by Jane Steen
He had the attention of several of the diners by now and shook out his mane of hair as he continued. “After all, the frontier is moving westward. The wretched Indians are gone—although I hear they’re causing considerable trouble elsewhere. Civilization is spreading its bounteous joys even to the plains of Kansas. We must rise to the challenge—although, when I say ‘we,’ Mrs. Calderwood and I feel that maybe a younger man should shoulder the task. A younger man—or perhaps a younger couple.”
I stared at my plate, feeling myself go hot and cold at once as the table reacted in a babble of sound. So Judah had done it. I didn’t know how he’d done it without securing my hand first, but Dr. Calderwood’s words were a broad—and public—hint that Judah was in line to take over the seminary.
And begin an expansion. That was the first time I had heard of those plans. This would involve a great deal of money, I realized. My money, possibly. Had Judah told the Calderwoods about my wealth, then?
“I’m surprised, Dr. Calderwood, that you speak of expansion when you have still not solved the question of the danger that seems to lurk around this place. I understand one of your faculty members was murdered on the path to Springwood last year?”
Martin’s drawl cut across the other diners’ remarks with the nasty clarity of a trumpet call. “I’m not sure it behooves Mrs. Lillington to stay in a place where a woman’s safety cannot be guaranteed.”
A shocked silence descended as each of the diners absorbed what Martin had just said. From under my lowered lids, I could see faces turning to Dr. Calderwood for an answer.
I couldn’t speak. I was furious at Martin for acting as if he could order whether I would stay at the seminary or not. I was equally furious at Judah for assuming he could use my money as he wished. I crushed my napkin between my hands under the table, waiting for the doctor to reply. But it was Judah who spoke.
“We’re now quite certain that the perpetrator of the tragedy was one or more of the inhabitants of Fork Crossing—a degenerate spot, quite like Abilene used to be.”
His melodious tenor voice carried well. He directed his remarks to Martin, but it was certain the other diners heard them.
“It’s impossible to carry on any kind of investigation," he continued. “They won’t answer questions and present a united front. There’s been some bad feeling among certain undesirable characters after the young men of Springwood became a little overenthusiastic about helping some people remove to that settlement. Mr. Shemmeld here is taking a leading role in strengthening the number of deputies in Springwood. We are making it clear to the inhabitants of Fork Crossing that if they direct any more violence against the town or the seminary, there will be reprisals.” He nodded at Mr. Shemmeld.
“You must forgive my husband.” Lucetta laid a hand on Martin’s arm, the tips of her fingers making creases in his immaculate sleeve. “He’s worried about his young friend, whom he loves quite as a sister. He has perhaps spoken a little more forcefully than he meant to. The frontier is daunting to us city folk.”
By this point, I fervently wished that the floor beneath me would open up and consign the entire dinner party to oblivion. I was almost grateful when Judah spoke again.
“We’re a little rough around the edges, to be sure.” I couldn’t see his smile, but its effect was apparent from the sparkle in Lucetta’s large eyes. “But as Dr. Calderwood so astutely noted, we’re becoming civilized.”
“So you can guarantee Mrs. Lillington’s safety?” Martin’s tone was neutral, but there was a hardness in his eyes that alarmed me.
“Yes, I can.” Judah also sounded friendly, but I felt him tense a little beside me.
“You’d better prepare to answer to me if you don’t make good on that promise.” There was no mistaking the threat this time.
“Martin, my dear, you’re being a boor.” Lucetta laughed, a musical sound that seemed to offer some relief to the diners, who were watching the scene avidly. “Don’t spoil such a delightful little gathering, not when I’m about to sing. Drink some more of this excellent wine.”
But Martin had barely touched his glass. Like me, he disliked the taste of alcohol. I waited with bated breath to see if he would continue in the same vein. But he turned back to Mr. McGovern and made a remark about President Grant’s overseas policies that made the big man guffaw and slap him on the back.
