Wild Star

by Catherine Coulter

  “What’s the pity?” he asked finally.

  “The girl. Poor Madison’s cursed. Told me he’d caught her with her lover, one of the damned Californios. ’Course the boy wouldn’t marry her, but his pa gave Madison some money to buy him off. Damned proud greasers. Madison’s just hopin’ the girl’s belly won’t swell with a bastard.”

  But she’s so young, Brent thought, probably not even twenty yet. A lover? She hadn’t struck him as that type of female. Well, he was probably wrong. Lord knew, he’d been wrong before. She’d probably tried to use her body to get herself married into a wealthy family. An old story. Damnable scheming women. You taught me well enough, Laurel. He heard Byrony DeWitt laugh, a sweet sound, and saw her scratching behind the mangy ear of one of the horses.

  “It doesn’t seem likely to me,” Brent said.

  “Like I told you, I’m her pa’s friend. Tells me everything, he does. The girl’s a proud little piece, but still a slut.” He spit again, the brown stream landing in the center of the puddle he’d been working on for hours.

  “She doesn’t look like a slut.”

  “A silly little slut with a fancy name. That’s all she is. Aye, poor Madison. Guess it makes sense, since the girl was raised without her pa in Boston. Now he’ll have to find her a husband from other parts. No self-respectin’ man would have her now.”

  Particularly, Brent thought, if you tell everyone you see about her failings. He looked up to see Byrony DeWitt climb into the wagon and take the horse’s reins from her mother. For a brief moment she looked directly at him, and she smiled. Then she click-clicked the horses forward, and soon all he could see was the billowing dust from the wagon wheels.

  “You stayin’ in these parts long, young feller?”

  “No, I’m not. San Diego is too quiet for me.” And too stagnant, and too dirty. He thought of San Francisco and smiled. Crime, corruption, greed, every negative human behavior imaginable, but dammit, you knew you were alive in that city. A city filled with young men like himself, who wanted to create their own future. Wild, boisterous, invigorating, that was San Francisco. He’d traveled on Edward Bolsom’s ship down the coast with half a thought to buying into his friend’s shipping line. But it wasn’t for him. He knew what he wanted.

  “You been up north in the goldfields?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any luck?”

  “Enough,” Brent said. “Be seeing you.” He tipped his hat to the old man and strode back across the street to the Colorado House.

  “Who was that man, Byrony?”

  Byrony turned her head from the road to look at her mother. “I ran into him, literally, and spilled the flour all over me. He is very nice, but he’s leaving San Diego tomorrow.”

  Alice DeWitt twisted her hands together, a habit of long standing. “I’m glad your father wasn’t in town.”

  “Why? You think he would have gone after the man and demanded money from him for dishonoring me?” Byrony’s voice shook with bitterness and impotent rage.

  “Now, dear,” Alice said, her voice pleading, “you mustn’t be like that. The five hundred dollars was a big help to your father.”

  “Don Joaquín should have told him to go to hell. Poor Gabriel. God, I wish I were a man.” She gave a snort of laughter. “But then I might be like Charlie. You did see him, didn’t you? He was with Tommy Larkin and Jimmy Talvo. Worthless scum, all of them. Of course, your husband would be so delighted that Charlie was half-drunk and shooting off his gun.”

  Alice flinched. Two months after her return to San Diego, Byrony had referred to him only as Alice’s husband. “Did much of the flour get spilled?”

  “Not more than a dime’s worth. Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll take the blame if he notices.” How can I get away from him? What can I do to escape?

  “I saw the stranger talking to Jeb Donnally.”

  Byrony gave a mirthless laugh. “So did I. He now believes me the biggest whore in California, if Jeb talked about me at all. Filthy old man.”

  “Byrony, you mustn’t talk like that.”

  “Why not? What difference does it make? At least it’ll save me from his marriage plans. I’ll bet he didn’t count on Jeb bugling all his lies to the world.”

