Eternal Deception

by Jane Steen

  “How did you know it was me?” I asked ungrammatically, hearing my mother correct me in my mind.

  “You always hum tunes in the morning,” he replied, coming toward me. “At least, you did when you stayed with me those few weeks. You have the gift of being both an early riser and a cheerful one.”

  “So have you,” I grinned back.

  “The habit of years spent running a store,” Martin admitted. “I don’t think I could stay abed if I wanted to.”

  He gestured to the room he had just left, and I followed him into it. It contained a desk—now covered with papers I supposed were Martin’s—two hard chairs, and a low bookcase containing a miscellaneous collection of Bibles and hymn books. A truly dreadful portrait of Martin Luther, looking fat and discontented beneath a squashed-looking hat, adorned one wall.

  Illuminated by a lamp, the desk had a workmanlike, purposeful air. As did Martin himself. His finery of the evening before had given way to a brown suit of good cut and material but otherwise quite ordinary, making him look far more like the man I had known.

  Martin raised the lamp so he could inspect the scratches on my face. The light revealed lines around his eyes and mouth that had not been there when I had last seen him, and a delicate hint of blue in the fragile skin below his eyes. The hand that extended to—I thought—touch my face but then hesitated and dropped back was not as white and smooth as it had been. There were calluses on the palm and the fading scars of cuts and scratches on the back of it.

  “You don’t seem to have come to much harm.” Replacing the lamp, Martin leaned against the desk and folded his arms.

  “Now can you tell me why you took it into your head to wander all over the prairie yesterday?” he asked. “The Calderwoods didn’t seem willing to divulge much. They’re quite a pair, aren’t they?” He cocked his head to one side, waiting for my reply.

  “Thea Lombardi informed Sarah that she’s illegitimate. And told her what that meant,” I said baldly. “So Sarah refused to come home.” I bit the inside of my lip, annoyed to feel the prick of tears at the back of my eyes, and just as annoyed at Martin for asking. “You could say you’re pleased to see me before you begin interrogating me about my business,” I shot at him.

  “Ah.” Martin’s eyes, clear gray in the lamplight, widened. “That would account for the absence of young Thea at dinner. Mrs. Lombardi—she’s dreadfully thin and worried looking, isn’t she, Nell? What are they—or is asking about the Lombardis ‘interrogating you about your business’ too?” The ghost of a smile twitched at his lips but then faded and his face went still, his eyes on mine. “And I’m very glad to see you, Nellie.”

  For some reason, that remark gave me a queer feeling in the pit of my stomach. The sensation dissipated when Martin’s brow creased and his expression became more focused, as if thinking back over my words. “Does Sarah—understand? What Thea meant?”

  “I think so,” I said, feeling myself redden a little. “She seems all right this morning, but I suppose at some point we’ll have to talk about it. I’m not looking forward to that,” I ended ruefully, running a finger over my scraped wrist.

  “Will you tell her about Jack Venton?” Martin asked softly.

  I jerked my head up, feeling the blood suffuse my cheeks. “How do you know it was Jack?” I blurted, knowing my face had given the game away in any case. The door of the room was open, and I glanced around it as a precaution, but the corridor was quite silent.

  “My dear,” Martin’s eyes were serious, wide with sympathy, “I met your cousin often enough during that visit, and I saw how you flirted with him. It amused me at the time.” His mouth twisted wryly. “I suspected even when Sarah was a baby, and now—the resemblance is plain, especially the eyes.” He took a deep breath, hesitating, and then whispered, his voice a little hoarse, “Did he force you?”

  My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “That,” I said with hauteur, “is none of your business, Martin.”

  His fair lashes swept down to cover his eyes. “No, I don’t suppose it is.” And then in a different tone as a bell clanged on the floor below us, “We don’t seem able to get off to a good start, do we, Nellie? I’m sorry I seem to do nothing but interrogate you, as you put it. I presume that’s the breakfast bell—will you join me? I can’t ask awkward questions if we’re in company.” He extinguished the lamp and moved out into the corridor, extending a hand toward me.

