“You sound so mocking. Must you ridicule me when I’m trying to understand, trying to—build a bridge?”
“Build a bridge? Between you and me? That’s not at all necessary, Sonya. There’s nothing to bridge.”
In a brittle tone, Sonya said, “We both know better than that.”
Ginny caught the undercurrent in her voice. The memory of the last time in New Orleans swept back, sharply.
Sonya, delirious after the senator had been shot, hysterical in her bedroom, defying all efforts to calm her. Adeline Pruett, an avid witness, Steve holding Sonya by the wrists; Sonya in her white nightgown clinging to him, babbling, “No—I don’t want to hear any more. It doesn’t matter…. Why do you keep standing there? You weren’t so slow that day of the storm when you took me by force! What’s stopping you now? Aren’t I more beautiful than she is? My skin’s whiter, look—”
So much was a blur after that, even her own cold voice dredged up from the icy pit of her stomach as she had stood in the open doorway and said, “He’s really no damn good—and not at all worth yearning for, you know.”
But she was wrong. She’d known it even as she said it, even when she thought she hated him….
“Maybe I’m wrong,” she said stiffly and saw Sonya’s brows lift in surprise. “There has been a certain amount of constraint between us. We both know the reason for it. Not enough time has passed since…since I learned about you and Steve. Oh, I know it was before I met him, before I even met you. But you must understand how I felt, how it shattered me when I learned of it.”
Sonya flushed; an ugly shade of bright pink stained her cheeks and made her eyes a hot blue. “Yes, of course I can understand that. I have no explanation for my actions.”
An awkward silence descended.
Finally Ginny said, “It’s time to put it all behind us. This is a new beginning for me, and a new beginning for my marriage. I see no reason why it can’t be a new beginning for us, as well.”
“If you really mean that…” Sonya paused; tears made her eyes glisten. She lifted a fine lace handkerchief to dab at her eyes, a graceful gesture that was oddly touching.
“It’s time to bury the past. Let’s not resurrect it again. It’s too defeating.”
Maybe it really was time to bury the past, Ginny thought as she mounted the stairs to the senator’s study. My father, she reminded herself. It’s so hard to think of him as anything but my father.
Brandon was sitting in a huge wingback chair, with wire-rim spectacles perched on the end of his nose as he perused a sheaf of papers in one hand. Ginny paused in the open doorway to study him a moment before he took notice of her, and the familiar mask dropped over his features.
He’d aged in the last three years, more so than she had first thought. Now, seeing him in the bright morning light that streamed through the window, she noted the sagging jowls, the deeper creases in his face and around his eyes. His hair was thinning on the top, yet still thick, and sprinkled with gray at the temples. A handsome man still, now showing his age for the first time.
A lump formed in her throat. Regret? Sorrow for what had never been, would never be, perhaps?
“Good morning,” she said briskly, and entered the room with a smile pasted on her face.
The senator looked up, obviously startled. Immediately, he crumpled the papers in his hand, folding them over in a clumsy bundle. “Virginia! My dear, I did not expect you this early. Weren’t you to come later this afternoon?”
“Yes, but it was such a lovely morning I decided to ride out on my own.”
“On your own?” A brow rose. “A rather foolhardy act these days.”
“Not exactly all on my own. I’m well aware of the inadvisability of a woman riding alone, even in the city. No, I had an escort.”
Brandon tucked the papers he’d been reading into a book and put it on the floor beside his chair. “Your husband, I presume.”
Ignoring his sour tone, she managed a light shrug and reply. “Steve is not the only escort available.”
“I do hope you’re not up to your old tricks again, Virginia. It can be damned embarrassing.”
“Well, I can see that you’re in no mood for my company, so I shall take my leave now. We’ll be departing tomorrow for Mexico, so I shan’t see you again before I go.”
As she turned to leave, the senator said, “Please, I didn’t mean to sound so offensive. I just worry about you. And I fear my mind was elsewhere when you surprised me.”
Ginny turned, green eyes clashing with her father’s as she faced him fully. “I’m not the foolish young girl I once was. I’ve learned some bitter lessons in the past years, and now that I’m a mother, I’ve realized there are many things more important than being worried about what someone else thinks of me.”
