by Rachel Secor
She stood before the portal remembering how she used to count her footsteps from the gate to the door, thirteen. Now she counted only six. Pausing with her hand on the latch, Katherine wondered, did she really want to go in? The sun bathed the cottage front in muted orange and it seemed to smile.
She entered.
Everything was in its place as if no one had been there since her mother died. Even the three legs of her small stool in front of the fireplace sat in fitted circles of dust. How could she have missed falling over it in the predawn light?
“Oh, God,” she uttered in despair, wrapping her arms about herself, “why have I come back to Wistmere?”
From the silence of her memory crept sounds of the raping wind as it molested the moors beyond the cottage. Then she heard her mother singing as she always did when she cooked or cleaned. The memory crushed her, and Katherine buried her face in her hands and cried, “Momma, why have you left me alone in this world?”
A deep voice suddenly jolted her from her grieving.
“Do you know the family who lived here?”
Katherine whirled around, the answer frozen in her heart, her hands hastily brushing aside her tears.
His tall frame blocked the sun and closed the room in darkness as he stooped under the low portal. “May I join you?” Garth asked.
“It seems you already have,” she stammered, not sure whether she welcomed his presence or was frightened by it.
He shoved his hands into his pockets like a shy little boy, uncomfortable and out of place, and looked around. An unspoken kinship between the two animated the stuffy air and charged it with excitement.
He moved toward the reed of a woman who instinctively stepped further into the shadows and wondered why he had followed her there. Curiosity? Yes, curious to see if she fit the cottage-slave image or that of the lady of the manor. What better way, he thought bitterly, than to see her in her natural surroundings? But as Garth studied Katherine, he couldn’t remain bitter. His heart argued on her behalf. She’s but a scared little bird caught between the winds of time, between remembrances of greed and lust. Where lies her strength?
“It’s small, isn’t it?” He uttered, slowly moving about the room.
“Yes, it is now, but it wasn’t always.” Her eyes seemed to see the smallness of the room for the first time.
He closed the distance between them. “When was that?”
“When I was a child.” She turned her head, not wanting to look at him, fearful that he would see her vulnerability.
But he already knew when that was for he knew all about her. He knew of his father’s secret lover hidden from the eyes of courtly Wistmere and the child that came from their illicit union.
Katherine shuttered under his continued stare. The silence pried words from her discomforted mind. “I was born and raised here.”
“Indeed?” He stepped back, keeping between her and the door. “Was your mother considered African or Hispanic?” A sudden bitterness crept back into his voice.
“I–I beg your pardon,” she whispered, her raspy words barely audible. She couldn’t believe that he would ask such a question, him of all people.
“Was your mother African or Hispanic?” He repeated, a little more loudly and more boldly.
Katherine wanted to pull the stones of the cottage down around her. Then she grew angry with his insolence, his cruelty. She had to leave, to get away from there and from him. “I must go now.” She started past him.
But his arm shot across the door frame, blocking her retreat. He looked into her turbulent eyes, and, suddenly grabbing her, crushed her in his arms. His lips were upon hers as he smothered her with a bruising kiss.
For a fleeting moment, as their lips came together, there was enchantment, an enchantment that lifted Katherine higher than her place at Wistmere. But it was a place that was too high, a place she didn’t belong. She couldn’t breathe, and she struggled free, scurrying through the portal.
Garth watched her dart through the fields like a frightened doe and smiled.
Harried and breathless, Katherine charged into her room. Why hadn’t she slapped him? No, she couldn’t have done that. There was something dangerous about him, something more unsettling than his claim to the manor, and the danger was to her. Yet she also realized that she had welcomed his advance. His savage kiss excited her. She looked in the mirror. She never regarded herself as pretty nor could she ever be in love. Love was a luxury that she had, out of survival, denied herself. The few men that she had allowed into her life proved to be dishonorable rakes. They assumed that, because of her tawny skin and lower station in life, she would be desperate for their attentions, allowing them to have their way. And there were those who had tried to force themselves on her. Tears of embarrassment and futility ran down her face.
* * *
It wasn’t easy for May-Jewel to begin her letter to Jeremy. Her aggravation over things that Alex had said or implied while they were in the gazebo stayed with her, unsettling her mind. Then, too, the way she and Jeremy parted wasn’t on a very pleasant note for furthering their relationship. How do I entreat him, she wondered, the tip of her pen poised over the blank piece of paper. Flirtatiously? Hmmm. That never worked before. Maybe it’s time for a more womanly approach, a more humble approach. So with some trepidation, she started writing what she was certain he wanted to hear.
My Dearest Jeremy,
Forgive my anger during our last hours together. You were right to deny me your company on such an impulsive journey. I realize mine was an immature decision and I should have given way to your wisdom. But I am here now, and I miss you and long to be with you. The nights are unbearable and the days are long and empty.
She paused, debating whether to proceed. This wasn’t like her. She would never have apologized for any decision she made. Still, she would write what she had to in order to get him to come to her. She continued writing,
My leaving you has made me realize what a mistake I’ve made. If you were here, my heart would know its master and respond only as a lover should. Please, dear one, come to me and let us build anew on the love that we once shared.