The posture of the other diners softened into relaxation. The aroma of coffee had begun to fill the air, and the servants were walking around with trays of sweet morsels that met with sighs of appreciation from the ladies. Mrs. Shemmeld, her stern governess’s face flushed with wine and too much food, made a remark about my dress, and the other ladies took up the cry. Thus my own face was able to resume its normal color, and I turned it resolutely in her direction, ignoring both Martin and Judah. I would have to speak to both of them later.
They had extinguished the lamps in the library, and a faint sweetness hung in the air from the flowers left there from the pre-dinner gathering.
The servants had set all the tables and chairs back in their customary positions. I could easily find my way through them thanks to the gibbous moon hanging in the clear sky. Moon and stars combined cast long strips of cool blue light over the polished woods and ornate carvings, here and there picking out a gilded bee or a painted flower.
I unlocked the French doors and pushed them open, grateful for the cool air that enveloped me as I stepped out onto the balcony. My head rang with the chatter of people; my eyes ached from a surfeit of lights and the dazzle of jewels and silk. Lucetta’s superb voice and Dr. Calderwood’s surprisingly fine playing resonated still in my mind, the notes twisting and turning around each other in a tangle of liquid sound.
The company was still dispersing. I could hear bursts of female chatter and the booming voices of the men as they made their way to the staircase. Carriages would be waiting for them on the other side of the building. Just about anyone in Springwood who had a conveyance of greater standing than a farm cart had lent it for the occasion.
I heard the latch of the library door click and tensed, wondering if it were either Judah or Martin. If it were, I would need to have matters out with them on the spot, not an attractive prospect given my weariness and the ringing in my head.
Squinting into the darkness, I was surprised to hear the rustle of silk and catch the glint of moonlight on diamonds. It was Lucetta, her raven curls gathering the starlight as she moved toward me.
“All alone in the dark, Mrs. Lillington?” There was a note of amusement in Lucetta’s rich, musical voice, and her lips curved as she stepped out onto the balcony to stand beside me. Below us, a glow of light and a burst of chatter suggested the servants were resting for an interval.
“It’s not so dark.” I motioned at the starlit sky and the glowing moon. “And I needed some fresh air after all that chatter and bustle.”
“So did I.” Lucetta chuckled, a low, soft, somehow secretive sound. “It occurred to me that if I absented myself, the guests might make their way downstairs a little faster. That little plump woman and that dreadful Southerner with the bad breath must have made me the same compliments twenty times over.”
“Don’t blame them, Mrs. Rutherford.” It was odd to hear Martin’s name thus on my lips. “You and Martin are the most exciting things that have ever happened to this patch of the Great Plains. And your voice is magnificent—it deserves compliments.”
I had plenty of reasons to wish Lucetta Rutherford had never been born, but I was not going to begrudge her praise for her talent.
Lucetta’s smile turned wistful as she nodded in acknowledgement of my words, staring out beyond the outbuildings to the dark wilderness beyond. “I would have liked to train for the opera,” she said. “I had teachers, of course, very great ones. But Papa didn’t deem it suitable for his daughter to perform on a stage. My career will forever be confined to drawing rooms and little assemblies like this one.”
I caught the rich scent of her
perfume—gardenia?—as she raised a smooth, jewel-bedecked arm to push back a lock of hair. “I envy you,” she continued.
“Envy me?” I couldn’t imagine why. She had everything any woman of taste and talent could desire—beauty, wealth, and connections, and the world as a stage on which to display those assets at her will. And she had Martin. At least, I thought, hoping that the rising color in my cheeks would not show in the moonlight, she had the bond of marriage to Martin, which he couldn’t break without abandoning his honor.
“You have so many possibilities before you.” Lucetta indicated the dark prairie with a graceful sweep of her gloved hand. “You’ve forged a profession for yourself, and even should you marry, Martin will ensure that the wealth he’s built up for you remains in your control. I never had that. Until I married, my father, my brothers, even my cousins determined my life for me. I live in a cage, albeit a gilded one.”