“That includes me, I suppose.”
“Perhaps especially you. I’ve never lived up to your ideal of what I should be, have I? You’ve made that clear enough. I suppose in some ways I deserve your low opinion, but at least you cannot say I’ve been a hypocrite. What I’ve done in my life, I’ve done. Not all of it was my choice, but I survived because I had to. Tell me, did you ever love me?”
“Virginia…my God.” The senator sounded aghast, and he squirmed in his chair, scowling. “I’ve always loved you. Why do you think I would not? Christ, it must be something in the water around here. No, don’t look at me that way. Sonya asked me the same thing. Don’t either one of you understand what I’ve had to do to survive as well? Do you think I’ve done all I have just for myself?”
“Yes, in a way, I do think that,” Ginny said frankly. “I don’t believe that you would never have run for your seat in the Senate or acquired a fortune if I didn’t exist. Nor does Sonya. But you’re a man accustomed to power, a man who enjoys power and wealth. Sometimes I think that’s all you really do care about. Is that why you didn’t stay with my mother?”
Scraping a hand over his jaw, her father sat quietly for a long moment. The sunlight picked out silvery strands of hair, gleamed brightly on polished mahogany furniture and the gold rims of his spectacles.
“The truth of the matter,” he finally said calmly, “is that your mother did not love me. Before we met, she loved another man, as you now know. I thought I could make her love me, my sweet, sad Genevieve, but nothing I did made her happy. I felt so helpless. Do you know what it is to love someone and not have that love returned, to have your insides twisted into knots all the time, and know that nothing you ever do will be enough? You—you were the only happy thing that came out of our marriage, and while I may not have been the best of fathers, I tried my best to give you all I could. Apparently, it wasn’t enough.”
Ginny stared at him. Hadn’t she said just a few minutes ago that she intended to start over? That it was a new beginning for all of them? Yes, and if she was to be honest with herself, she had to admit that she hadn’t always been a daughter who was easy to know. After all, she hadn’t seen him while she was growing up, not until coming to America when she was twenty-one. They’d both missed out on so much.
“You were—are—a good father,” she said, and saw his face change from guarded to cheered, a subtle shift of facial muscles that suddenly made him look younger. “I don’t want to quarrel with you, especially since we’re leaving early tomorrow and I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”
“You’re determined to go?”
“Yes. I don’t want to be separated from Steve again. There has been too much of that in our lives, and I won’t risk our futures any longer. We have children. We have to forge a life together now, before it’s too late.”
“I see. Well, I cannot say I’m happy to hear that you’re going into a country seething with revolution, but I know the futility of trying to stop you from doing what you’ve set out to do.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “It’s never worked before, and I’m certain would be a waste of my time now to try to convince you otherwise.”
“Steve has diplomatic i
mmunity. I do not anticipate any problems that can’t be safely resolved.”
“Perhaps. I assume Don Francisco is aware of your intentions?”
She bit her lip, uncertainty obvious, for her father gave a shake of his head. “Ah, Virginia. At least inform him of your plans before you arrive. He should be made aware.”
“Oh, I’m sure Steve has taken care of all the details. He usually does.”
“Yes, he does have a nasty habit of tying up loose ends—even those that should remain untied.”
Another silence fell, brief and pregnant with meanings that Ginny sensed were not meant for her to know.
She started to ask, but then her father said, “I would never do anything to hurt you. I’m sure you know that. Just be careful while in Mexico. Promise me that.”
“I promise. And I know you never mean to hurt me, just as I’ve never meant to hurt you.”
“Yes.” He struggled to his feet and grabbed his silver-headed cane in one hand, using it to propel himself to her side. A faint smile curved his mouth as he reached out to touch a stray copper tendril that dangled against her cheek. “You look so very much like your mother, yet you’re much stronger than Genevieve. You have all her goodness inside you, but I think you have learned my strength of purpose. Remember that. As long as you depend upon yourself, nothing can destroy you.”
“You sound as if I’ll be traveling to the mouth of hell instead of to a familiar home. Have you forgotten my time in Mexico City? In Orizaba?”