Most affectionately,
Your May-Jewel
It made her uncomfortable to have written such a submissive letter. If it weren’t for the protection and the help he might offer, she wouldn’t have written at all. Before folding it, she reread it. Will he think I’m sincere? Will he come? Do I really want him to come? Not having any answers, there was nothing left to do but have Charles post it.
* * *
After getting locked in the vault, suffering again the memories of her past with her return to the cottage, and the emotional upheaval of Garth’s kiss, Katherine had little patience for anyone, especially May-Jewel and Alex. She was still upset with Garth and his open advances on her. And she was in no frame of mind to tolerate another hour or so of senseless chatter. As she entered the dining room, she knew, however, that she would now have to deal with all of them. But to her surprise, neither Alex nor Garth were there. She relaxed in the hope that neither would be coming down to dinner.
May-Jewel entered and seeing only her sister there, she announced, a bit too strongly, “I’ve written a letter to Jeremy. How long do you think it will take for my letter to reach Boston? You should have read it. My words were tender and inviting without being forward. He’ll come. I’m sure! But I’ll need a new dress, one he hasn’t seen. I want to look more beautiful than ever when he arrives. Do you suppose there’s a dressmaker in the village?”
Katherine came out of herself and, anxious to keep May-Jewel’s thoughts on Jeremy, offered, “Why don’t I make your dress? I have all that’s needed, including a bolt of the loveliest blue summer linen that will enhance the color of your eyes.”
May-Jewel’s happy expression darkened as she saw Alex enter the dining room. “How nice! Of course you can sew a new dress for me.” Dare she add “for when Jeremy arrives” she wondered? But thinking that mig
ht be a bit too much, she closed her mouth.
Katherine smiled, knowing that she and May-Jewel would now be thrown together in private for fittings that would last for hours, hours that May-Jewel wouldn’t be spending under the influence of Alex.
Alex poured himself a drink. His manner was cocksure and bold as he raised his glass in greeting. “Our ‘guest’ hasn’t come down as yet, I see. Could it be that he’s decided to end the charade and leave before I tire of him and his sham?”
At that moment Garth entered. Katherine studied his solid build and confident movement. He didn’t swagger like Alex. His steps were straight and sure. And so was his gaze. It was directed toward her.
“Mister Craig,” Alex said, bowing in mock honor. He fabricated his next statement, hoping to gull Garth into an argument in front of the women. “I thought Charles mentioned you were having dinner in your room tonight.”
Garth smile was more of a sneer. “That’s Master Craig to you. And I wouldn’t think of leaving you alone in the company of such charming ladies?” He smiled broadly at the sisters.
Alex’s scowl showed that he wasn’t amused. “I suppose you didn’t bring those identification papers you spoke of earlier?”
Pulling a document from his breast pocket, Garth tossed it at Alex. Then, taking the ladies’ arms, he escorted them to their chairs. Moving past Alex, he seated himself at the head of the table, with Katherine on his right and May-Jewel on his left. Alex, usurped, positioned himself at the far side of the table, glaring furiously as he began to examine the papers.
“Well, Alex,” May-Jewel inquired, her eyes on the papers, “what do they say?”
“They’re from Neal Jameson and, according to him,” Alex growled, flinging the transcript toward May-Jewel, “he’s irrefutably who he says he is!”
But Katherine intercepted the legal form and handed it, unread, back to Garth. Unable to hide her irritation, May-Jewel frowned at her and returned her empty hand to her lap.
Feeling triumphant, Garth rang the dinner bell.
The corbie pie was served in an awkward silence. Before returning to the kitchen to ready the second course, Charles bent close to speak in Garth’s ear. Garth nodded in accord at what he heard.
“Was that an apology for serving us this unappetizing dish?” May-Jewel asked, pushing bits of food around her plate. “It doesn’t look very good.”
Garth smiled a broad, patient smile. “Not at all. He simply requested a meeting later, probably to talk about the old days. And if you gave the pie a chance, I know you’d like it.”
Giving him a slight but tolerate smile, May-Jewel returned to playing with her food and glanced now and then at the estate’s new owner. Rebellion soured her appetite. Even if it’s true, she thought, and he is Garth, he’ll have a fight on his hands if he thinks I’m giving up my inheritance that easily. Neal Jameson should have at least warned us that he was alive and was coming to claim the estate. My estate. She looked at Alex and almost felt sorry for him. She could see that his wine-induced mood had darkened further since he had read the papers, and his flint-like eyes never left Garth’s face.
Katherine scarcely ate anything and was anxious for the meal to end. She, too, was thinking of Mr. Jameson. He hadn’t struck her as being an indiscriminate solicitor, one to treat Garth’s reappearance so lightly. He obviously thought Garth was dead as well. Hadn’t he said as much when we were there? She couldn’t remember. She wished she had at least glanced at Garth’s document when she had it in hand so that she wouldn’t now have to ask Alex about it. Even though her actions were one of submission, she had no intentions of accepting Garth’s position as the Laird of Wistmere. She had always fought for what she thought was right, but as she looked at Garth, the fire of her fight diminished to a glow. He glanced over at her, bending the corners of his mouth up into a half smile. She tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach and the trembling of her hands as his eyes found hers.
