone, Edith lay on the bed thinking for a long time. Only after the little clock chimed twelve times did she realize that she was lying there with all her clothes on, even her shoes. She got up, but her knees were curiously weak. She had a low ache in her back and she greatly feared she needed a bath to wash away a certain immoral moistness.

With shame, Edith knew she must have had one of her peculiar dreams. Though she never recalled the details, she had often awakened feeling this way, even before she’d begun reading novels. Edith only hoped she hadn’t made any noises while she slept. What if Jeff had guessed that her dreams were wicked?

The thought of Jeff was like a sudden magnesium flare in the darkness of her dreaming mind. He’d been part of it, she was certain. She seemed to hear his hot, urgent voice saying things he’d surely never say in the waking world. Something about how she should move or not move. . . . They must have been dancing, she decided abruptly. Though why that should leave her feeling limp and curiously contented, Edith dared not guess.

She began to undress. But her fingers paused on her blouse. She glanced down at the row of mother-of-pearl buttons. They were all skewed, the second button in the third hole. Had she been walking around like that the whole evening? One of the other women surely would have mentioned that her button was open, revealing her undergarment. Edith hoped that since they hadn’t mentioned it, they simply hadn’t noticed.

After she was in bed, Edith realized she was hungry. Though the Misses Tyler had pressed huge amounts of food on her, Edith had been too busy talking to eat very much. Now she thought about biscuits spread with sweet butter and jam like the ones Sam made for breakfast. Wondering if there were any left, Edith put on her pretty gingham Mother Hubbard and opened her door.

“Now wait a minute,” she heard Jeff say. “Where are you going with that. Dad?”

“I’m going to shoot a weasel. A walking, talking, two-faced, low-down weasel.”

They must be in the front hall for their voices carried clearly to where she stood. She walked to the head of the stairs. Though she couldn’t see their faces, she could see that Sam carried a long rifle, its wooden stock bright with polish.

Stunned by the thought of gentle Sam with a gun, Edith watched and listened, trying to understand.

“Now, hold on a minute, Dad. Who’s got you so riled?”

“Better you shouldn’t know . . . but he deserves what’s coming to him. What have I always told you to do if you see somebody picking on someone not up to their weight?”

“Knock ‘em down and sit on ‘em.”

“Well, I mean to knock him down. Let the undertaker sit on him.”

Once again, Jeff caught at his father’s sleeve as Sam turned to head out the door. Sam shrugged off his tall son as though Jeff were a pesky fly. Edith decided it was time to intervene.

She walked quickly down the steps, nearly tripping in her hurry. “Sam, wait.”

“Sorry, Cousin Edith. Got a weasel to hunt.”

“At least, tell me ... that is, doesn’t Jeff have the right to know why his father is suddenly turning into a murderer? What will he tell the girls?”

Sam stopped, halfway out the door. Jeff stepped forward, knowing a good thing when he heard it. “That’s true, Dad. They’re bound to ask. After all, the kids at school . . .”

“Ah, hell!” Sam said, leaning his rifle against the wall. He grimaced at the couple staring after him. “You’ve taken all the fun right out of this.”

“Fun?” Edith asked. Would she ever understand men?

“Not fun, exactly, but when a fellow gets his blood up for vengeance and then somebody comes along talking about his family, the anger drains out like his plug’s been pulled. And here I was really looking forward to scattering Sullivan’s guts all over creation.” He glanced at Edith and his eyes were human again. “Beg your pardon for swearing, ma’am.”

“Not at all.”

Jeff asked, “Sullivan? You mean Dulcie’s fiancé?”

“That’s right, I forgot about that part of it.” The red tinge had faded from Sam’s face but his voice got hard again. “That low-life piece of horsesh . . .”

Edith interrupted before he had to apologize again. “Has Mr. Sullivan done something to Dulcie? Or to . . .”

Sam measured her with his eyes. “I guess you and Miss Albans had a nice long chat this evening. All the same . . .” He turned to his son. “Come on into the parlor, Jeff. What I have to say isn’t for a nice young lady to hear.”

“Please!” Edith said, stepping between the men and the door. “If there’s trouble, I want to know. After all, I am part of this family.”

She hadn’t known she was going to say those words until they came out. Quickly, as they stared at her in surprise, she amended her statement. “I mean ... for the time being . . . until Sunday . . . Sam, you said you’d write me after I left here. I don’t want to get letters from jail. What would my neighbors think of me?”

Surprisingly, it was Jeff who answered, his wide grin making her head spin. “Oh, probably that you’re a dutiful . . . cousin.”

