Jade tried to step away, but her legs would not hold her. With her muscles trembling with fatigue, she could do little but cling helplessly to Jason.
“I feel so foolish,” she said. She could not seem to force her legs together.
He looked down at her upturned face. Her green eyes were sparkling, her cheeks glowing, kissed by sunshine. Involuntarily, his hands tightened on her waist. He wanted to do more than kiss her. He wanted to feel himself moving inside her, awaken her to the pleasures that she, in her wide-eyed innocence, had never dreamed of.
Jade felt her head swim and for a moment she thought she might faint, but she was too interested in the feeling Jason’s very touch inspired. The way he was looking at her evoked responses identical to his kisses—her heart was beating in triple-time, her fingers were trembling. She felt weak and at the same time pulsing with an energy that drew her to him like a magnet to iron.
He was as addictive as the opium smoked in Little China.
She could get used to this gentle man, to having him beside her always, but her inner voice told her that he would soon move on, just as it reminded her that she had much to accomplish. Her grandfather’s dream had yet to be realized. Jason Harrington was not part of that dream. Nor had he any intention of becoming part of her future.
A sudden gust of wind blew through the garden and the branches of the walnut groaned in protest. The sound broke the fragile spell that held them in its grasp. Jade pulled away from Jason, bewildered by her intense reaction to him.
She did not know what to say.
Did he feel the way she did? Had the brief, innocent exchange moved him also? Dying to know, but far too shy to ask, Jade avoided meeting his eyes and waited for him to move away from her.
“Jade?”
“What?” she whispered.
He put his forefinger beneath her chin and lifted her head until she looked at him. “Are you all right?”
She tried to find her voice. “Yes.”
“Sure?”
She wanted this moment to last forever. She wanted nothing more than to stand alone with him in the garden and stare up into his eyes. She felt fully alive for the first time in her life, felt the very blood singing through her, welcomed the sunshine and breeze against her skin. For the first time she knew why she had been born a woman. But she was experiencing it all with a man who would never become part of her life. It seemed so very sad.
“Jade, I—”
She put her fingertips to his lips. His expression had grown so serious, the look he gave her so apologetic, that she did not want to hear whatever he was about to say. She would allow nothing to spoil the glorious moment.
With a determined effort, she smiled up at him. “Let’s go inside.”
Chapter Eight
Life is a dream walking . . .
Death is a going home.
THE INSIDE OF THE house was several degrees cooler than the air outside, as was the way with adobes. The clay walls were three feet thick and able to keep the interior warm in winter and cool in summer. In places where the whitewash had flaked off, the adobe construction was visible: straw, bits of shell, and twigs had been worked into the clay. With many of the windows broken and the wooden shutters missing, the inside of the house was damper and colder than usual. Jason left the door standing open as they walked inside and crossed the main room that was the core of the lower story.
With the exception of a few sticks of simple wooden furniture, there was nothing left of Philo Page’s possessions. Jade did not know what she had expected to find, but it was certainly not this bleak, yawning emptiness.
She walked through the house with Jason close on her heels, pausing to open connecting doors and peer into bare rooms. The floorboards, although warped in a few places, were in better shape than the roof. The upper floor had been subjected to water damage from the leakage.
Jade paused before the door of one of the upper rooms and recalled the first time she had entered it. She had been seven years old, but still remembered it well. Philo Page had been to San Francisco to call on his daughter because he had not seen her for some time. Jade would never forget his visit, because it coincided with the beginning of both the best and the bleakest years of her life.
It seemed as if her mother had been crying for days. Jade had tried to comfort her—singing her favorite songs, carrying her cups of tea, holding her hand. Nothing had helped. When Grandfather arrived, Jade had run to greet him, begged him to make her mama happy again. Philo Page had left Jade in the hallway to wait while he talked to his daughter. Driven by worry about her mother, Jade listened at the door. It was years before she was able to comprehend all they had said, but the conversation was still vivid in her mind.
“Oh, Papa,” Melinda Douglas had cried. “He has another woman. I’m certain of it.”
Philo’s words had been bluntly honest. “Come home with me. Leave the bastard. He’s a gambler who married you for your money, girl. You realize that now, don’t you?”
Jade’s grandfather had been a wealthy man. Francis Douglas had indeed married her mother for the money she stood to inherit.
“I love him, Papa. I love him more than anything,” her mother had said.
“More than Jade? Do you know what you are putting that child through, acting like this? If you aren’t going to stand up to him and demand he give that woman up, then at least come out of this room and show some mettle. Look at you, lying about, wallowing in self-pity.”
Clinging to the doorknob, trying to see though the keyhole, little Jade listened to her mother’s heartrending sobs.
Philo Page paced the room, alternately trying to console and reason with his daughter. Finally, he said, “At least let me take Jade home with me for a few weeks. The poor child looks so drawn. She doesn’t know why you’re upset and I don’t think she should be exposed to this turmoil.”