“Martin would let you do anything you wished, I’m sure.” My voice sounded hoarse, and I cleared my throat. “He’s not the kind of man to keep any woman in a cage.”
“Martin?” Lucetta sounded surprised. “No, my dear. My cage was built for me long before Martin came. I simply opened the door and invited him in.”
A cold finger ran down my spine at her words. In my mind, I saw the two of them together behind gilded bars—trapped, perhaps, but together, with the world outside. With me outside.
Lucetta had seen me shiver. “Are you cold, Mrs. Lillington? You must preserve your health. After all, you have that delightful little girl to live for.”
“A goose walked over my grave,” I replied automatically and then swallowed hard. For a split second, I could have sworn I heard my mother’s voice, speaking in tandem with my own. I blinked, realizing with astonishment that tears were threatening to come to my eyes, and shook my head to dispel the emotion.
“That was one of my mother’s favorite expressions,” I said under my breath. “And she’s been in her own grave for four years now.” I shook my head again, smiling at Lucetta. “I’m sorry. It’s silly—grief still catches me unawares sometimes. I suppose I’m tired.”
For a long moment, we listened to the faint howl of a lone wolf far off, a desolate sound drifting across the plains like the cry of a lost soul. It was strange to be standing here dressed in the fine raiment of civilization with the wilderness so near.
“My Mama died when I was not quite five years old,” she said suddenly. “Of a fever. There was no warning. She’d been quite well, and we were all so happy together, Papa and my brothers and I, with Mama at the center, merry and laughing and always singing. And then I woke up one morning and they told me she was ill . . . They wouldn’t let me see her lest I catch the infection. That same day—that very same day, Mrs. Lillington—they told me my Mama was in heaven. She was snatched away from me without a last kiss or a farewell of any kind. The loss is with me still.”
She gathered up her skirts, a rich rustle of perfumed silk, and the diamond and sapphire bracelets on her smooth arms winked like a constellation. “When I love someone, my instinct is to hold them fast so they too do not disappear in the night.” She turned to leave but then looked back over her shoulder at me. “Good night, Mrs. Lillington. I hope you’ll take full advantage of your freedom.”
I stared after her, my limbs chilled and stiff. I didn’t think for a moment that her words had been mere conversation. She meant to remind me that Martin and I were on opposite sides of a bridge to which she held the key. She wasn’t going to let Martin go, ever.
39
Loss
I awoke next morning with a headache and dyspepsia. Neither was helped by sitting in the chapel for two hours listening to Dr. Calderwood’s sermon on generosity.
We only just made it to the chapel before the service started, so I was able to slip into our usual pew in the back—a great relief. Now that my status had been so publicly elevated, I had been afraid that Judah would require me to sit with him in the front pew. That would incur a great deal of awkwardness all around.
Between the pangs of intestinal discomfort and mental anguish, I didn’t attend much to the sermon. I watched the row of heads in the front pew—Martin’s bright blond next to his wife’s raven locks, and beside her, Judah’s black curls, cropped close to his head.
Some of last night’s guests were there too. I could see the bulk of Mr. McGovern next to his wife’s narrow-shouldered rigidity, Mr. and Mrs. Addis—she in the black I had made for her—and the soft, plump outline of Mrs. Durkin with her head of baby-fine hair, sheltered by her husband’s stout, prosperous form.
Dr. Calderwood’s sermon was shorter than usual. He looked a little jaded himself and had his hands firmly planted on the pulpit as if he needed to lean on it for support. Serves him right, I thought. I was no temperance fiend, not even a teetotaler like Tess, but the excessive consumption of alcohol by the faculty of a seminary that taught abstention to its young men was hypocritical at the very least.
I suppressed a belch as the service finally dragged to its conclusion and we rose to our feet. Sarah, who had been swinging her legs in a most irritating fashion for the last half hour, hopped cheerfully down from our pew. She dodged under it and made a dash for the door before I could say a word to her.