Garth was oblivious to Alex’s glares and to his sulky silence. His attention flitted back and forth between the two women. He had never held any woman in high esteem before. None he had known could compare with his mother. He found that most women were just like May-Jewel, wanting position and wealth, and most were also very vain. But he saw that Katherine was different. Her name silently tiptoed through his mind as he watched her sip from her glass. He wanted to be alone with her again. Suddenly, not waiting for the last course to be served, Garth rose from his chair.
“Will you honor me with a stroll through the garden, Mistress St. Pierre?”
His invitation startled her. With a slight flush of embarrassment, Katherine’s first thought was to decline, and she glanced at her sister for support. May-Jewel’s raised eyebrows and affirming nod left little to interpret. Looking up at Garth, Katherine accepted his invite and rose from the table.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Alex’s cool facade crumbled. The plates rang as his fist crashed down onto the table.
“Damn him! Damn that man!”
“Alexander!” May-Jewel cried unnerved by his sudden and violent outburst.
He moved to her side, his knuckles white as he gripped the arm of her chair and leaned close. He spat, “Are we going to let him just take Wistmere away from us?” He spread his arms as if to encompass the estate. “Are we going to let that intruder destroy what I… I mean what Robert and I have worked so hard for? His legacy to you?”
Perspiration dotted his brow, and he cursed under his breath as he straightened up. His unguarded moment of anger had exposed a side of him that he hadn’t intended for May-Jewel to see. All right, he thought, the castling is done and I have to see this move through. He was sure May-Jewel was of the same mind as he. And if she wasn’t, he knew it won’t be too hard to sway her.
May-Jewel nervously fondled her necklace. Alex’s anger and bold declaration had once again revealed his obsession with Wistmere. Katherine had been right. Even if Garth hadn’t come along, she was sure that Alex would soon wrest the estate from them. Wanting to know the full intent behind his words, she baited him. “Whatever do you mean, are we going to ‘let’ him take Wistmere away from us? I’m afraid you’re confused, Alex. He hasn’t any need to take away what is already his!” She rose.
Alex grabbed her hand. “But it isn’t his,” he hissed. “Wistmere belongs to the one who worked for her, the ones that suffered for her. Only you and I are meant to have this manor.”
“Oh? And what about Katherine?”
Alex frowned. “You’ve seen for yourself,” he replied, impatience edging his voice, “how troublesome and demented she has become. And now she has taken sides with Garth.” The man’s name stuck in his throat, and his anger was so intense that he didn’t see the look of horror on May-Jewel’s face.
Suddenly her free hand whipped across his flushed face.
Alex grabbed her arm in defense and held her fast. “What was that for? I thought you wanted this estate as much as I do?”
“Not your way I don’t!” She tried to pull free.
His jaw tightened. “You’ve lost sight of your goals. Permit me to bring them back into view.” Pulling her to him, he secured her arms behind her. His glazed eyes scanned her heaving breast. “There’s only one way to control a woman like you.” His mouth came down hard upon hers.
Struggling against his iron embrace, May-Jewel realized that he could fully force himself upon her and have his way. A scream rose to her lips, but he crushed his mouth over hers again. The longer he kissed her, the more her desires rose within her until she stood limply against him.
Alex released her locked arms and firmly grasped her shoulders. Her yielding heart broke his rising heat and, drawing his lips from hers, he gently kissed the concave of her throat. Victoriously smiling, he fingered the fine gold necklace he found there.
“It looks better on you,” he whispered, “than it did on the old lady.”
May-Jewel, the fair skin of her face now red and burning from t
he scraping of his short beard, tried to wrest free. Any desire was quickly being replaced by anger. Thrusting her knee into his groin, she tore from his grasp and ran from the room. As she fled up the stairs, she knew there would be no escape from him in her chambers. Hearing footsteps behind her, she quickly entered Katherine’s room.
As she breathlessly leaned her face against the cool wood of the door to hear whether she had been followed, the back of her neck started to prickle and her heart beat harder. Suddenly aware of another presence, she quickly turned. A small form stood cloaked in the shadows beside Katherine’s night stand.
“Who are you?” May-Jewel demanded in a voice that was edged with fear.
The glass that the woman was holding slipped from her hand, its contents splattering over the carpet.
May-Jewel gasped with sudden realization, “You’re that maid Selina! Where d’you come from? What are you doing in here?”
The intruder inched around the bed, remaining within the shadows.
“This room is yours?” the maid questioned in a raspy whisper, her bearing that of a humble servant.
Closing the space between them, May-Jewel moved toward the bed. “No, I mean yes, this is my room. Katherine and I traded.”
“And you are her servant?”
Straightening her shoulders, May-Jewel declared, “I am not! I’m her sister!”
Selina’s eyes narrowed. “She is not the only daughter then?”
“No.” May-Jewel watched the woman’s face grow hard and threatening. Suddenly a greater fear filled her heart than that which she had experienced only moments before in the dining room.
