Tender Torment

by Jane Archer

  "Shall we go, Stan?" she finally asked.

  "Yes, of course, my dear. I've timed our arrival perfectly. You'll be the most talked about woman in New York by tomorrow."

  "How nice," Alexandra said dryly.

  He helped her up into the elaborate open carriage, proud to display her in such a vehicle, but as he sat down beside her, he noticed that she merely gave the carriage a quick flick of her cold, piercing eyes. She was not impressed. Nothing he did, no matter how thoughtful, how expensive, how kind, impressed her. She even seemed to regard New

  York City as some overcrowded, dirty warehouse of people. It was the jewel of America! The rest of the country was barbarous in comparison. Hadn't he seen for himself the decay of the South, the wildness of Texas.

  Leaning toward her still figure, he said lowly, so the driver couldn't hear," Alexandra, I have found a lovely little chapel in New York. I believe you would like to be married there. We will want a quiet, quick wedding. Later, we can give a magnificent ball to introduce you to all the New York notables. I've taken the liberty of engaging it for one week from today."

  "What?" she whispered, feeling her heart beat quicken.

  "You've seemed unable to make a decision, my dearest Alexandra, and you know we shouldn't wait much longer. The doctor—"

  "I know. I know, but—"

  "No buts, Alexandra. We're going to be married. There's no point in further delaying this. Will you have your gown ready in a week?"

  She clenched her hands, the knuckles going white in her agitation. He was right. She had to marry him and soon. Jake was dead. He was dead. Oh, why couldn't she accept that?

  "Alexandra?"

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "You agree—in one week?" he asked, relief in his voice.

  "Yes," she said, more loudly. "In one week, Stan. You are right. We cannot wait longer. I must think of my child."

  He covered her small hands with his large one. "You won't regret it, Alexandra. I'll be good to you. I will make you an excellent husband.

  "I do love you, Alexandra," he said, wanting her to know that he wanted more than her fortune. "I know you don't believe that, but I do. How could I help loving you?"

  Alexandra was still silent, gazing at the passing buildings. What more did he want of her than marriage?

  "I hope that someday you will come to love me, too," he said, a hopeful note creeping into his voice.

  Finally, she turned to him, trying to soften the expression she knew was set on her face. "It is much too soon for this, Stan. We'll be married, then we'll see."

  He nodded. He had to accept what she would give him of herself, he finally realized. He could take her body by force, but not the essence of Alexandra. Only she was free to give this, or to withhold it.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.

  Soon the carriage came to a stop before a magnificent, lofty building. Alexandra looked at it curiously, almost laughing at the thought of how ridiculous it would look if plunked down in the middle of south Texas. And what of the richly, ornately dressed people? They would look even more absurd. Stan helped her down from the fine carriage and into the milling mass of people who gossiped and watched each other as they made their way slowly into the theatre.

  Stan escorted her possessively and determinedly through the crowd, keeping a tight grip on her arm. He acknowledged acquaintances here and there, but was careful not to stop and chat. He wanted them to see Alexandra tonight and wonder. Tomorrow the newspapers would be full of her beauty and his triumph, but they would not meet Alexandra until after the wedding when he could present her as his wife in the sumptuous ballroom of their mansion. Then the first step toward his goal would be completed.

  He was an ambitious man. He'd always been ambitious. Perhaps it was because of his birth, but he wanted more than money. He wanted a high place in society. And he wanted to enter politics. There he could gain the real power and money that he craved. With the beautiful Alexandra Clarke at his side, he could achieve all his dreams. And soon, very soon, she would be his—completely his.

  Inside the theatre, the furnishings were ornate, gilded, and plush. Alexandra couldn't keep herself from comparing them with the simplicity and strictly functional furniture in Texas. Of course, perhaps one day Texas would succumb to the ease and comfort of money, but that had not happened yet. She could appreciate the beauty of the place as Stan guided her up an ornate staircase toward the box he'd secured for the performance that evening. It had cost him dearly, but he had to have the perfect setting for the jewel of Alexandra.