  But it did make a difference, Alice thought. If Byrony talked like that in front of her father, he would hurt her. She had to get Byrony away; she’d realized that when she couldn’t stop her daughter from trying to protect her. But two months before, Madison had found her little stash of money that she’d been hoarding for Byrony. He’d not said a word to her, merely taken the money and gone into San Diego with Charlie. When he’d returned many hours later, he’d still not blasted her with his anger, simply looked at her and said quite calmly, “I know why you did it. But I’ll decide what’s to be done with the girl, not you. Thank God she doesn’t have your looks. I always thought your mother was a looker. The girl has to be worth something.”

  “She’s your daughter, your own flesh and blood.” Alice had said, goaded. She had been beautiful, once, many years before.

  He raised his hand, then lowered it. “Yes, she is. She’s also a hellion, but she’ll learn her place. I let you have your way, woman, sending her to your sister. But now she’s back and I’ll use her as I see fit.”

  She felt the familiar deadening helplessness sweep through her, but she’d said only, “Byrony isn’t a hellion. She’s a sweet, kind girl. Why can’t you be more loving with her?”

  “She escaped her responsibilities for nearly nineteen years. It’s time she paid me back.”

  He was just like his own father, she thought now. And she’d known it, deep down, she’d known it even before she married him. But she’d loved him so much, known that she could change him. “Do you know something, Byrony,” she said to her grim-faced daughter, speaking her thoughts aloud, “he did change for a while. He tried, truly tried, but nothing ever went right for him. It made him bitter. That’s why we moved to California, so we could begin again, start fresh. If you’d just not talk back to him—”

  “And let him hit you? Do you honestly believe that I can just stand there when he’s in one of his rages, and watch him strike you? Oh, Mother, let’s leave, together. Whatever good you saw in him a long time ago is no longer there. And Charlie’s becoming just like him. I can take care of both of us, Mother, I know I can. You’ve seen that I’ve gotten some education, and Aunt Ida taught me how to sew and cook. I can find work, support us.”

  “I can’t, Byrony. He needs me.”

  Byrony heard not only the pathos in her mother’s voice but also the underlying strength. She was more trapped than she would have been in a prison cell. “You’re right about the five hundred dollars. It will keep him feeling important for a month, hopefully. But then it will be the same again. He’ll blame everyone but himself for his failures.”

  “He needs me,” Alice DeWitt said again.

  Madison didn’t hear about the loss of the flour, and the five hundred dollars was gone within two weeks. He became morose and silent, spending most of his time in San Diego, complaining to Jeb Donnnally about his ill-fortune. Byrony waited for the explosion, but it never came. Instead, one evening Madison DeWitt came into the house, waving a letter in his hand.

  “At last,” he shouted. “Now, my dear daughter, you’ll repay me for all those fancy years you spent in Boston.”

  Byrony froze.

  “What do you mean, Madison?” Alice said.

  “I mean,” he said with deep satisfaction, “that I’ve found a husband for your daughter. A rich husband. One of your distant cousins, Alice, Ira Butler.”

  Byrony didn’t move a muscle. Her mind raced to the few conversations she’d had with her Aunt Ida about her family. Ira Butler was a third cousin, from back East. He was old, probably nearing forty.

  “The only thing is,” Madison said, frowning toward Byrony, “is the girl pregnant? Is she carrying that damned Californio’s bastard?”

  “Of course not.” A
lice cried. “She never—”

  “Shut up, woman. Our Mr. Butler will be arriving next week from San Francisco. He’s going to pay dearly for you, daughter, dearly indeed. He writes of a fine settlement.”

  “Why does he want to marry me?” Byrony asked, her first words.

  “He talks of family ties,” Madison said. “He even sent a hundred dollars, for your trousseau, he says. Well, girl, you can have fifty. Do something with yourself, you look like a worn-out—”

  “Slut?”

  He raised his hand, then thought better of it. “Hold your tongue, girl. I’ll brook no insolence from you. Soon you’ll be another man’s problem.”

  Alice quickly said, “Come, love, let’s go to the kitchen and make dinner. We can talk.”

