Eternal Deception

by Jane Steen

  I had climbed on his lap—something I had not done for some time, and my longer skirts caught under my knees and infuriated me. I kissed his face repeatedly: the high bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, his forehead, his closed eyes . . . I remembered the strange feel of his eyes under the delicate, soft skin of the lids, the tickle of his lashes on my lower lip, his warm breath on my neck as he finally, reluctantly, began to laugh. I tasted in memory the tiny salt tang of a tear he had been unable to suppress and knew again the sorrow and relief I had felt as I understood I had made him feel better, but only for a moment.

  My workroom seemed to tilt around me as I stood there, my hands useless at my sides. An odd buzzing in my ears muted the soft drone of Tess’s voice, the scratch of Sarah’s chalk on her slate, and the light tapping of the rain at the window. Heat spread through my body from my core, invading my limbs and sending a tingling warmth into the tips of my fingers. I was perhaps five feet from where Martin sat, but I could feel him, a strange intimacy of the mind that yearned to become intimacy of the flesh, the memory of the innocent love of my childhood transmuted into a love that was anything but childlike—

  And then, as if summoned, he opened his eyes, his expression serious and alert, as though sleep had not claimed him only seconds before. He looked straight at me, and I had to rest the fingertips of both hands on the table to steady myself because I knew—finally admitted to myself—that my love for Martin Rutherford was as overwhelming and inescapable as the fierce possessiveness I felt for Sarah. The difference was a visceral longing I had never experienced anywhere, not even during those heady days of flirtation with Jack. It was also, of course, completely impossible.

  “I need some air.” My voice sounded faint, tremulous. I was aware of Tess and Sarah pausing, their heads turning toward me as I pushed a chair out of the way to gain the door. I fumbled with the doorknob—my hand felt cold and numb and incapable of grasping aright—and yanked the door open, feeling the dry dust of the corridor envelop me as I ran.

  I had no idea where I was going. I had just enough presence of mind left to be grateful that classes were in session and there was nobody to see me, to stop me and ask what I was about, running through the building like an insane woman.

  I passed the staircase, the colors of the stained-glass windows dull under the cloudy sky. I reached the front doors and pushed hard, breathing in great gulps of air as I came to a halt on the small porch.

  Below me, the rain slanted onto the yellowed tussocks of grass, creating small rivulets of mud that pooled here and there into opaque puddles. The wind was a sullen growl that bent the tops of the young trees, tearing off their dry, tan leaves and flinging them toward the prairie in an endless shower of destruction. I huddled miserably into the corner of the porch, heedless of my clean shirtwaist, wishing I had somewhere to run to. But Kansas was a great blank canvas, an unfinished patchwork of green, brown, and tan under an oppressive, leaden bank of shifting cloud.

  I’d left the door ajar. I was so intent on flight that I didn’t hear Martin step through the gap at first, only turning my head as the door shut with a soft thunk, and he pivoted toward me.

  “Go away.” I folded my arms tighter, hugging them against my chest until my back ached. “Leave me alone.”

  “I won’t ask you what’s wrong.” There was desolation in Martin eyes but also something like joy in their depths. “I saw it in your face—you’re not very good at hiding your emotions.” He took a step toward me and raised a hand as if to touch my cheek, dropping his arm as I recoiled from his reach. “If it’s any comfort to you, it’s the same thing that’s been wrong with me since I arrived here.”

  He spread a hand on the yellow sandstone of the archway, leaning against the rain-splattered stone and staring out at the silver shafts of the downpour. Judah and I had kissed in this place, I thought, and waited for the memory to stir some sense of guilt. But all I felt was dull indifference, as if Judah and I were a story in a book.

  “When you came in from the prairie the day we arrived, you looked as if something had dragged you in the dust.” Martin settled himself more comfortably against the stone, wiping rain off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Your hair had bits of grass sticking out of it, your dress was all torn and your poor face—dirt and blood and tear tracks like a three-year-old who’s been out in the yard too long. And I couldn’t speak—I didn’t think I was going to be able to speak. I was already pretty sure I loved you, but that—that was like having the fact trampled into me by a team of horses.” The laughter lines gathered at the corners of his eyes. “You certainly know how to make an entrance, Nellie.”