  “They’ll expect you at Dr. Calderwood’s table, and I usually sit at the back of the room.” I tried to sound cheerful, but my buoyant mood of half an hour ago had evaporated, and my words had a petulant edge to them. “I’m just the seamstress, if you remember.”

  “You will be my guest,” Martin told me gravely. “And hang your status.” He grasped my hand and all but pulled me through the door, letting go as he looked up at the stream of students hurrying down the stairs. “We’ll talk like friends again if it kills me.”

  “Will you join me at Dr. Calderwood’s table today, Nell?” Judah, most unusually, stood at the refectory door, waiting for me.

  “I’ve already extended that invitation.” Martin’s tone was friendly, but his eyes were wary.

  “Oh, good morning, Mr. Rutherford. I trust you slept well? And your charming wife—she does not join us?”

  “She does not accept the existence of eight a.m.” Martin adjusted his cuffs with a gesture I remembered well and surveyed the room. Dr. Calderwood was beginning to call those present to attention with the slow sweep of the head that indicated he would like to start praying soon. Students slipped hastily into their places as the servants placed dishes on the tables. “Her maid will attend to her later—are the servants here the helpful sort?” He addressed this question to me, over his shoulder.

  “They are,” I said shortly, quickening my pace as I headed to the table so that both Judah and Martin were behind me. I hesitated as I saw Dr. Calderwood notice me; but he bowed toward me and bared his huge teeth in a genial smile. Murmuring, “Dear Mrs. Lillington,” he gestured to a place near him. The Lombardis were already at the far end of the table—at least Teddy and Lucy were there with their parents. There was no sign of Thea.

  Busy waving a greeting to the Lombardis and indicating in sign language that yes, I was quite all right, I barely noticed as the gentlemen most likely to disconcert me during the meal took their places. Dr. Calderwood interlaced his fingers, bowed his massive head so that his mane of hair fell forward—it had a few streaks of silver in it now, I noticed—and embarked on a long, rambling prayer of thanks.

  When I could legitimately open my eyes again, I saw Martin seated on my left, opposite the Calderwoods, and Judah across the table from me. I twisted round to look at the room.

  “Where are Tess and Sarah?” I looked across at Judah. “You did invite them too, didn’t you?”

  “I haven’t seen them,” said Judah coolly.

  The places around us had filled up with faculty members who, now that prayers were over and the food was arriving, came forward to introduce themselves to Martin.

  I frowned but then relaxed as a small figure in pale green, crowned with a flame of bright copper hair, strode into the far end of the room. Tess had brushed out Sarah’s hair but left it loose—she could not braid hair—simply using a ribbon to keep it off her face. Left thus to its own devices, it formed crisp waves at the crown, very like Jack’s hair, and fell into ringlets only at the ends. Martin was right, I thought, seeing Sarah’s face light up as she spotted me at the high table. In the shape of her face and, above all, in her eyes, she was undeniably the daughter of John Harvey Venton. Of all the places in the world we might go to, Hartford, Connecticut, was the one I need most stringently avoid.

  “May I sit next to Teddy?” was Sarah's first question when she reached me.

  “You may.” I smiled at Tess, who looked a little flustered; dressing Sarah by herself was quite an achievement. “But please say good morning first.”

  “Good morning,
Doctor Calderwood. Good morning, Mrs. Calderwood.” Sarah hesitated. “Good morning, Mr. Poulton.” Then, fixing her attention on Martin, who had turned round in his chair to see her, she bobbed an elegant curtsey, carefully holding her dress, which came an inch below her knee and was stiff with petticoats. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir,” she said, studying Martin’s face. “At least, I know we met last night, but I wasn’t really myself. I don’t remember knowing you when I was an infant, so I feel like we’re meeting for the first time.”

  A delighted smile spread across Martin’s face at this long speech, delivered in a childish lisp with several hesitations. I realized with a pang that this was the first time I had seen him look genuinely relaxed and happy since he arrived. With me, he seemed somehow on edge, as if he couldn’t quite feel comfortable in my company. He rose to his feet and held out a hand for Sarah to shake; she complied, and then an expression of joyous wonder spread over her face.