  Once in their box, Stan looked around and down into the audience, satisfied when he saw the faces turned toward up to them. He smiled gently at Alexandra, taking her hand in his. He was very much aware of the portrait they made.

  "Do you like your seat, my dear?" he asked softly.

  She stared frostily at Stan. "The seats are excellent. I hope the play is as good, as if it really matters."

  "I'm sure it will be, my dear."

  Alexandra nodded, then turned her head to gaze back over the crowd. She had never felt more alone, more estranged, more unloved than at that moment as she sat in one of the best seats in the theatre on the opening night of a new play in New York City. She wore a fortune in emeralds around her neck, her gown was a designer's dream, she was more beautiful than ever. But Alexandra didn't appreciate her beauty, her wealth, or the theatre, not at that moment. For she saw the wealth that was worn on the people that filled the theatre as a contrast to the poverty of the South and Texas. She found that she no longer belonged with these people. Her heart was with the people of Texas, those men and women struggling to exist. Texans were alive, vibrantly alive. When she thought of their struggles against nature, against Indians, rustlers, she was disgusted by the people around her dressed in all their finery.

  Their faces weren't tanned, their muscles weren't hard, and their instincts weren't sharp—if a man hadn't these qualities in Texas, he was dead. Here, he could live and yet not be alive. For what did they feel sitting here, waiting to be entertained by others? In Texas, at the ranch, on the trail, with the cattle, the mustangs, a man knew he was alive by the sheer energy he exerted every day to survive. And entertainment? He entertained himself. A man lived there by his own wits, his own strength, and his own determination. Here, a man existed on his father's money, or his wife's money, or be fleecing those less fortunate. Alexandra knew she didn't want to live in New York anymore. She didn't belong. She didn't want to belong.

  The curtains rose and the play began. Alexandra tried to concentrate, but soon she turned her thoughts away for it was not real to her. During intermission, Stan kept her in the box, and once the play was over, he hurried her out and into the lobby. He waved, smiled, and nodded to many people, but made no attempt to stop and introduce Alexandra.

  The moon was just a pale sliver, the street dark except in patches where a streetlamp shed its pale, ineffectual glow, but Alexandra was glad for the darkness. It offered an escape from Stan's unwavering gaze.

  The carriage was going unusually fast as an old woman stepped off the street. Alexandra screamed. The carriage swerved—but not in time. It struck the woman, knocking her back against the curb.

  "Stan! Stan, stop the carriage. We've hit someone," Alexandra cried, concern in her voice. "Didn't you see? We must go back."

  "The night watchman will take care of it, Alexandra. There's no reason for us to get involved. Anyway, decent people aren't out on foot at this time of night. Probably some drunk."

  "Stan, we must go back," Alexandra said more firmly, not surprised at his callousness.

  "But, Alexandra—"

  "Please, Stan, for me," she said, her face close to his, her hands gripping his arm.

  "Yes, all right, Alexandra. We'll see about it," he said, unable to deny her the request when she was so close that he could smell her sweet scent and feel her soft hands beseeching him. He always lost some of his c
ontrol when he was this near her.

  Stan called out to the driver and soon they were by the old woman. She lay exactly where she'd fallen, a crumpled heap of humanity in tattered rags. Alexandra started to get out of the carriage.

  "What are you doing?" Stan asked, putting a restraining hand on her arm.

  "I want to see if she's alive or needs a doctor." Alexandra retorted.

  Groaning inwardly, Stan ordered the driver down. He went over to the limp form on the street; picked up the woman and carried her back to the carriage. He placed her on the seat opposite Stan and Alexandra, then resumed the driver's seat.

  "You can drive on," Stan said after a moment.

  When they'd started moving again, Alexandra leaned over the inert form, felt the pulse, then looked back at Stan in triumph.

  "She's still alive. We'll take her home, Stan. It's the only thing to do, then send for the doctor. We can't just leave her somewhere."

