Silk and Stone

by Deborah Smith

  “My mother is going to be fine,” Sam told him, but his insight had shaken her so badly she knew she didn’t sound convinced.

  “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know what you’re scared of, and I’m scared too.”

  “My mother is fine,” she repeated, swaying.

  “I’m not going to walk away this time. You won’t have to go through this alone.”

  The nurse shoved a door open and stared at them. “Where’s your aunt, hon?”

  Sam took one look at the careful expression in the woman’s eyes and wanted to bolt past her into the ward. “In the cafeteria.”

  “You wait right here till she comes up, okay?” The nurse quickly withdrew, letting the door swing shut.

  Sam followed her. Jake leapt ahead, pushing the doors open with his shoulder but taking her by one arm. They stepped inside and Sam halted, horror flooding her. Nurses were hurrying in and out of Mom’s cubicle with unfathomable bottles and syringes and implements in their hands. A door opened across the way, and a man she recognized as Mom’s doctor strode swiftly toward Mom’s room. He gaped at Sam and Jake for a split second. “Out. Out of here, please,” he called, but disappeared into the cubicle without looking to see if they complied.

  Sam lurched forward, and through a fog of shock and terror she knew Jake was beside her. But he pulled her to a halt just outside the cubicle’s door, and when she struggled against his hold, he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close, her back against his torso. “You can’t help her by getting in their way. Let them do their jobs,” he said hoarsely, bending his head close to hers. “Hold my hands. Hold on the way you always have, and I’ll never let you down.”

  His voice was the only rational landmark she had. Her fingers were woven tightly in his before he finished speaking. Every nerve strained to its limit as she craned her neck, fixated on glimpses of the medical staff working on Mom. The few words they spoke were all medical jargon; the only thing that registered was the worst. Cardiac arrest. She was too numb to care whether her rubbery knees kept her standing or not; but Jake was holding her up, and his cheek was pressed tightly against the side of her face.

  She realized she was saying “Don’t give up. Mom, don’t give up,” like a chant.

  But after a while she noticed that everyone was slowing down—the nurses, the doctor, all moving slower and slower, and no one was talking any longer, except Sam, who continued whispering, fiercely, brokenly, Mom, don’t give up.

  “Dear God, what is he doing here?” Aunt Alex said loudly as she rushed past them. “I left Charlotte in the waiting room. Go try to calm her down.” She gave Sam and Jake one tortured, outraged glance before she pushed her way into the cubicle.

  “I have to go in,” Sam said, and Jake not only let go of her, he propelled her forward, one hand raised in front of her to clear people from her path.

  “I’m sorry, hon,” the nurse said, putting an arm around her. Sam gave a raw cry of grief. Someone had thrown Mom’s pillow aside. Her head lay at a strange, limp angle, and her half-open eyes were empty. She was naked from the waist up, until someone hurriedly pulled the sheet over her breasts.

  Crying, Aunt Alex bent over her, cupping her ashen, relaxed face in shaking hands. “Frannie,” she said in a broken voice. “Don’t leave me. You’re the only person who loves me no matter what I do. Goddammit, you come back. I mean it. I need you.”

  Sam moved to her mother’s side and clasped her limp, cooling hand. Deep and unstoppable sobs racked her. For the first time in her life she felt sorry for Aunt Alex. She placed her other hand on Aunt Alex’s bowed back. “No,” Jake said, close by and urgent.

  Aunt Alex cried out, then straightened and pulled Sam into her arms. Sam held on to her tightly, wishing she were Mom, clinging to an irrational hope that none of this was really happening. “I loved her so much,” Aunt Alex cried. “I’ll take care of them for you, Frannie. I’ll take care of Sam and Charlotte.”

  “You’ve got what you’ve always wanted,” Jake said.

  Aunt Alex moved convulsively, sobbing, a sound of rage and shock exploding from her throat. “Get him out of here,” she told the nurses, pointing at Jake. “Call security if you have to.”