  “Momma! I have a loose tooth!” Turning away from Martin, she tugged at my sleeve, indicating one of her front bottom teeth.

  I groaned inwardly. Sarah’s baby teeth were so pretty, small, white, and even, and it seemed a shame that she had to lose them. Outwardly, I smiled and murmured something appropriately maternal.

  “I’m happy I was present at such a momentous discovery.” Martin’s eyes met mine for a second, full of amusement, and then he held out a hand for Sarah. “May I escort you to your chair?”

  She slipped her hand into his without hesitation, and he turned toward Tess, offering his other arm. Tess’s round face beamed with joy, and she practically grabbed Martin’s arm. I was glad of his tact, as no place was left for her beside me.

  “Mr. Rutherford is quite a favorite with the ladies,” Judah remarked, watching Martin greet Catherine and Lucy Lombardi.

  “His wife is quite—quite spectacular,” ventured one of the professors. I couldn’t quite recall his name—Bassford? Blackford?—like all the new men at the seminary, he was a colorless nonentity with few opinions of his own. “I have never seen a lady like her.” Seeing I was looking his way, he coughed, blushed, and busied himself with his napkin.

  I wondered for a fleeting moment if Mrs. Drummond made a point of informing each new faculty member of my status as a scarlet woman. The seminary’s housekeeper kept very much to herself since Professor Wale’s death, taking meals in her office and avoiding unnecessary contact with practically everyone. I hadn’t seen her at the breakfast table for months. And besides, if she did gossip, what could I do?

  I smiled at Professor Whatever-his-name-was, causing him to blush even deeper, and remarked that I had met Mrs. Rutherford the day before, and indeed she was most elegant.

  Martin returned to his seat, and the conversation became more general. I applied myself to my cornbread, bacon, and fried apples with gusto since I had eaten very little the night before. I listened as Dr. Calderwood tried repeatedly to vaunt the qualities of the seminary to Martin. He was barking up the wrong tree, I thought, since Martin had no sons—or was he hoping to elicit another general donation?

  “We broke our journey at Kansas City,” Martin said in answer to a question from his left. “For the Exposition. A fine old mansion they have there on the fairground.”

  “Did you see the James boys?” Professor Hoggart’s long face lit up in gleeful anticipation. He was a Southerner, a faculty member of long standing, and afflicted with severe halitosis.

  “Ah yes, that was in the Wichita papers,” Judah remarked. “They put detectives on the trail of two men who were behaving in a suspicious manner, but they let them get away—“

  “And some people recognized them for certain as being Jesse and Frank James,” Professor Hoggart interrupted—to Judah’s evident annoyance—in a loud voice. “And the yellow cowards,” he pronounced it “yalla,” “let them get out of town without arresting them because they were too frightened to tackle the outlaws. Lily-livered sons of Jehoshaphat . . .” His speech degenerated into a wheezing laugh, and I saw Mrs. Calderwood wince at the blast of bad breath.

  “Would you draw a gun on the James boys?” Judah shot a contemptuous look at the professor and turned his attention back to Martin. “They robbed the Exposition in ’72,” he continued. “I hope you and your good lady were well protected. Kansas City has a reputation for harboring the worst sort.”

  “And that, Mr. Rutherford, is precisely why our seminary is so necessary,” said Dr. Calderwood unctuously, and I saw Judah nod in agreement. “We are a beacon of light in a dark land, a rock of Christ where the true word of God is preserved without question. We send out men to the wicked cities of the plains, to the Sodoms and Gomorrahs where outlaws thrive and immoralities of all kinds are rampant . . .”

  He seemed to lose the thread of his thoughts, and Professor Hoggart jumped in.

  “Did you see Jefferson Davis at the Exposition?”

  At this point, the conversation became guardedly political. I listened with half an ear, knowing how circular such conversations tended to be. Even Professor Hoggart, who stood out as the only faculty member likely to venture a real opinion in the face of Dr. Calderwood’s bland platitudes, was circumspect about mentioning events in the Southern states.

