by Jo Goodman
"But Marshall's dead," Allen said. "I saw the records myself. He died in Libby Prison. He was picked up by a rebel patrol and taken to Libby after the battle at Chancellorsville. It was all arranged; everything was arranged."
"Pardon me?" Katy's arms crossed in front of her chest. She hugged herself. "Do you mean Logan was picked up by rebel scouts—at your request?" It was not necessary for the colonel to answer because Katy saw it in his eyes before the shutter closed on his expression. "My God, you did, didn't you? You betrayed him because he knew what you were doing to me. All this time I thought that somehow I had been responsible for his capture."
"You?" asked Allen. "How could you have—"
Katy took a pin from her hair and dangled it between her thumb and forefinger. "Remember this? I used one just like it to unlock your desk. I copied all the plans Logan brought to the house that day, and Mama and Megan made certain the right people got them."
He was stunned. "You mean General Lee's men."
"Of course I mean his men. Unlike you, I never betrayed one of my own. You were the enemy, Colonel Allen. So was Logan. I can live with what I did for my country, but how do you live with what you did to Logan? He was one of yours."
"Apparently I did not do anything to him," he said. "It seems he's alive."
"He survived Libby and Andersonville."
"Where is he now? In New York?"
She nodded. "Publishing the Chronicle."
"You've talked to him?"
"He is the one who told me you had a seat in Congress. I think he takes note of what you do. That's why you should not have troubled yourself with me. If I were you, I would be very careful not to upset Logan Marshall. You have no idea how devastating his revenge can be." Katy brushed past the colonel, careful to keep anything but her skirts from touching him. She opened the door. In the hallway, Donna Mae was cooing to Victoria. "I cannot say that it's been a pleasure, but it has been interesting. I think you will agree there is no reason for us to see each other again."
Donna Mae came into the room slowly, looking over her shoulder as Richard Allen made his stiff exit. "My," she said on a puff of air. "What was that all about?"
Katy took her daughter from Donna and hugged Victoria, raining tiny kisses on the baby's head and brow. "None of it is worth repeating," she said softly.
* * *
"Ria! Open this door! I only want to talk to you!" Michael kicked the bottom of the door again. It was a useless gesture because the lock held.
Ria flinched when the door shuddered, but she didn't move from her place in the corner of her bedroom. She huddled deeper into the blanket she had dragged from the bed when Michael first started pounding. "Go to your whores," she whispered, pressing her knuckles to her mouth. She ground them so hard against her lips that she tasted blood. Her eyes were wild with fear.
"This cannot go on, Ria," Michael said. Trying another tact, he softened his voice. "I was patient in the beginning. You know I was."
"You did not talk to me for three weeks," she said under her breath.
"It has been almost five months. How long do you think you can remain here at the house without going out or inviting anyone to see you? People are asking about you, Ria. Your friends want to know when you will join them again. They miss you, darling... I miss you."
Ria leaned her head against the wall and shut her eyes. He would tire of standing there in a little while. He would tire of talking with no one talking back. In a few more minutes he would go back to his own bed and forget about wanting to get into hers. It was a pattern that was repeated several times each month when Michael stayed too long at the Union Club. His whores would not have him then, and he'd come after her.
Ria pushed the blanket away when she heard Michael move from the connecting door. At her feet was a photograph. She picked it up and placed it in the cradle of her arms, staring blankly at the stark image of her tiny baby lying in a white pine casket. Victoria's eyes were closed. She could have been sleeping. Ria spoke softly to the photograph. "I will find you, darling. Mama will find you. Everything will be fine then, you'll see. Once you are with me, he will have his heir. He will never want to touch me again, and I will make certain nothing happens to you. We will protect each other." Ria smiled faintly. "Yes, Victoria, we will protect each other. You'll see how much Mama loves you." Then she crooned a lullaby and fell asleep still cradling the photograph as if it were her child.