  Stan looked at Alexandra in bewilderment for a moment, then decided that it had to do with her pregnancy. She would probably mother any hurt thing, any stray animal. He would certainly be glad when she had the child.

  "All right, Alexandra," he said wearily, "but she's your responsibility."

  "Good. That suits me fine."

  They rode back to the mansion in silence. Alexandra watched the woman's form anxiously while Stan thought it was a bad ending to his perfect evening. He had envisioned himself in Alexandra's bed, not playing servant to some vagrant. Well, if it kept Alexandra happy, he'd have to live with it. He couldn't afford to displease her.

  Once in the house, Alexandra quickly rang for her maid. When she appeared, Alexandra instructed her to put their guest in the room next to her own suite, then remove her clothing, bathe her, and find some fresh clothes for her.

  The maid led the driver, still carrying the unconscious woman, up the stairs and away from Alexandra.

  Stan had to restrain Alexandra from following the two upstairs. He pulled her into the parlor and said, "My dear, you must not concern yourself so.

  Your maid is a good woman and will take care of the old lady. I'll go now and send for the doctor. You'll see that the woman was not badly hurt."

  Alexandra nodded, her thoughts with those upstairs. She was anxious for Stan to leave.

  "Now, my dear, come give me a kiss good night," he invited.

  And hardly thinking, Alexandra went into his arms, raising her soft lips to him. She just wanted to be rid of him.

  She was startled to discover that his lips had parted and his tongue had thrust deeply into her mouth. She twisted away, protesting, but his arms closed like iron bands around her, his hands burning tentacles moving rapidly all over her body as he pushed against her, his hips grinding his hard manhood against her belly. She pushed against his chest, groaning under his fierce demands.

  Finally, when Stan knew he was almost beyond control, he dropped his hands and backed away, his blood pounding in his head, his eyes a dark, opaque gray. He could hardly think. She took away any thoughts except those of her soft body and his need to penetrate it, take it, make it the special vessel for his needs.

  After he had himself more under control, he looked into her burning green eyes.

  "I'm sorry, Alexandra. I can't help myself with you."

  Her expression was cold, inscrutable. "I'm going upstairs now, Stan. Please ring for the doctor."

  After Stan left, Alexandra went upstairs and into the old woman's room.

  "Only her head seems to be hurt," the maid told her.

  "Good," Alexandra said, walking closer to the bed; she could see that the old woman was dark skinned and had graying hair. She hadn't seen her clearly in the carriage. She was thin under the covers as if she had not eaten well in a long time.

  Alexandra looked at her maid and said, "You can go now. Send the doctor up as soon as he arrives."

  Alexandra picked up a lamp and carried it with her to a chair by the bed. She held the light over the woman.

  She gasped, almost dropping the lamp. "Ebba?" she whispered hesitantly, setting the lamp on a nearby table. "Ebba," she repeated with more conviction, taking the limp hand in hers. "It's Alexandra, Ebba. You're with me. You're safe now. Can you hear me, Ebba?"

  Slowly the woman's eyelids fluttered, then they opened, revealing large dark eyes filled with pain and suffering. They focused on Alexandra in confusion. A slight frown appeared in her smooth forehead, then a soft, hesitant voice said, "Miss Alexandra? That you, child?"

  "Yes, oh yes, Ebba. It's me, Alexandra. It's me," she said, laughing as tears ran swiftly down her cheeks. She was so happy she couldn't believe it. She was no longer alone. Here was someone she loved. Someone who could share her life.

  Tears began to run down the old woman's cheeks. "I'm sure glad to see you, sugar," she said, her voice strengthening. "I'd about given up on this old world."

  "Oh, no, Ebba, you're safe now. You're here with me in my home. You need never worry about anything again."

  "You mean that, Miss Alexandra? I can't go back on the street again. I just can't."

  "Oh, no. You'll stay here with me. I need you, Ebba. I need you desperately. Do you hear me? You must get well."

  "You need me, child? I thought no one needed old Ebba anymore. I couldn't see no reason for living. No more friends, no more family—"

  "You stepped out in front of the carriage on purpose?" Alexandra asked in amazement.