“No, of course not.” His hand shifted to lay on her shoulder, a warm, heavy weight. “But places change. People change. Goals change. I just want you to be prepared for whatever may happen.”
“Don’t you think I know better than most how things change? God, when I think of all that’s happened to me in the last ten years—But that’s not what we’re discussing, is it? No, I feel as if I’m being warned. What is it? What are you saying to me? Be frank. I’m not a politician, and I don’t like having to read between the lines. If you have something to say to me, for the love of God, say it!”
“Ah, Virginia, Virginia—you make it so difficult. No, my child, I’m not trying to warn you of anything, save your own impetuous nature.”
“Are you not? It seems as if you are.”
“Perhaps you aren’t aware of the political situation, not just in Mexico, but in the United States. The scandal of the Whiskey Ring is still a sharp memory in most minds, and even though Babcock was acquitted of conspiracy to defraud the Federal government of liquor taxes, the taint on him, as well as those connected with him, remains. President Grant may have intervened on behalf of his secretary, but too many people believe that the Whiskey Ring is part of a plot to finance the Republican party by fraud. It’s not easy getting bills through Congress or to earn public approval. My influence is not what it once was, I fear, should you find yourself in need of it.”
Ginny frowned as the senator turned away to stump back to his chair and sink down into it again with a muffled sigh of pain. Despite his seeming fragility of health, an aura of strength emanated from him, an indomitable will. She moved to stand close to his chair, studying him in the revealing light through the window. “Is that why you’re so worried lately? Were you involved?”
“Really, Virginia, what kind of question is that!”
“One that needs an answer. You’re right when you say I haven’t kept up with American politics. I’ve been gone so long that it hasn’t mattered to me. But now I find myself wondering if your concern for my safety has anything to do with more of your plots. I haven’t forgotten how you used me and Sonya to disguise the shipment of gold you were sending to Maximilian. I was such a fool. It all seemed so exciting and romantic. Poor Max. It wouldn’t have helped him in the end anyway. But you never thought of my safety then.”
“You’re wrong,” the senator said testily, and thumped the end of his silver-headed cane against the floor. “If not for Steve Morgan, you would have been perfectly safe. He did more damage by abducting you than he did by taking my gold.”
She couldn’t refute that. Ginny gazed down at her father for a long moment, then asked softly, “Were you more worried about me, or about the gold he took?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Virginia. You’ve always been worth more to me than any amount of gold.”
It was a facile reassurance, made with the aplomb of a politician, but lacking in sincerity. Brandon didn’t meet her eyes, but kept his face stubbornly averted.
Ginny didn’t stay much longer. When she left, she bade him farewell and gave him a perfunctory kiss, then called for her escort to bring her mount.
“Must you leave so soon, Ginny?” Sonya looked worried. “I would feel better if you would allow me to send Franklin with you as an additional escort.”
“Girard is quite capable, thank you. Steve hired him, and I have faith in his judgment.”
Sonya slid an uncertain glance toward the lean young man bringing Ginny’s horse, but only nodded. Their farewell was only slightly less awkward than the one with her father, and Ginny was unsettled and agitated as they left.
It was not a very comfortable departure, Ginny thought as she rode back along the curving river road that swept from the old Delery plantation along the banks of the Mississippi and down to New Orleans. Both Sonya and her father had acted so strange, as if—as if trying to tell her something. Perhaps she should have talked more to Sonya, or listened to her. But really, in light of all that had happened between them, it was difficult to trust her completely.
“Madame Morgan,” Girard said respectfully as their horses slowed to a trot at the city limits, “it is best if we ride along Magazine Street until we reach Canal. I do not think it safe here.”
A brisk wind had sprung up, blowing Ginny’s copper hair loose from the confines of the straw bonnet tied upon her head. The smells of late summer were in the air, vying with the more pungent scent of river debris and the mélange of cargo being unloaded on nearby docks. It was noisy, the serenity of the road behind them dissipating in a beehive of activity and swaying masts and the belching smoke of riverboats and steamers. Rough boatmen swarmed the clutter of cargo stacked along the wharves, some of them pausing to turn and look as they drew near.