* * *
"Make a wish," Susan Turner directed, touching Logan on the shoulder to stop him from blowing out the thirty-one candles prematurely. "And do not tell anyone what it is."
Logan wickedly raised one eyebrow. "Even you? You figure largely in this wish."
Scott tapped his fork against the edge of the table. "I wish you would get married and stop flirting with my wife."
"You have absolutely no sense of humor," said Susan.
Logan blew out the candles quickly, and Scott humbly waited for his piece of cake until Susan and Logan were served.
"Make sure you leave something for your daughter," Susan said when Scott kept widening the angle of his slice. "Beth likes my chocolate cake as much as you do."
"Where is she?" asked Logan.
Susan pointed to the grandfather clock in the corner of the dining room.
"You keep her in the clock?"
"I wanted you to take note of the time," she said. "Beth goes to bed at eight. You were supposed to be here at six. It is now ten. Two more hours and you would have missed your birthday altogether. Do you really have to spend every waking hour at the Chronicle? Haven't you ever heard of delegating work?"
Logan's mouth quirked to one side. "So much for that birthday wish coming true. You are not supposed to nag me for twenty-four hours."
"I promised Jenny and Christian I would make your life miserable," she said primly.
"Oh, good. They will be so pleased to hear you are making such a fine job of it."
"Truce," Scott interjected. "Please?" Just to make certain the subject stayed away from Logan's endless hours at the paper, Scott asked him what he'd heard lately from his brother.
"They promise me they're getting on a ship in September. That should put them in New York sometime late in October or early November. They are talking about building a home farther uptown when they get back."
"Goodness," said Susan. "What will you do in that big house all by yourself?"
"I am going to open a brothel," Logan said.
Susan rapped his knuckles with her fork and tried unsuccessfully to be severe. "Beast," she said, her green eyes bright with amusement. She raised the coffeepot and offered some to her husband and guest. "Perhaps you'd be better off making Marshall House a museum. In the last letter I received, Jenny wrote that Christian has sent you a number of paintings."
"Eight."
"Really?" asked Scott. "What has inspired him?"
"A Parisian market. Fishermen on the Seine. Paris at night. I have sold everything he's sent."
"You have?" Susan asked. "But I thought he wanted to have a show when he returned."
Logan spoke around a mouthful of cake. "He does. But word got out about the paintings—Mrs. Brandywine, I think—and there were a lot of inquiries. Christian's show is going to be sold out before it opens. I would not allow the collectors to take any of the pieces. Everything is still at the house."
Susan saw her husband was casting a greedy eye on the cake. "Here, Scott, you can finish mine." She pushed her plate in his direction. "Jenny wrote that there was a very fine portrait of that actress—what was her name?—you know, the one who married Victor Donovan."
Logan and Scott both spoke at once. "Katy Dakota."
Susan's eyes darted from her husband to her guest. "Yes," she said slowly. "That's it. Who bought that piece, Logan?"
"I can't remember," he lied without remorse. "Is it important?"
"No, I was just curious. She was a patient of Scott's, wasn't she, Scott?"
He nodded. "That was
some time ago. Before Victor died. I tried to find out what happened to her, but Victor's son swore he didn't know. Ria Donovan could not tell me anything either."
"She lives in Washington," Logan told them. "From time to time something about her comes across my desk at the paper." Which was true, he thought, but not the way Scott and Susan would think it was. "She is still involved in theatre." He hesitated a moment and asked casually, "Is it true that Victor was dying of cancer?"
Scott's fair eyebrows rose a notch. "How could you possibly know that?"
Logan shrugged. "I don't remember where I heard it," he said, not wanting to reveal that Katy was his source. "It's not for publication, Scott. Victor's been dead almost a year. It's very old news."
"I suppose. It's not the sort of thing that deserves a public hearing. There was a lot of speculation about Victor's marriage to Miss Dakota anyway, and word of his cancer would have only fanned the flames."
"How do you mean?"
"Aside from the fact that people might think she married him because she knew he was dying—which is absolutely untrue—and would stand to inherit a great deal of money, there would be lots of questions about Victor's particular cancer."