  Sam wrenched herself away from Aunt Alex. “No.” She gave Jake a tortured look. She wanted to be in his arms, not Aunt Alex’s. She reached out, then caught herself. Charlotte. I have to think about Charlotte. Oh, God. There’s no way out now. “Go on. I don’t want you here.” That lie took all her willpower. If he stays, it will tear me apart. “I don’t want you here,” she repeated.

  He reached toward her, and she drew back, but his fingers grazed her cheek gently. His hand dropped to his side. She feared he’d argue, and when he didn’t—when he turned and left without another word—she felt empty and, this time, so hopelessly hidden inside herself he’d never find her again.

  Sarah hurried into Hugh’s office, cold air gusting in behind her, the brown paper bag containing Hugh’s lunch crushed carelessly under one arm. “Is he free?” she asked the receptionist without stopping, who nodded but peered at her disheveled state curiously through the window of the records area. Sarah had already opened the door to the suite of examining rooms. She strode down the narrow hall, jerking at her heavy cloth coat. The door to Hugh’s office stood open, and Sarah rushed inside. He was standing before a small window with his back to her, staring into the brick alley of the antiques store next door, his hair rumpled as if he’d been running his hands through it. He pivoted, and she saw the troubled expression on his face.

  “You heard,” she said, unceremoniously dropping the lunch bag on his cluttered desk and tossing her coat across a chair. “You already heard about Frannie Ryder.”

  He exhaled. “Yes.”

  “It’s so damned unfair. She was too young. How could somebody her age die from pneumonia?”

  He shook his head slowly. “It happens. It’s a damned shame, but it does.”

  “I stopped by the florist’s to buy some silk roses for my table arrangement, and she told me about the funeral. It was in Durham this afternoon. I feel terrible—we should have gone.”

  “I doubt Alexandra would have let us within a mile of it.”

  “I don’t care. I would have tried for Frannie’s sake. Oh, Hugh, what about her girls? Sam must be what—barely out of high school?—and the younger one’s still just a child. I wish I could say something to them.”

  “I doubt that’s ever going to be an option now. Oscar Talbert came in to have a checkup this morning, and he said Alexandra already had the girls’ belongings packed. She hired him to go up to Asheville and get them. He was on his way.”

  “God, she didn’t waste a minute. I can’t believe Frannie would want it this way.”

  “I’m sorry, but she did. She gave Alexandra legal guardianship of Charlotte. Put it in her will.” When Sarah groaned, he shook his head. “Where else could the girls go? Alexandra is their aunt. It makes sense.”

  “How can you stand there and look so reasonable when you know what kind of ‘guardian’ Alexandra will be? She turned poor Tim into a swaggering cretin who’s so afraid of her that he has to prove his manhood by bullying everyone else. She’ll mash those girls under her thumb too.” She hesitated, thinking hard. “Sam’s old enough to walk away, but I expect she won’t do it. She won’t leave her sister. Damn.”

  Hugh came over and took her in his arms. He looked at her with sympathy but also rebuke. “Nobody understands your feelings about Alexandra better than I do. But after William died, you made the decision to have nothing to do with any of Alexandra’s relatives. Maybe we could have made a difference to Frannie—we could have helped her some way. Now it’s a helluva mess. Are you trying to tell me you want to get involved?”

  Sarah shivered and looked at him with defeat. “You’re saying it’s a little late for me to play Good Samaritan. All right. I feel appropriately lousy. Thank you.”

  He kissed her forehead. “No, I’m sa
ying you better get your armor on.”

  Sarah stared at him, mouth open in silent, dawning comprehension. “Hugh Raincrow, you better diagnose this situation for me precisely, and don’t mince any words. Why didn’t you call me about Frannie the second you heard?”

  Hugh looked at her steadily, as if trying to predict her reaction. “Jake was never cured. He’s a chronic case, and there’s no vaccine for it. It’s highly contagious too. Sammie Ryder’s got it just as bad.” He gazed at her for another second, then concluded, “Love, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, my God.” Sarah wound her hands in his shirt and tugged. “Where’s Jake?”

  Hugh looked away, his expression bearing the regret of the only secrets he’d ever kept from her. “He went to the funeral.”