  I wasn’t laughing. I clung to my anger like the lifeline it was, my only defense against my desire to close the gap between us and ruin both of our lives at one blow.

  “You were sure that you loved me?” I spat, trying to keep my voice low—there were classrooms immediately to our right. “Did you love me the day you married Lucetta?”

  “Yes.”

  I aimed a blow at Martin’s cheek that would have raised quite a welt if it hadn’t gone wide and bounced harmlessly off the side of his skull. He grabbed both my wrists, pulling my hands onto his chest and holding them captive against the rough material of his vest. I struggled against the imprisonment, staggering forward so I could shove at him harder. I found the attempt just as useless as it had been the first time he had held me like that, in my workroom.

  “Let me go.”

  “Only if you promise not to hit me again.” Martin’s breath was coming fast. Under my fingers, I felt his heart thumping rapidly, the quick rise and fall of his chest slowing as he regained control over his breathing.

  I nodded, and he released my wrists. I realized I hadn’t wanted him to let go after all and hated myself for it.

  “Why?” I wailed, stepping back a pace.

  He didn’t have to ask what I meant. He became still, staring at me for a long time as if he were making up his mind about something. Then he spoke.

  “She told me she was with child.” His mouth twisted as if in pain, and he looked around him, clearly wishing he could punch something. I felt as if a lump of ice had dropped down my back.

  “She wasn’t?“

  “She never will be. Never can be. She told me that in Paris, after she’d had one glass of champagne too many. I dreamed of a son, Nellie.” Martin pressed his palms against his forehead, burying his fingers in his thick hair. “I wanted that child. We haven’t even been married two years and every dream she sold to me, she’s destroyed.” He slammed a hand against the thick, ornate door, causing it to resonate with a dull vibration. “I don’t think there’s been one minute in our marriage when she’s been faithful to me—she has barely bothered to hide it.”

  Pity and horror were robbing me of my anger. I searched desperately for some small shred of it, however unreasonable, to sustain me.

  “And at what point before all of this happened did you intend to tell me you loved me? You didn’t seem to be in love with me in Victory. You let me go—“

  Martin dragged his hands out of his hair and shoved them in his pockets so hard that I heard some stitches break. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Nell, would you have listened? And besides—“ His face hardened, and he looked away.

  “You may as well say it.” My voice sounded cool in my ears, but I wasn’t calm. I knew what was coming. I linked my fingers behind my back to hide the trembling in my hands.

  “You were a foolish girl who had let a man seduce her, the mother of his by-blow.” The words fell between us like stones. “And I was taught to think myself above such things. He had plenty to say about loose women and about how I should keep myself pure.”

  He. Martin’s father.

  “And one morning I woke up in Lucetta’s bed,” Martin went on in a rush, the words sounding strangled, “and realized it didn’t matter. That we were no different, you and I—and you, at least, succumbed to temptation only once. That I only had to di
sentangle myself from a liaison that was already becoming stale, set myself on a better path, and confess it all to you. Then perhaps you would forgive me, and we could start again.”

  I was pressing myself so hard against the stone that my hands, still linked, throbbed with pain. It was hard to believe I could be so angry with someone and yet so eager to forgive him. I eased up on my hands, feeling pins and needles spark as the blood flowed back through my wrists.

  “It’s too late now, in any event.” I was surprised at how even my voice sounded given the turmoil in my heart. “You’re married, and I—I think I’d better accept Judah’s proposal. He’ll take me even if I don’t love him, and I think I’m too much of a prize for him not to treat me well.”

  I moved to the door and twisted the huge handle, feeling the ornately carved wood move smoothly on its oiled hinges.

  Martin was behind me immediately, his hands curling around my shoulders, fingers digging into my flesh. “Not him.” His breath was hot on my cheek just above my ear, and I shivered convulsively. “Not him,” Martin said again, turning me to face him.