  “I won’t be here, Ali,” Madison called out, his voice obnoxiously jovial. “I’m going into town. At last things are going my way.”

  “To get stinking drunk,” Byrony said under her breath.

  “Madison,” Alice said, “could you please give me the fifty dollars?”

  “Whining bitch,” he muttered, but he handed her the money.

  Alice heaved a sigh of relief. “It’s an answer to all my prayers,” she said to her daughter after her husband’s heavy footfall had faded in the distance.

  “Your prayers, not mine,” Byrony said.

  “No, listen to me, child. I remember Ira well. He’s older than you by some years, but he’s a kind man, and handsome, ever so handsome. I remember thinking he looked just like the angels in my Bible, all fair and slender. He won’t hurt you, ever. My, my, I wonder at his reasons, but no matter. I haven’t heard from him in a good three years. He wrote me from San Francisco back in ’fifty. He was already on his way to becoming rich. A smart man, Ira, and a good man. You’ll even have a new sister, Byrony. Her name is Irene, and she’s not that much older than you. She’s Ira’s half-sister, but he’s taken care of her since his father and stepmother died some ten years ago.”

  Byrony listened to her mother run on and on. A kind man—he’ll not hurt you. Was that all to pray for in a husband? Perhaps, Byrony thought, it was all that she could pray for. But why her? He’d never even seen her. It made no sense to her. But then, nothing had made much sense since her return to the bosom of her family. Oddly enough, before she fell asleep that night, she thought of the man she’d met in San Diego, the gambler. She gave a small half-sigh and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

  THREE

  Aunt Ida would have said that Ira Baines Butler was a real gentleman, an almost extinct male of the species. Byrony silently agreed as she watched Ira Butler deftly handle each member of the DeWitt family. She remembered Aunt Ida’s standards were as rigid as her whalebone corset. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember more than a half-dozen males being raised to that exalted station. Ira’s light blue eyes swung toward her and he smiled. Despite herself, she felt herself responding and smiling back. No doubt about it, she thought, he was charming, attentive, well-dressed, and said all the right things. Byrony, who was prepared to hate him on sight, had to revise her opinion of him before the end of the first evening of his visit. He treated her father with deferential respect, while her father viewed him with greed, envy, and relief. She saw her mother grow almost pretty again under Cousin Ira’s gentle compliments. Charlie’s behavior surprised her the most. He had at first been sullen, not at all unexpected, but under Ira’s careful handling he soon became like a friendly puppy, eager to win the older man’s approval and attention.

  And he was rich.

  Long after she went to bed that first evening, she could hear the soft rumble of male voices from downstairs. Her father was doubtless squeezing every dollar he could from Ira. Her confusion over the entire situation grew.

  The next morning, after breakfast, Ira asked if Byrony would give him a tour of the small ranch. To Byrony’s surprise, her father had already hitched up the buckboard, a task he had disdained since she’d come back to San Diego.

  “Such a pleasure to finally meet you, Cousin Byrony,” Ira said once they were seated in the buckboard. “May I say while we’re alone that I am pleased that you have accepted me. Let me assure you that I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

  Ira Butler’s speech was lightly spiced with a Southern drawl, his voice smooth as honey. Byrony remembered her mother telling her that Cousin Ira Baines Butler was a handsome man, and she hadn’t told her daughter a lie. He did look like an angel, Byrony thought, with his silky blond hair, very fair complexion, and pale blue eyes. Oddly, the image of the gambler came into her mind and she thought: And he looks like a fallen angel. She said, “Thank you, Mr. Butler.”

  “Ira, please.”

  “Ira.” She smiled up at him. “I think you misnamed, sir. Gabriel is more appropriate, I think.”

  A mobile blond brow soared upward.

  “You look like an angel. The top angel.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, showing even white teeth. Why, Byrony wondered, hadn’t he married? He certainly appeared to have everything any woman would want.

  “I’ll bear that in mind, Byrony,” he said after a moment. “But I believe that I must prefer being earthbound, unless, of course, you’d consent to share the celestial firmament with me.” He wrapped her in his warm smile, and again she found herself returning the smile easily.