As she pushed her blowing hair from her eyes, Ginny saw a familiar face among the men, and drew her mount to a halt. “Wait a moment, Girard. I see someone I know.”
He saw her at almost the same time, and a cheeky grin split his face as Paco Davis climbed the bluff to approach her where she waited on the rise overlooking the docks.
“You’re as beautiful as always, Ginny. Have you forgiven me yet?”
“No.” She tapped him lightly with the riding crop she held in one hand. “Tell me, I know there’s something strange going on. What is it? You owe me an explanation of some sort, so don’t look at me like that. After all that we’ve been through in the past, you should know you can trust me.”
Warily, Paco fixed her with an intense stare, his black eyes half-lidded. “I can’t tell you any more than Steve has told you, I’m sure. I’m just an errand boy.”
Ginny’s mount shied a bit when Paco put a hand on its bridle, dancing away from him. She lifted a brow as she calmed the horse. “I doubt that very much, but I can see you have no intention of telling me anything. Very well, I’ll just ask Steve. Is that the ship we’re taking?”
Paco nodded. “Yeah, it should get us there pretty fast, unless there’s another hurricane. It’s the time of year for them.”
The Liberty rode at anchor at the end of the dock, a small, two-masted schooner that looked neat and trim. Burly stevedores were loading cargo, huge boxes and crates that were lifted by a crane and swung on ropes to be lowered into the hold. The vessel dipped with each new burden, straining at thick chains and coils of rope holding it to the dock while men shouted orders and curses.
“Will you be sailing with us, or can you answer even that question?” Ginny asked. Paco flashed a white grin
.
“I’ll be going along, at least at first. I’ve friends of my own to visit once we reach Mexico. But then, you’ll be visiting Don Francisco so shouldn’t miss us.”
“Us? I hope you don’t mean that Steve is going with you instead of staying with me. You do! I can tell by your face that’s what he plans, damn him. After promising me we would not be separated again. Where is he?”
“Ginny, por Dios, I didn’t mean…Look, you can’t blame him for something he didn’t say. Damn, my big mouth is going to get us all in trouble one day. Just wait and see what he says, all right? I don’t know if he’s going with me or staying with you. Steve hasn’t made any such decisions, or told me about it anyway.”
“Then I suppose Jim Bishop has told you that he has plans for Steve to go elsewhere?” Anger boiled inside her, coupled with dismay, hurt and uncertainty. How could he? Would he? After all the promises, the assurances that they’d stay together this time? Wasn’t that why she’d come with him, leaving behind their children once again?
Steve Morgan, I can’t live in uncertainty…. You will tell me the truth this time, by God!
Humid air lay in a cloud on Gallatin Street, oppressive and muggy, so that breathing left a bad taste in the back of Steve’s throat.
“Here, amigo,” Paco said, holding out a tumbler full of whiskey, “this should kill the taste of the air.”
“Or me.” Steve eyed the tumbler with distaste. “I don’t know how you drink this rotgut.”
“Quickly.”
Feeble light flickered from open doors of dance-hall saloons and barrelhouses, the only illumination provided in this dingy, dangerous section of the Vieux Carré. It was the haunt of pickpockets, cutthroats and thieves, riverboatmen and prostitutes. A short thoroughfare of only two blocks from Ursuline Avenue, through Hospital and up to Barracks Street, it contained some of the roughest dives in all of America, as well as New Orleans. The district was the natural habitat of the men they had come to meet.
The overflow of this vicious underworld spilled into adjacent Levee Street and Bill Swan’s Fireproof Coffeehouse. The coffeehouse was the only establishment in New Orleans where the Live Oak Boys were welcome, Swan having been a member of this formidable gang of ruffians himself before he managed to amass enough money to purchase his own, different brand of thievery. The Live Oaks took his resort under their protection, partly for old times’ sake, and partly because he was wise enough to give them free liquor. It was an arrangement that worked well, for the Live Oaks were known to take great pleasure in intimidating and raiding other resorts, either on commission from a rival establishment or because they just took pleasure in it.
Savage Desire Page 10