  I thought he would say something else, but then his mouth was on mine, and all rational thought fled from my mind. I hated myself for kissing him back, and yet I didn’t seem able to get close enough to him, tasting the sweat and dust on his skin as if it were ambrosia. My fingers dug into the close-cropped hair at the nape of his neck in an effort to bring him nearer to me. How had I ever thought I welcomed Judah’s kisses?

  Martin broke the contact after just a few seconds and pushed me gently away, opening the door and steering me through it. For a moment, I was blind, seeing nothing of the cloud-darkened hall but a vast empty chasm.

  As shapes began to resolve themselves in the gloom, I realized that Martin had moved away from me and was heading for the stairs. He turned with his foot on the first step and spoke in a low, urgent voice.

  “I don’t know what to do. I really don’t. But please—“

  “Wait for you?” The anger was back again, made worse by the sheer frustration of that all-too-short kiss. “Do you presume to direct my life from afar?” I strode in the direction of my workshop, pausing to speak over my shoulder to Martin as I did so. “You had better return to your wife, Martin, and leave me to order my own affairs.”

  35

  Bubble

  I barely saw Martin in the days that followed. At least—I tried not to. I realized I had developed an acute sensitivity to the change in the air that meant he was in my vicinity, and I tried hard not to turn in his direction like a compass needle seeking north—but it wasn’t easy.

  I barricaded myself in my workroom and had Mrs. Addis’s mourning dress done in no time, concentrating furiously on every tiny detail of ornament, every pin tuck, every stitch. Anything to distract myself from the terrible lurch my insides gave every time I thought of that dizzying moment when everything changed for me, of our conversation on the porch, of the fact that Martin Rutherford loved me. Had kissed me. And was married.

  I was angry. At precisely whom I was angry, I couldn’t say. Martin? He had acted honorably enough, as far as I could see, by marrying Lucetta. He had said nothing to me indicative of love until I had given myself away completely, and since that day he had not tried to see me alone. Perhaps I was angry at myself for having such a disastrous talent for choosing the wrong man at the wrong time.

  But Martin shouldn’t have kissed me. “That was wrong, and completely unfair to boot,” I muttered under my breath as I folded Mrs. Addis’s black dress. It wasn't a simple operation given the yards of slippery cashmere and silk involved.

  Tess, who was unraveling string for the parcel, looked at me curiously.

  “What is wrong with you, Nell? You’re sort of bad-tempered. Have you quarreled with Martin? He looks sad too.”

  I let out a hiss of annoyance as the bodice of the dress slid sideways. Pulling it back into position, I inserted pins to secure the bundle.

  “We haven’t exactly quarreled,” I said. “But sometimes when you haven’t seen someone for a while, things are different between you, and that’s not always easy.”

  Well, that was the truth, although I wished I could take Tess into my confidence. But I didn’t know where to start. Maybe, just maybe, I would wake up tomorrow morning and find the whole thing had been due to an overabundance of nerves or suchlike. Martin and I would be old friends again and nothing more.

  Tess was silent for a few moments as I folded the stiff brown paper around the bundled dress and indicated where she should place her hands to hold the whole thing together while I wrapped it in string.

  “Martin’s wife is very pretty,” she said judiciously, watching how I twined the string around itself for extra security. “But, do you know, Nell? I’m not sure if she’s nice.”

  I felt my eyebrows lift in surprise. I’d thought Tess admired Lucetta. “What do you mean, Tess?”

  “Well,” Tess pulled herself up onto a chair and indicated that I should do the same, “for one thing, when I say ‘good morning’ or ‘good afternoon’ to her, she doesn’t answer me. She just walks on by like I’m not there. That’s not polite, is it? And I don’t think she’s hard of hearing because she says ‘good morning’ back when other people speak to her.”

  “Maybe she’s shy of you, Tess.”

  “I don’t think so.” Tess swung her legs, which were too short to reach the floor. “She’s not at all shy with other people.” She put so much emphasis on the last two words that I looked at her sharply.