  I was conscious of Martin beside me, fending off attempts to get him to speak his mind about President Grant with the laughing comment that he was only a merchant and must keep his opinions to himself for the sake of trade. It was strange to hear this group of men deferring to Martin. They all—including Judah—seemed to look upon him as a representative of commercial power, a force that would sweep into Kansas along with the tide of immigrants and make it—when economic circumstances improved—into a paradise of prosperity.

  Mrs. Calderwood said little, but her beady black eyes darted glances around the table. She occasionally observed me with an expression of approval of my womanly silence in the presence of the debating men. Judah also smiled at me several times, clearly pleased that I was playing an ornamental role at the table rather than venturing to try for a speaking part.

  In truth, I found most of the conversation ridiculous. I didn’t think the men, with the exception of Martin and Judah, had any real knowledge of political affairs. Most of their so-called points were simply reiterations of what they had said a few minutes before.

  “Are we boring you, Nell?” Judah spoke softly, but I felt Martin shift beside me as if, perhaps, he were listening. He couldn’t have failed to notice Judah’s repeated use of my first name in public, a circumstance that I too found a little surprising. After all, we were not actually affianced.

  “Not at all,” I replied. “I’m waiting for the conversation to take a more practical turn. I prefer to reserve the expression of my opinions for moments when I actually have one.”

  “No, political blather isn’t your domain, is it?” Judah turned the full force of his dazzling smile on me with a twinkle in his eyes that was, for him, almost flirtatious. “Shall we talk of summer days and sunsets instead?”

  This reference to his proposal brought a faint blush to my cheeks—as Judah must have known it would—and his smile widened. We were now two and a half months into the six I had asked for, and I was no clearer in my mind as to which answer I would give him. Until now, he had made no allusion to our future together, and I had been grateful for his reticence.

  “Have you taken any hurt from our adventures on the prairie?” Judah asked. “Other than—“ He indicated the scratches on my face, extending his hand and then quickly withdrawing it, as if he had felt the urge to touch me and then remembered we were in company.

  “None at all,” I said, conscious that my heart was beating a little faster than usual. It was not, I thought, necessarily for Judah’s sake, but because I knew Martin would be aware of the intimacy of Judah’s tone.

  I glanced sideways at Martin, but he had his head turned away from me. I had the impression that his easy, relaxed posture of a few minutes before had been replaced by a kind of frozen
immobility.

  “Do you find Mrs. Lillington in good looks, Mr. Rutherford? You have known her so much longer than I have.”

  Judah’s direct question recalled Martin’s attention, and he shifted in his seat again. “And of course,” Judah continued, “your letters are always a great comfort to her. You are, I think, the closest thing she has to a brother. It’s fascinated me to hear about the musical soirées you have attended, the hunting parties and so on.”

  To hear him talk, you would have thought I had read all of Martin’s letters out loud to him. Still, I supposed it was Judah’s way of making friendly overtures toward Martin, and I could hardly blame him for wanting to be on cordial terms with someone I had known for so long.

  “I find Mrs. Lillington to be in extremely good looks.” Martin’s tone was bland, his face unreadable under its mask of urbane courtesy.

  His stated aim of having us talk as friends at breakfast had gone nowhere, I realized. The others had monopolized his time, and we had barely exchanged ten words.

  “The prairie air agrees with her, I think,” Martin continued, looking at me directly for the first time. “But I wish—“

  But Mrs. Calderwood had risen to her feet, prompting several of the professors to do likewise. A wave of movement spread outward from the middle of the table and rippled across the room. The scraping of chairs and exchanging of final remarks swallowed up whatever Martin had been about to say. His attention was immediately engaged by Pastor Lombardi, who had moved with purpose toward him with a question about the rebuilding of Chicago. Martin answered with ease, and the two men stood talking together as the crowd thinned around them.

  “Will you walk with me later, Nell? It promises to be a fine afternoon.” Judah appeared at my side, silent and swift as a panther. I turned away from Martin to answer him.