  A sheepish look came over Ebba's face. "And I'm ashamed of it, too, sugar, but you see when you left me in New Orleans, I caught that ship. I made it fine until I got to this here city. Before I'd even gotten to my friends, I'd been robbed, beaten, everything I had taken. This is a frightful place, child. It ain't good to us from the South. Supposed to be a place for us here, but there ain't. We'd be better off back in the South. At least we knew what was what there. My friends were as bad off as me. Couldn't get no work, couldn't get no help. Had to live any way they could. They're dying here, child. There's no place for them and in the winter, the cold gets them. I couldn't take it no more. My friends were giving me their food. I couldn't do that. Weren't right. There just was no more reason for living."

  Alexandra leaned over Ebba, stroking her face lovingly. "Listen to me, Ebba. I've sent for the doctor. He'll be here soon. You just can't die. I have no one else. Do you hear me? You're the only family I have left. Listen, Ebba, I carry Jake, Jacob Jarmon's child in me. His child needs you. I need you."

  "What's that you say, child?" she asked, the round black eyes regarding her intently.

  "I'm carrying Jake's son."

  "Thank the Lord. There's going to be another Jarmon boy. Oh, sugar, nothing could make me happier," Ebba said, looking into Alexandra's face happily. "And nothing could kill me now. Got to get up out of this bed and take care of you. Got lots to do. You made any baby clothes yet?"

  Alexandra shook her head negatively, laughing.

  "No! You young things just don't understand. Those babies come quicker than you realize. A Jarmon boy," she said, beaming. "You and that Jacob. Now, he was always the man in my books. What a fine child you two will have."

  Alexandra beamed, thrilled to see the light back in Ebba's eyes.

  "But where's that scoundrel? That Jacob? Didn't that boy marry you?" Ebba asked sternly.

  Alexandra stood up quickly, walked across the room, then back to Ebba. Her voice was very quiet when she said, "He's dead, Ebba. I saw him killed."

  "Good Lord! Bless the poor boy's soul. Can you tell me about it, sugar?"

  "Oh, Ebba," Alexandra cried, flinging herself into the chair, "I can't! It's still——"

  "I understand, child. Ebba understands. You'll tell me when you can. Right now, we'll just take care of you. I don't need no doctor no more. You're medicine enough for me. See, I'm feeling fine now," Ebba said, grinning at Alexandra.

  Alexandra dried her tears. "You're going to stay right in that bed until the doctor gets here and then you're going to have some
broth—"

  "Broth?" Ebba asked, then groaned. "Oh, child, I've been starving long enough. I need some real food."

  Alexandra laughed, feeling happy inside. "All right, providing the doctor approves, you'll have whatever you want."

  "Oh, that sounds good, Miss Alexandra. I hope he gets here soon."

  "Oh, he will, Ebba, then everything will be fine, just fine."

  Chapter 26

  A perfect day for a wedding, Alexandra thought grimly as Ebba adjusted her beautiful white wedding gown. The sun was shining, and a slight, cooling breeze blew in through the open window, but it didn't please Alexandra. She had, in fact, hoped it would rain. That would have suited her mood better.

  "You sure this is right, child?" Ebba asked, watching Alexandra in concern. "Grieving for another man ain't much of a way to start a marriage."

  "I know, Ebba, but my baby must have a name."

  "There's something about that man—"

  "He's all I've got," Alexandra broke in.

  They had spent a busy week shopping for the wedding and the baby. They had both indulged in all kinds of delectable foods and regaled each other with all the events that had transpired after they had parted in New Orleans. They had spoken little of the future, and when they had, it had centered around the baby—their one tie with the past.

  "Well, I still wish you were happier, sugar. But time will heal. It always does," Ebba said, nodding in satisfaction at Alexandra's image in the mirror.

  "I hope so, Ebba, I hope so."

  "It's time, child. If you're set on this course, Miss Alexandra, then we might as well get it over with. That baby won't wait for no minister when he's ready to come into this world."