  “Is this going to turn into gossip? Tess, where were you this morning? With Mrs. Drummond, I’ll be bound. I’m not sure if she’s quite right in the head since Professor Wale died. You shouldn’t listen to her.”

  “I don’t think it’s gossip when we’re concerned about putting a stop to things that are happening.” Tess looked at me sideways, her almond eyes gleaming with significance. “Bad things. Eliza thinks because you’re Martin’s friend, you should be the one to tell him.”

  “Wait.” I was puzzled but thought I grasped the sense of Tess’s hints. “You’re telling me I should pass gossip on to Martin about his wife?” I stood and paced the floor, pushing chairs out of my way. “No. Oh no. Tess, I’m the last person to entrust with that particular task, believe me.” I stopped dead, my shoulders slumping as I gave in to curiosity. “Very well. What bad things?”

  Tess squared her shoulders and looked important. “Well, Mrs. Rutherford and Dr. Calderwood play music a lot together.”

  “I know. They’re rehearsing for a concert. What of it?”

  “And while they play music, they drink wine.”

  “Hmm. Well, that’s against the seminary’s rules. But Dr. Calderwood has made a practice of relaxing the rules for guests. I know it makes Mrs. Drummond angry, but I don’t think—“

  “And sometimes they don’t play any music at all. For a long time.” Tess stared hard at me.

  “Oh, now that is ridiculous.” I resumed my pacing. “Nobody would be that indiscreet. In a place like this? And—Doctor Calderwood?” To be honest, it was the notion that Lucetta Rutherford saw anything at all in the pompous, preening man that shocked me the most.

  “She likes Mr. Poulton too.” Tess was watching me carefully. “But he doesn’t go in a room with her. He keeps Mrs. Calderwood busy—“

  “No!” I put my hands over my ears. “This is Eliza Drummond’s deranged mind speaking, not reality. Judah in cahoots with Mrs. Rutherford to—oh no, it’s just too preposterous for words.”

  “You haven’t seen much of Mr. Poulton in the last week or so, have you, Nell?”

  “Well, no, now that you mention it. But I’ve been occupied, and it’s a busy time of year for Judah.” And it hadn’t bothered me in the least that Judah hadn’t been assiduous in his attentions, I realized. But did I expect the man—any man—to dance attendance on me day and night? It was proper for men to have other things to do.

  I snatched up the parcel, dis
mayed at its weight. “Are you going to put your hat on?” I asked Tess. “I need to deliver this to Mrs. Addis.”

  Tess stuck out her lower lip ever so slightly. “Eliza was going to teach me about dealing with tradesmen,” she said. “And you can’t leave Sary with Netta too much longer, or she’ll be underfoot when they’re cooking, and Netta won’t like that.”

  I sighed. Tess was right, and besides, I wanted to walk fast and she hated that. “I’ll have to go on my own then.”

  “Without a chaperone?”

  “I’m not going to waste my time looking for one.” I glanced out of the window. The rain had ceased the day before, and the trail wouldn’t be too muddy.

  I put the parcel down again so I could look at my watch. An hour to walk to Springwood. Say twenty minutes to listen to Mrs. Addis chatter while she rummaged in her pin-money drawer for the rest of my fee. I needed to stop at the mercantile for soap and bootlaces—two and a half hours, then. I would just be back in time for our noonday dinner if I hurried.

  I pinned my hat to my hair and shrugged into my jacket, buttoning it quickly. “Don’t let Sarah eat too many of the tarts she’s making,” I instructed Tess. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  It felt good to be alone. Despite the rule—in place since Professor Wale’s murder—that we were not to walk to Springwood alone, and despite my own memories of the silent, bloody corpse flung like a discarded suit of clothes on the ground, I did not fear for my own safety. As long as it was not exceptionally cold or snowing, I liked being outdoors. And breaking the rule lent a certain spice to the outing, a conduit for the nervous energy that had fizzed in my limbs and invaded my sleep for days.