Why was she so certain he’d nearly said something else? She swept him with a puzzled gaze, before saying to Sam, “I think I have the right to know everything. And if something is wrong with Miss Albans, a woman can be of more comfort than a man.”

“You’ve made your point, Edith,” Jeff said, “though I’ll argue with you about ‘comfort’ some other time.”

“If you two are done flirting . . .”

“Flirting!” Edith squealed.

“I’ll tell you what I saw at Miss Albans’.”

“Is that where you went when we came home?” Jeff said as though a guess had been proven.

“Yes. She was having a problem with her sink, remember?” The red tinge had returned to color Sam’s slightly bristly cheeks. Edith didn’t need any special sight to realize the older man was abashed. His gaze dropped before their combined gaze and he looked shiftily off to the side.

“I thought I’d just sneak in the back way and fix it before she woke up. That way . . . well, she wouldn’t have to be grateful. It’d just be done.”

Jeff said with heavy sarcasm, “Did you want her to think the fairies had done it?”

“Hush,” Edith said, laying her hand on his arm. “It’s a wonderful gesture, Sam. So romantic in a practical kind of way.”

If anything, her praise only embarrassed him more. “I didn’t mean it to be. It was only . . . Lord Almighty knew when Jeff’d get to it. He’s got a lot on his mind lately. Don’t know when I’ve seen you more distracted, son.”

Edith didn’t understand the broad wink Sam threw at Jeff. She only saw that the blood had risen in Jeff’s face too. “Go on, Dad,” he said quickly. “So you’re fixing her sink. Why should that have you in a dither?”

‘“Bout eleven, I heard her moving around. I didn’t think she’d be awake so it kind of threw me for a loop to hear footsteps. So I gathered my tools and got ready to slip out. Then ... I heard somebody creeping up those shaky stairs that run up to her apartment. So I stayed, just in case.” His mild brown eyes began to grow hot. “For all the good I did, I might as well have stayed in bed.”

“Was it Mr. Sullivan?” Edith asked, clutching the base of her throat. “I was afraid he’d seen her when we left the church. Naturally, he’d recognize her too.”

Sam looked as though he’d like to spit to rid himself of a foul taste. “The things he said to her . . . if a man said ‘em to me, he’d be worm food inside of a minute. But that isn’t the worst of it. It was the way he said ‘em. Like she didn’t matter; like she was nothing, less than a dog.”

Sam’s bright eyes were suddenly wet. “And she didn’t do anything! How could she hear him talking like that and not do anything? She just took it, like it was his right to do it.” He jerked around to grasp Edith by the wrist. “They’re not . . . tell me she wasn’t crazy enough to marry that devil?”

“Careful, Dad,” Jeff said, freeing Edith’s numb hand from Sam’s grasp.

“No.” Edith rubbed her wrist, already forgiving Sam for his severity. “She said she didn’t marry him, although they eloped.”

“All right then. She’s not his, not permanently. I’d sure hate to make a widow of her. At least, not his widow.”

Jeff wondered at his father’s agitation. Though there had been times in the past when his father had thrown himself bodily into battles that were not his, the heart for fighting seemed to have gone out of him when his wife had died. Since then, he’d been content to poke about the ranch and to care for the girls. Jeff was willing to butter Sullivan all over Richey, just to see the fire in his father’s eyes again.

He noticed that Edith was looking at his father very strangely. It was the look he’d seen before, as though she were staring so deeply at a person that she could see inside. Her eyes seemed unfocused, but intense enough to burn a hole. Then she blinked and shook her head slightly as though puzzled by something inexplicable. Maybe she was tired. He wouldn’t be surprised, he thought with a guilty smile.

“It’s late, Edith,” he said. “Shouldn’t you . . . ?”

She waved off the suggestion. “You mustn’t shoot Victor,” she said to Sam. He started to protest. “Or strangle him, stab him or in any other method end his life.”

“What about drowning?”

“No. You must think of Dulcie too, you know. If you murder him, she might never recover. And if he is as unworthy as I believe him to be . . ,”

“You can count on it.”

“Then it would be a waste for her to mourn him for any length of time whatsoever. No, we must think of a way to be rid of Mr. Sullivan without resorting to murder.”

“What if the body were never found?” Sam asked. “Then it would look like he just skipped town.”

Jeff said, “It’s not like you to be so bloodthirsty, Dad. Is there something else you’re not telling us?”

“Nothing. ‘Cept that he’s only interested in marrying Dulcie because of her hundred-fifty-dollar inheritance. He told Vera Albans that he’s broke.”