"His particular cancer?" asked Logan.
"Tumors can appear in different parts of the body. How or why, I don't know. In Victor's case the tumors were in his prostate, making him impotent."
Logan set down his fork slowly. "Impotent? But surely... Katy's pregnancy..."
"Victor's wife was pregnant?" asked Susan. "You never told me that, Scott."
"I never told anyone but Mrs. Donovan," he said, looking sharply at Logan. "Victor knew, of course. And I imagine Michael and Ria were told as well. How the hell did you know?"
The lies were mounting, but Logan did not want to tell his friend he had looked at private files. "Victor told me himself," he said. "I told you once before that the Donovans and Marshalls go back a few years. I didn't know there was anything secretive about it."
Scott pursed his lips consideringly. "Well, that makes sense, I suppose. Victor was very happy about the baby. I have wondered off and on if his wife delivered safely. Since you seem to know so much, you wouldn't know about that, would you?"
Logan shook his head. "No," he lied again, "I don't know anything about the baby. But tell me more about Victor being impotent."
"Really," Susan interjected. "Do we have to discuss this here?"
"I think Susan's right," said Scott. "This really is not—"
"All I want to know," Logan said, "is how Victor's wife could be pregnant if Victor was impotent."
"And I want to know," Scott said pointedly, "why it is so important to you. Your friendship with the Donovans does not give you special rights to their private affairs."
Logan swore under his breath and did not apologize for it. "I don't care about the Donovans' private affairs. I care about Katy's."
Scott glanced meaningfully at his wife. Susan instantly began gathering plates and silverware and made her excuses.
"That was not necessary," Logan said.
"I thought you might speak more frankly if she wasn't here. More frankly... and more truthfully. Now, exactly how well do you know Miss Dakota?"
"That hardly—"
"Logan, do not make this so hard for me. I cannot share confidences with you. But perhaps if you tell me what's going on, you will get the information you seem to need."
Pushing back from the table, Logan stretched his legs. His elbows rested on the arms of his chair and his hands were folded in front of him. He stared down at his tapping thumbs. "There was a time not so long ago that I considered making Katy Dakota my mistress," he said at last. "I... I pressed her too hard and she... well, she ran straight to Victor Donovan. They were friends, you see, although I think he loved her and she... that is, Katy came to love him."
"When you say you pressed her... what exactly does that mean?"
Logan returned Scott's direct gaze. "I decided she was going to be my mistress regardless of what she wanted."
"Marriage—"
"Was out of the question. I hated her."
Clearly there was much more to the story than Logan was willing to share with him. Scott did not press for the past. "But you made love to her," said Scott.
Logan nodded. "I would not have called it that. She hated me as well. It happened only one time. The next day she went to Victor." Logan's eyes drifted toward the bay window as a carriage rattled past the house. Even when it was quiet again he continued to stare out. "She told him everything about her relationship with me, what I wanted from her, why I despised her. Victor did not hesitate to marry her."
"Victor did love her," Scott said. "And he was very protective of her. If he knew that you and Katy had a past he would not have told you about her pregnancy. That was a lie you told earlier. How did you know she was pregnant?"
This time Logan told his friend the truth.
"I see." It was all Scott could think to say. With some effort he reined in his anger. "You saw her file only?"
"Only Katy's. I did not glance at the others." Logan leaned forward in his chair. "I can't explain everything that's between Katy and me, Scott. Sometimes I don't understand it myself. I was trying to punish her for something she did to me a long time ago. Years later, when I saw her in Wallack's, it never occurred to me that she was not as worldly as the character she played. I thought she was Victor's mistress then. Or Michael's."
"And she wasn't?"
"No." Logan squeezed the corded muscles at the back of his neck. "God, no. I was the first man she knew."
"And she married Victor the next day?"
"Yes. I told you that before."
Scott mulled that over. With seeming indifference he asked, "By any chance did you buy the portrait of Katy that Christian sent?"