  Jake sat on the steps of his empty, dark house, his shoulders slumped. The early winter darkness had an icy edge. Bo lay on the porch close beside him, watching his face. Jake dropped a hand to the dog’s head. Bo was puzzled. Why wouldn’t Jake leave the cold dusk and take him inside?

  “What’s the point,” Jake said. He was closer to defeat than he’d been since the time Uncle William died, when he’d first understood that knowing the truth didn’t always make a difference.

  “I don’t believe Bo can hear or smell,” Mother said. Jake raised his head and quickly passed a hand over his damp eyes. Mother stood in the shadows at the end of the porch, hugging herself over a long white shawl. “Both of you let me walk right up.”

  Jake said nothing. Mother might recognize the misery in his voice and ask questions. She sat down beside him, and he stared stiffly ahead. She touched the sleeve of his black suit. She knew. She knew about Mrs. Ryder, and where he had been, and he didn’t feel any anger in her.

  “And if that isn’t strange enough,” she continued, “here you sit, dressed in the last thing I expected to see. When was the last time you wore a suit? Hmmm. Graduation. Four years ago. That’s why I took so many pictures. To prove to future generations that my son actually owned a matching coat and pants.” She put her arm around him. “And this is a new suit too. Should I get my camera?”

  Jake cleared his throat. “Father told you about Samantha.”

  She was silent for a second. Then she said, “Yes, he can’t manage to keep a secret for more than, oh, five, maybe ten years, tops.”

  “Maybe he thought it’d never come to anything.” He paused, then added quietly, “Maybe he was right.”

  “If I could choose any girl for you to love, it wouldn’t be one who shares even a drop of Alexandra’s blood.”

  “I know.”

  “But that’s a moot point, I guess. Do you love her, son? I just need to hear you say so.”

  “I love her.”

  “No doubt? I mean, does it go way beyond the superficial things, like looks and—okay, you’re forcing your ol’ mother to take a big, flat, frank step forward—does it go beyond—”

  “Sex is only a part of it. I love her the same way Father loves you.”

  Mother sighed raggedly. “Boy, you know how to settle a discussion.”

  Jake’s head sagged. “I couldn’t even talk to her today. Orrin had men around. If I’d tried to get through, there’d have been trouble. I couldn’t risk it, not at her mother’s funeral. So I kept back, like I’ve always done. Like a damned helpless coward.”

  “No, like a man who cares more about her feelings than his own pride.”

  “She wouldn’t even look at me. She kept her arm around Charlotte and her head down. She’s trapped.” Jake clenched his fists on his knees. He shivered, not from the cold. “I talked to a lawyer in Durham. Abraham Dreyfus.”

  “The same Dreyfus who represented the tribal council in a timber-rights suit against the government?”

  “Everyone says he’s the best. I asked him what the chances are of me and Samantha getting Charlotte out of Alexandra’s custody.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Her voice filled with sorrow. She patted his back.

  “He showed me a picture of his son. He said even if his own son came to him and asked what I asked, he’d tell him he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. He said no judge in his right mind would tell the lieutenant-governor’s wife she can’t keep custody of her own niece—especially when the girl’s mother wanted it that way.”

  “I’ll never believe Frannie would have made that decision if she’d known about you and Sam—”

  “I should have gone to Samantha sooner. I should have seen this coming. Why does it let me down sometimes when I need it most?”

  “What, sweetie? Why does what let you down?”

  Jake silently kicked himself for being careless. “Mrs. Big Stick told me once that I’d bring some kind of curse down on us if I did what I wanted. Maybe I believed her more than I thought.”

  “Listen to me, son. I respect Clara’s ideas, but the curse on this family started the day Alexandra married your uncle. Nothing you’ve done or can do will change that.”

  “But I’m the one who has to finish it. Samantha and me. I know that much. I just don’t know how yet, and it’s tearing me up inside.” He looked at Mother. “There were people who thought you shouldn’t marry Father. What if they’d been able to stop you? What if all you could think about was being with him but you couldn’t do it?”

  “Oh, no, you’re not getting hypothetical sanctions from me, mister. Let’s stick to reality.”

  “You’d have found a way to do it. No matter what that took.”