  She click-clicked poor old Coolie forward. “Have you ever been in San Diego before?”

  “Unfortunately not. It’s a lovely little town. I venture to say that you will find San Francisco equally as interesting.”

  “Oh, I have no particular interest in San Diego.”

  “I forgot. You just came here from Boston, didn’t you? A truly fascinating city. No wonder you’re not very impressed with San Diego.” She nodded, and he continued easily, “You’re probably wondering why I proposed marriage to you in such an unusual way.” He turned to study her profile.

  “Yes,” she said, “I did.”

  “I saw you two years ago in Boston.”

  She turned her head to face him. “I don’t understand.”

  He looked rueful. “You see, I didn’t find out who you were until I was on the point of leaving. But I didn’t forget. No indeed. And to discover that we were related—you can imagine my pleasure and relief.” He paused a moment, the easy smile never leaving his mouth. “It took me a while to find you.”

  Was he saying that he’d fallen in love with a girl from just a brief look at her? Byrony couldn’t imagine such a thing, but it made her feel somehow very special. After all, he had no reason to lie to her.

  “What were you doing in Boston?”

  “Business. Boring stuff for such a lovely young lady, I assure you. Such warm, humid weather. I must admit that I couldn’t wait to return to San Francisco. It’s much cooler. You see, Byrony, San Francisco is like”—he raised his hand—“my thumb here, a peninsula, with the Pacific on the left side, the bay above and down the other side. Our weather is cool all year around. I think—I hope you will like it.”

  “It sounds lovely. I can remember sweat—” She broke off, remembering Aunt Ida’s lectures about the subjects a lady never addressed.

  He laughed again, patting her arm lightly. “Me too. You must have drunk gallons of lemonade during the summer months.”

  “Yes,” she said, “I did. Where do you live in San Francisco?”

  “On Rincon Hill, it’s called. In South Park. Irene and I worked with the architect to make it look a bit like our home in Baltimore. I hope you will feel at home there, Byrony.”

  “Irene lives with you?” Byrony asked, though she already knew the answer. It seemed a bit odd to her that a sister would continue to live with her brother after he married, but it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t as if theirs was a love attachment.

  “Yes, you will like my sister. My half-sister, actually. I spoke about you to her and she is enthusiastic about meeting you and having a new sister.” He was silent a mo
ment. Byrony filled in the silence with points of interest in the landscape.

  “You don’t mind leaving your family so soon, do you?” he asked after a moment.

  “No,” Byrony said, “I don’t. My mother and her husband realize that you are a very busy man. Do you wish to return to San Francisco after the wedding?”

  Married to an absolute stranger. She felt as though she herself were somehow apart from the girl in the buckboard. She shook herself as he said, “Yes, by ship. One of my ships, actually. She’s the Flying Sun and the accommodations are quite comfortable. It shouldn’t take us more than five days to reach San Francisco.”

  She wanted desperately to ask him how much he was paying her father, but hesitated. It was one of those topics that was doubtless considered a man’s business. She prayed it was a goodly amount so her mother’s work could be lightened.

  Ira looked at her profile, delighted that she was so lovely. Even if she’d been homely as mud pie, he still would have married her. But her beauty would make every man in San Francisco envious of him. And she was so young, and malleable. Every problem would be solved. He knew all about her father, and had, indeed, despised the man on sight. Miserable bastard. At least the girl had been protected. He had shown himself to her as sensitive to her feelings and very gentle, knowing instinctively it was the way to proceed with her.

  He encouraged her to speak of her life in Boston, and did no probing when she glossed over her return to San Diego. He would have liked to tell her that her mother had always been a silly fool, even when she was young, so certain in her belief that she could change the buffoon, Madison DeWitt, but he’d realized quickly enough that she’d appointed herself her mother’s protector.

  “You will be happy, Byrony, I swear it to you,” he said as he helped her down from the buckboard.

  “Well, my boy, how are you?” Madison DeWitt clapped Ira on the back, oblivious of the fact that the boy was in his late thirties.