Logan's head jerked up. His hand fell away from his neck. "I don't see what—"
"Humor me."
"Yes," he admitted reluctantly. "But I don't see—"
Scott reached across the table and touched his friend's forearm. His eyes and his voice were grave. "I think you should go to Washington, Logan, and have a conversation with Katy Dakota."
Chapter 11
Katy pressed her forehead against her bedroom window and peered down the length of her nose into the garden below. Donna Mae was sitting on a blanket, her legs splayed as wide as her skirt would permit. The unladylike pose was to accommodate Victoria, who was content to lie on the soft fabric of Donna Mae's gown and have her toes tickled.
Tapping the window lightly, Katy got her friend's attention. Donna Mae dutifully raised Victoria and lifted the baby's hand to wave at her mother. Smiling, Katy waved back. After a moment she left the window and reluctantly returned to the script that was lying on her bed. There was just no avoiding learning her lines, she thought, picking up the first page. She was envious that Donna had played her role once before and could recall most of her part. Seven Deadly Sins was new to Katy, but she thought the little morality drama was likely to be popular in Washington. President Grant's administration seemed to have a passing familiarity with most of the sins. Katy was playing Pride. Donna Mae was Lust. Everyone was going to have a fine time pointing fingers at everyone else.
Amused by the thought, Katy began reading her lines.
In the garden., Donna Mae opened her parasol and set it on the blanket so it protected Victoria from the early morning sun. "I know, sweetings, you want to play with your mother," she cooed, "but you will have to settle for Donna Mae. What would you like to do? Have the ball?" She held up a cloth ball just out of Victoria's reach. The baby's arms worked like windmills to reach it. "Oh, here it is. Do not make that face with me, young lady. I am a godmother, and I do not have to put up with it."
Victoria blabbered happily and passed her ball from one hand to the other. She found this trick very impressive.
"You like that, don't you? I'll wager you think you're just wonderful." Donna Mae smoothed the baby's ha
ir at the nape of her neck. "Everyone says you're—" She stopped because a shadow had fallen across the blanket that was not made by the parasol. The shape of the shadow was definitely a man. Donna Mae leaned back on her hands and looked up, lifting her face with a saucy tilt. Her smile faltered a little when she saw the hard cast of the man's features.
His cool gray eyes were on Victoria, and he was studying her with an intensity that made Donna Mae nervous. When he dropped to his haunches beside the blanket, she sat up quickly and started to reach for the baby. He stopped her, placing one of his hands on her wrist.
"I am not going to hurt her," he said quietly. "I only want to see her."
Donna Mae heard something in his voice that stopped her from calling for Katy. Tenderness, she thought. Tenderness. How odd it was to hear those things when his expression suggested pain that went right to his soul. "She's a lovely little thing, isn't she?" asked Donna.
He nodded. "What color would you call her eyes?"
"Gray. Blue as blue when she was born but they soon changed."
"I thought they looked gray. And her hair?" Very gently he touched the baby's cap of dark hair. His arm bumped the parasol and it rolled just enough to allow sunshine to highlight the threads of copper in Victoria's hair.
Donna adjusted the parasol again. "Auburn." Her eyes drifted to the stranger's hair. "Perhaps I should get the baby's—"
"No. Not yet. May I hold her?"
Before Donna could answer he was picking Victoria up. The cloth ball dropped in Donna Mae's lap but the baby did not seem to notice. She was used to being handled by people. At the theatre she was constantly coddled by anyone who was not on stage. Still, Donna Mae could not recall Victoria ever taking to a stranger the way she took to this man.
She babbled happily and loudly, showing off a bottom tooth that had only made its appearance two days earlier. Her hands flailed the air in front of her and sometimes connected, making a small clapping sound that delighted her. Her wide gray eyes darted over the stranger's face, and when he smiled, Victoria responded with a short burst of laughter. After that the stranger seemed helpless to do anything but smile.