  Mother gave a sigh of defeat. “All right. Let’s talk turkey.” Her voice filled with grim humor. “We’ll just kidnap Charlotte and scoot off to Mexico. We’ll rent a nice hacienda and hide her until she’s eighteen. You and Sam can have a mariachi band at your wedding.”

  “I won’t get you and Father involved. But don’t worry—I’ll write to you after we’re settled.”

  “Jake!” She craned her neck, studied him with open-mouthed alarm, and shook him lightly. “My Lord, you’re serious. Don’t even think that way.”

  He got to his feet, hands clenched, wanting to hit something, to punch one of the porch’s thick, rough supports until pain drove away all other feelings. “Tim hates her. She’s always been his mother’s prize, and he knows that. If he gets the chance, he’ll hurt her somehow. And if he does that, I’ll—”

  Mother leapt up and grabbed his fists. “From all I’ve heard about Sammie, she’s not the type who’ll let Tim get away with anything. Son, you have to trust that she’ll come to you for help if she needs it. Now it’s up to her.”

  Jake lifted his head. The first stars of the January night glittered like small crystals—distant and unreachable. He would sleep under the quilt Sam had made for him. Her grief and fears would never be separate from his.

  And if anyone hurt her, God help them.

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  “They’ve been here a month, and all you do is pamper them,” Tim told his mother bitterly. “But I come home from school to tell you I’ve been offered an internship with a judge on the state supreme court and you act as if it were a crayon drawing I’d brought you to pin on the refrigerator.”

  Alexandra leaned back in a chair in the library and gazed at her son with weary exasperation. “Don’t take that air of wounded pride with me. Orrin arranged the internship for you.”

  “I earned it.”

  “Hardly. Left to your own initiative, you’d fritter away your opportunities. Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? I’m trying to help your cousins cope with their mother’s death. Be a man about it.”

  “I’m always second-class. You’ve got bigger dreams for them than you ever had for me.”

  “Samantha and Charlotte are handicapped by years of benign mismanagement. I have to concentrate on setting them on the right course as quickly as I can.”

  “Then send Sam to college. Get her out of here. Why did you let her talk you into staying in town until next fall?”

  “Because Charlotte is a
weepy little clinging vine, and Samantha thinks she’ll wilt if she leaves her so soon.”

  “Sam is playing you for a fool. She wants to stay here so she can be close to Jake.”

  “No, we’ve had some long discussions about that matter. She has absolutely no interest in encouraging him. I think losing her mother made her realize how needlessly difficult and lonely their lives really were. She’s ready for something different.” Alexandra gave Tim a reassuring nod. “There’s room for both of you in my plans. You have a future in law, and then politics. Samantha has an excellent aptitude for business. If all goes as I expect—and it will—I’ll need her to manage various concerns of mine after Orrin becomes governor. I’ll have too many new responsibilities to handle them myself.”

  Tim appeared only slightly mollified. “What about Charlotte?”

  Alexandra bit her tongue. She had no intention of telling him that she saw Charlotte merely as an extension of Samantha, a tool who could be used to keep Samantha’s loyalty. Charlotte was endearing and affectionate in the same way Frannie had been, but, like her mother, utterly without serious ambitions. “Charlotte is a born hostess,” she told him. “Any family in the public eye needs one of those.”

  Tim’s eyes flashed. “What do you think I’ll do—marry some social retard who’ll embarrass you?”

  “No, because if you ever wanted to marry such a creature, I’d make certain you came to your senses. So far your taste in women has been dictated indiscriminately by your hormones.”

  “Would you rather people around here whisper about me the way they do about Jake—and Ellie? I had to go through high school listening to kids snicker about my queer cousins.”

  Alexandra frowned. “Jake, unfortunately, has proved he has an interest in the opposite sex. I wish he hadn’t chosen Samantha to do it.” She waved one hand dismissively. “I won’t object to your indulgences while you’re in law school. People are suspicious of men who don’t have a few youthful escapades to their credit. An overdeveloped streak of virtue implies a lack of know-how—or worse, a lack of interest. But they’re equally suspicious of a man who doesn’t know when to settle down. Until you’re ready to do that, don’t whine about my low opinion of your women.”