“Netta said she could have some cakes from last night.” Tess grinned at me.
“Ah. And she’s old enough to know that if she asked me, I’d tell her to wait until after luncheon.” I sighed and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I’ll go to the kitchen and negotiate terms with Netta.”
“Don’t be silly.” Tess gave me a gentle shove in the direction of the chapel door, through which a crowd of students was milling. “Go lie down and take something for your stomach. There’s some Soothing Syrup in the top of the clothes press, where Sary can’t see it. If Netta sees you complaining of stomachache, she’ll think you don’t like her food.”
“I think it was the combination rather than the individual items of food.” We squeezed through the press of students, and I headed gratefully to the staircase. “A rest and no lunch will set me up. I’m not so sure about your Soothing Syrup though. It makes me feel dizzy.”
I put my foot on the first stair and looked over my shoulder. The ladies and gentlemen from the front rows of pews had just emerged from the chapel. Martin had been captured by Mrs. Addis, who was trying to tow her prize toward her husband. Judah had his back to me, his elegant head cocked in the direction of Mrs. McGovern, who was haranguing him about something or the other.
“If Judah asks after me,” I instructed Tess, “please be sure to say I’m unwell and don’t wish anyone to disturb me.”
“Of course,” Tess replied. “But you’ll be at supper, won’t you? Don’t forget that Martin and his wife are leaving tomorrow morning. You’ll want to visit with them some more before they go.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” I smiled at Tess, but my smile felt forced and unnatural. I turned to climb the stairs, wincing as my eyes encountered the brilliant magentas, golds, and turquoises of the stained-glass windows, made glaringly bright by the noonday sun.
No, I certainly hadn’t forgotten that Martin was leaving the next day.
It was midafternoon before I re-emerged from my room. My indigestion had mercifully passed away, but my head throbbed with a dull ache that reclining seemed to make worse. I was never at my best after sleeping during the day, and I had dozed—fitfully, to be sure. My restless sleep teemed with whirling dreams of an endless dinner, during which people constantly asked me impertinent questions about my money and my nonexistent late husband.
When I finally dragged myself back to consciousness, I realized I was horribly thirsty, and there wasn’t a drop of water to drink in the room. The creak of the pump in the yard outside brought me to my feet in a fever of longing for the taste of cool well water. I hastily did what I could to make my hair look tidy and headed for the stairs.
My heart gave a somersault as I
got halfway down the first flight of steps and realized there was someone sitting on the next flight, just around the turn. It only took me a fraction of a second to identify Martin, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
“Are you all right?” he asked, rising to his feet.
“Tolerable,” I replied. “What on earth are you doing, sitting on the stairs? What will people think if they see you here?”
“I don’t particularly care.” I could see by the set of his jaw that his mood was no better than mine. “I want to talk to you.”
“Not here.” I lowered my voice, wishing my head didn’t hurt quite so much. Why did Martin insist on talking to me now, when all I wanted was to slake my thirst and get some peace and quiet? “People can hear—“
“To the devil with them—they shouldn’t be listening.”
But Martin seized my arm just above the elbow and steered me back upstairs. He hesitated outside my door but then thought better of it and pulled me along the corridor, well away from the staircase.
“What is wrong with you?” I yanked my arm out of Martin’s grasp and backed away from him, toward our room. “You behaved like—like a complete fool at dinner last night, implying you could decide whether or not I stay at this seminary. As if you only need snap your fingers and I’d climb into your carriage. Or would you like me to sit by the driver, like the maid? Because the seats inside are already occupied.”
A dull flush outlined Martin’s cheekbones, making his hair look startlingly pale. “And you—you sat there allowing that bombastic imbecile Calderwood to practically announce your engagement to Poulton and said nothing. What am I supposed to do, smile and congratulate you?”
I drew myself up as tall as I could, annoyed that I still had to tip my head back to face Martin. “I think it’s up to me to decide when I speak and what I say. It’s certainly not up to you to speak for me.”