He never would tell a soul about the slap he’d overheard. As it rang in the air, he’d gripped the newel post at the bottom of the inside stair so hard he still bore the imprint of the leaves carved around the support. More than that, it was as if his own cheek burned from the impact.

It had taken every ounce of his self-control to keep from running up those stairs and pitching Sullivan down them. But, he wanted to keep Vera from knowing he was aware of her abuse. That was one injury he could spare her.

Jeff said, “If he’s broke, we can pay him to leave town. If a hundred fifty dollars is enough to make him face the altar, then two hundred ought to see him clear into Kansas.”

“And Dulcie?”

“She wouldn’t care a thing about him then, Edith. Her pride would be so hurt ... oh, I see what you mean.”

“What?” Sam asked, returning to the present.

Edith explained. “If he leaves her, she’ll be terribly hurt. The one man who has overlooked her so-called imperfections only did it for money.”

“We can keep it a secret,” Sam said.

“In Richey?” his son replied. “No, Edith’s right. We’ve got to get rid of Sullivan in such a way that Dulcie’s not hurt and Vera’s not exposed.”

“That’s a tough one, all right.” Sam eyed his rifle lovingly. “I still say . . . no, you’re right. I won’t do it, but it’d sure make me feel a hell of a lot better. I beg your pardon, Edith.”

She didn’t answer. She stared out the parlor window, but she could not see anything but her own reflection. Jeff stepped beside her. He’d taken off his coat and vest. He wore only his white shirt and tan trousers. Edith couldn’t but admire his strong shoulders and trim waist, but it was not his attractiveness that was in doubt. With him beside her, she took another look at herself, trying to see herself through his eyes.

He found her pretty enough to kiss. That had done more for her morale than he would ever know. Moreover, she supposed her hair had reasonably attractive reddish gleams, and it was just barely possible that her figure was alluring enough to make her story believable.

“Are you okay?” Jeff asked, putting his hand on her shoulder. As though his touch had set off a firecracker, Edith gaped for a moment at an illuminating flash. He’d kissed her in the buggy on the way home. How could she have overlooked it? Was she so abandoned now that embraces meant nothing to her?

She stammered, “Yes, I’m . . . I’m fine. I think I’ve come up with a plan.”

Shortly afterward, Jeff roared, “No! Absolutely not!”

“Hush.” Edith put her forefinger to her lips. “Don’t wake the girls.”

“Edith, it’s out of the question.”

“But why? It solves both our problems in one ... er ... fell swoop. And furthermore, it means Miss Albans will have no stain on her character. You’ll be free to court her without everyone imagining the worst.”

Sam said dryly, “No plan is that good.”

“And as for Dulcie, if she’s the sort of girl I believe her to be, she’ll send Sullivan packing immediately.”

“What about her money?”

“I won’t say anything about that motive—merely that I recognized him yesterday in church as the libertine who soiled me in ... where should I say he soiled me?”

“How ‘bout Saratoga Springs?” Sam suggested.

“Dad! You can’t let her . . . damn it, talk her out of it!”

“It would solve our problems.”

“And ruin her life. This kind of thing gets around. Do you want to go through the rest of your life being pointed at?” He glared at Edith.

“It won’t matter. I’ll only be staying in Richey for a very short while after this.”

“I thought you were thinking about settling down here.”

She admitted, “I did think about it after you’d mentioned it. Though I am tempted ... I’d like to continue getting to know Louise and Maribel, as well as Mrs. Green and the others. . . .”

“Well then. Don’t do this. Stay.”

Edith realized that if he’d only ask in his own name, she’d be rooted here in an instant. But she was not what he wanted in a wife. She remembered his requirements well. Sassy, smart, experienced with children. She could perhaps be thought intelligent, except where he was concerned. But sassy? And her experience with children extended only to the few hours she’d spent with Maribel and Louise, and they’d enjoyed it so little that they had locked her in a cellar.

“No, I can’t,” she said calmly, though her heart cracked. “Besides, once I tell Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong about Mr. Sullivan, I won’t be able to stay.”

Sam said, “Wait a minute. Won’t Sullivan just say he never met you before?”

“Naturally, he’ll deny everything. But I’ll have enough details to convince the Armstrongs. The great danger is that Mr. Sullivan will get so angry that he’ll say it wasn’t me, but Miss Albans he ran off with. However, if he says that, then . . .”

“He’s convicted himself!” Sam said, rubbing his hands. “It’s a real risk to Miss Albans, though. I think we ought to get her permission before we go to the Armstrongs.”

“That’s only right,” Edith agreed.

“Yes, we will,” Jeff added. “Maybe she’ll be able to talk sense and stop you two lunatics!”