“But Papa—”
“You know he won’t mind. He barely knows she’s alive.” There was more quiet sniffling before he added, “It will give you time to pull yourself together.”
He took Jade with him that day. She remembered being held securely before him on his horse, his saddlebags filled with her clothes. She had spent the long summer in his care and thrived at the adobe, roaming the garden and listening to Chi Nu’s endless stories of the faraway place called China.
Before she was tucked into bed the first night she was to spend there that glorious summer, Grandfather Page had led her by the hand to the same door she stood before today. “What’s inside?” she had whispered.
“Treasures,” he answered solemnly.
He held a silver candelabra aloft as he pushed the door open.
Jade would never forget what she saw that night in the shimmering candlelight. A long table stood directly in the center of the room. She moved toward it in silent awe, for it was indeed covered with treasures. There was a gilded bronze statue of a camel laden with bundles and goods that her grandfather patiently pointed out as a roll of silk, a sheep, a hare, and a pheasant. There were lacquered bowls that gleamed with such a high-polished shine that she thought they were still wet. One lacquer box lay open to expose a dragon necklace carved of green jade. He told her that jade was called yu and that the beautiful stone was believed to preserve the dead and bring life.
There were rolled scrolls that proved to be paintings of strange-looking people on odd-shaped horses. He unrolled one of the paintings and spread it on the floor, then the two of them dropped to their knees to inspect it closer. He asked her what the painting made her feel.
“The horses are running through the woods. The men are hunting.”
“But how does it make you feel?” he asked a second time.
She studied the painting carefully. The men on horseback seemed to be fleeing. The forest was sparse, the trees bending in the sa
me direction the riders traveled, giving the scene an aura of urgency. There was nothing in the background at all.
“It makes me feel scared. They’re running away. I think someone is chasing them.”
“Very good, Jade. Always remember that Chinese artists are not trying to paint objects—the horses, trees, or hunters. They are trying to convey an idea, a thought, or a feeling. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Grandfather,” she had said, pleased with his praise. And she had understood.
So began her lessons in things Chinese.
She spent summers with Philo Page and Chi Nu, and many weeks during the year as well. Often, when she was not at the adobe, she would spend time with Babs and her family. Her mother became more and more reclusive, but when Francis Douglas was at home and had days when he was not drunk or irrationally angry, Melinda Douglas was almost giddy with joy.
When he was drinking, or worse yet, living away from home, Melinda would weep and withdraw. Then Jade would escape to her room, study the books her grandfather had given her, and pray that summer would come early.
When J.T. reached around her and pushed the door open, she was drawn back to the present. Jade stood on the threshold and looked in at the empty room that once held her grandfather’s treasures.
“How long has this place been empty?” Jason tested the floorboards before he entered the room.
“Four years now.”
“There’s been no caretaker around, obviously.”
“Obviously,” she agreed. “My grandfather had an old Chinaman that was his caretaker. He and Chi Nu became best friends. It was Chi Nu who taught my grandfather about Chinese philosophy and religious beliefs. He came here in forty-nine to work the gold mines.”
“What happened to all the furniture?” Jason watched her expression darken with anger.
“My father must have sold it. Grandfather deeded the house to me years ago. I’m sure he did not think he needed to worry that anything would happen to the furnishings or his art collection, but he was a bit absentminded where details were concerned. He did not mention them in his will.”
Jason could not imagine her father purposely taking the personal belongings from Jade. “Perhaps your father had them stored for you?”
“My father looked out for himself. He couldn’t sell the house, but it seems that he took everything else of value and either sold it or used it for collateral.”
Jason shoved his hat back off his forehead and sauntered to the window that overlooked the garden.
“If you need any money to buy your things back. I’d be happy to—”
“No!” Jade quickly colored, her anger apparent in her tone. His suggestion was all too close to Bab’s idea that she marry him for his money. She could never use Jason or any other man for that matter. “No.” She shook her head emphatically and hoped he believed her. “I don’t need your money. As a matter of fact, I’m going to visit the bank as soon as we get back to town and make arrangements to take over the care of my grandfather’s collection.” She wasn’t sure how she would do it, but was determined to follow her new resolve to take control of her own affairs. Somehow she would convince the bank that she fully intended to reclaim the Chinese pieces. Perhaps they would take the adobe in exchange.
Outside, Jason’s horse whinnied. He crossed the room and paused for a moment beside her. He smiled down at Jade and stared at her intently.
“What are you looking at?” she wanted to know.
“If you keep frowning, your face will freeze that way.”
She laughed. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking.”
“Well, I don’t believe in thinking on an empty stomach, so I’ll go down and get the picnic. I’ll meet you in the garden.”
“I’ll be right down,” she said, thankful for some time alone in the house.
She wandered back downstairs and into the kitchen. The place was as bare as the rest of the house except for a wooden worktable and the brick oven built into the side wall. The windowpane was missing. Jade started when she heard a rustling sound in the dead leaves scattered on the floor near the open window. She stood perfectly still, listening, and watched a meadow mouse scuttle across the floor and disappear through a hole in the floorboards.
As she stared after it, she remembered the tiny cellar below the kitchen. The trap door to the storeroom was directly under the worktable. It took but a push and a pull to move the table out of the way. Jade brushed aside the leaves and dust that covered the door and carefully slipped her fingers into the recessed handhold and lifted the trap door. She pulled it upward and stepped back. The door fell open with a heavy thud.
The smell of must and mice crept up from the hole in the earth. It was dark down below, but if she remembered correctly, the room wasn’t so large that the light from open kitchen windows would not fill it. She brushed her hands together and then turned around so that she could descend the ladder that led to the underground room.
The stale, damp smell of earth rose up to meet her; the air below the ground was considerably chillier. She paused for a moment, suspended on the ladder halfway between the opening and the dirt floor below, and listened carefully. She thought she heard rustling again and prayed it was only the little meadow mouse and not a rat.
Jade reached the ground and waited for her eyes to grow accustomed to the dim light that filtered down from above. The wooden shelves that lined the walls were still intact, but all that was left on them were a few jars of preserved peaches and tomatoes. Afraid to move too far from the ladder, Jade stayed where she was and let her gaze take in the rest of the room.
It was perfectly square, carved out of the earth beneath the adobe. There was nothing in the tiny room but the shelves and their meager supplies. It was a perfect hiding place, one she often used as a child when she wished to tease her grandfather into searching for her. Chi Nu would feign ignorance of her whereabouts when she went below with a book and a candle to hide, but Grandfather always knew where she was. He let the game go on until he was certain she was ready to be found.
A perfect hiding place.
Jade thought of all she had learned yesterday from Detective Chang. Her father had been murdered for abducting a Chinese alchemist.
If he had kidnapped the alchemist, Francis Douglas must have hidden the old man. What better place than beneath the floor of a deserted house outside of town?
To catch a fish one does not climb a tree, she thought. Her father would never have kept the old man in San Francisco, not when there was a chance of anyone finding him. Slowly, she moved away from the ladder and began to check the floor for any sign that might lead to a discovery. The hard-packed surface was smooth. As far as she could tell there was nothing on it. If only she had a candle. She heard footsteps above, and was about to call out to Jason when her eye caught the sheen of a scrap of fabric near the ladder.
Just as her fingers closed over the glittering object, the trap door closed with an angry, thunderous sound and she was cast in darkness.
“Jason!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. With the cloth in her hand, she felt her way to the ladder. “Jason, I’m down here. Open the door!”
She heard stealthy footsteps overhead and listened in terror as they moved farther and farther away.
“Jason! Help me! Why are you doing this?” She tried to calm herself as she carefully climbed upward. This was no time to panic. Surely he had not meant to harm her.
She nearly fell off the ladder when the toe of her boot caught in the hem of her skirt. Her heart was tripping doubly fast now, her breath coming in quick gasps. Shoving the strip of fabric in her waistband, Jade continued climbing. She reached the top of the ladder and pushed up on the door. When she got ahold of Jason Harrington, she would box his ears.
She shoved at the thick planks, but the door did not budge: It was heavy, but
not so heavy that she could not open it. Not unless the latch had clicked shut.
Jade beat on the underside of the door and shouted again. Damn him! If this was Jason’s idea of a joke, she could not see the humor in it. She tried screaming his name again, and then stopped. He would open the door when he was good and ready and not before. Two could play at this game, she thought, trying to keep her mind off the scampering sounds below her. She thumped the underside of the door with her fist one last time and then hugged the ladder rails and waited for Jason to open the door. It wouldn’t do to exhaust herself.
She closed her eyes to shut out the darkness that surrounded her, and tried not to compare the smell of the place to that of the inside of a grave.
AT ONE TIME, THE garden around the adobe had been lovely. Jason could appreciate it even now that it was overgrown. The huge oak in the center of the garden shaded most of it from the late morning sun. The wild tangle of vines and bushes had not yet obliterated all of the winding paths.
He tried to find a clearing where they could spread out the picnic Jade had made, and then decided on a spot near the old tree. It was on the sunny side where the deep covering of leaves were no longer moist from the fog. When he spied a particularly striking oak leaf, one that was dappled with color, he bent to pick it up for Jade.
Afraid to lay out the food and leave it while he went back to find her, J.T. carried it back with him. He thought she was coming right out, but she had not followed him. She must have needed more time alone. He could sense that as he roamed through the old place with her and watched her eyes brim with unshed tears, but now his stomach was rumbling and she had been alone inside for nearly half an hour.
He paused outside on the veranda, listening for the sound of her footsteps, thinking she might still be upstairs. But the place was quiet. There was no sound of her walking overhead, so he went toward the back of the lower story and walked into the kitchen.
Jade Page 13
