Memory's Embrace

by Linda Lael Miller

  “Corbin?” he choked out. “I don’t believe you!”

  Cooperatively, Tess took the wedding license, signed that very day by herself, Keith, and the justice of the peace, from the pocket of her skirt. She presented it with dignity.

  The banker’s fat hand trembled as he took the paper, read it. His jiggling cheeks, rosy with well-being only moments before, turned parchment-white. “You’re married to Keith Corbin. Con-congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” trilled Tess, taking back the license, folding it carefully, returning it to her pocket. “Of course, I don’t think my husband will be very pleased when I tell him how casually this bank views its responsibilities to depositors—”

  “We’ll be happy to make amends, of course!” boomed the official, with sudden good will. “And you can be sure that such a mistake won’t be made again, Mrs. Corbin!”

  Both triumph and quiet rage mingled within Tess as she signed papers changing her name in the bank’s records and was given a new passbook with the full amount Rod had taken from her written prominently inside. Triumph because she had made this pompous, impossible man restore her money and rage because a name could be so much more important than personal integrity.

  “I’ll be moving my money at the first opportunity,” she said loftily, as she was leaving the bank again, her passbook firmly in hand.

  “But we did everything we could to straighten the matter out!” protested the banker, frantic. Tess would have staked both her bicycle and her camera that he wasn’t worried about her modest account but about funds that the Corbin family probably had on deposit.

  “You did,” Tess agreed, her chin high. “After I had proved to you that I am now a member of one of the most prominent families in the Pacific Northwest. You should have done it because it was right”—she paused and consulted the painted script on the bank’s front window—“Mr. Filbertson. Who I was should not have mattered in the least. The important thing was that I had been grievously wronged and the fault was partly yours.”

  “Mrs. Corbin!” wailed the banker, spreading his hands, a thin film of sweat beading on his upper lip.

  “Good day, Mr. Filbertson,” said Tess, leaving the bank in a sweep of sateen skirts and righteous disdain.

  Mr. Filbertson followed her over the wooden sidewalk, across the busy, rutted, dung-dappled road.

  “Won’t you please reconsider?” he pleaded.

  Tess smiled as she unlocked the door of her shop, shrugged prettily. “I may, Mr. Filbertson. Then again, I may not. Would you like your photograph taken?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  MR. FILBERTSON BECAME TESS’S FIRST CUSTOMER, SITTING nervously for his portrait, his barrel chest plumped, his muttonchop sideburns bristling just a little. He harrumphed loudly when Tess told him that his photograph would be ready by the next day. She knew that he was burning to ask whether or not her account would be transferred to another bank, and she did nothing to ease his discomfort.

  To Tess’s mind, he deserved it.

  He paused in the shop’s doorway, letting in the sounds and smells of the afternoon traffic bustling by in the road. “I hope we’ll see you again soon, Mrs. Corbin,” he said gruffly.

  The lie was so obvious that Tess nearly laughed aloud. Had it not been for her marriage into the powerful Corbin family, he would be hoping for something entirely different.

  Giving no answer, she politely inclined her head. Mr. Filbertson reddened and took his leave. Watching as he weaved his way between the wagons, buggies, and carriages clogging the street outside, Tess smiled to herself.

  The worry gnawed at him like the teeth of a frenzied beast. Where was Tess? Why hadn’t she returned? Had that mad woman, Cornelia Hamilton, hurt her in some way?

  Keith sat upright, the muscles in his wounded shoulder screaming in protest. One thing was for certain: he was through lying around in this bleak hospital, passively allowing the events of his life to flow over him like a stream.

  “Vhat do you think you are doing?!” boomed Sister Attila, when she swept into the room, her crisp black habit rustling. “Get back into that bed, Mr. Corbin!”

  Keith was sitting on the edge of the bed. Cautiously, he eased himself over the side, to stand on his own two feet. The ward, empty except for himself and the German nun, seemed to sway and undulate around him. “I’ve got to—leave,” he managed to say, even as the enormous woman maneuvered him back onto the mattress and underneath the covers.

  “Sleep,” ordered the nun, her mouth a tight line that barely moved as the word passed it.

  “I can’t—my wife—”

  “Your wife is right here.” The voice was like cool, clean spring water flowing into a parched creek bed. Tess. Opposite the nun, her face moving in a shimmering fog of discomfort and incomprehensible fatigue, stood Tess.

  “You’re all right,” he muttered wearily. The pain was deep-seated, overwhelming.

  “Of course I’m all right. You, on the other hand—” She paused, smoothed his forehead with tender fingers.

  He groped for her hand, held it desperately in his own. “Don’t go.”

  “I won’t,” she promised softly, and he heard the nun leave the room.

  And she didn’t. Each time Keith surfaced from the depths of weariness and hurt that kept pulling him under, Tess was there, her hand gripping his own, her scent fresh and comforting in his nostrils.

  Yawning, Tess fumbled in her handbag for the key to the shop. It was so early that dawn was just climbing over the eastern mountains, all golden and pink, and the only traffic in the road was a milk wagon.

  “Tess!”

  She started at Emma’s cry of her name, turned to see her friend rushing up the sidewalk, looking disgruntled and afraid.

  What now? Tess thought uncharitably. She was weary to the very fiber of her bones, having been up all night long with Keith. And she still had Mr. Filbertson’s photograph to develop, a task she wasn’t looking forward to. She had never done it before, and would have to depend on the instructions in the books stored in the back of her shop.

  “Good morning, Emma,” she said, as she opened the door and went inside, her friend following virtually on her heels.

  “Good morning yourself, Tess Bishop!” retorted Emma furiously. “Where have you been all night? I’ve been frantic, just frantic—”

  “I was with my husband,” Tess said evenly.

  This announcement gave Emma pause—as Tess had guessed, she hadn’t been listening the day before, at the hotel, when Tess had briefly mentioned her marriage to Keith. Her brown eyes widened and her mouth pursed into an O, and then she bristled, like a little hen that has just been dashed with the dishwater.

  “Would that I could say the same,” Emma said petulantly. “Tess, they have arrested Rod! Thanks to you, the bank had him arrested! And he’s not going to be released until he gives them back the money he borrowed from your account!”

  Emma’s attitude nettled Tess. She flung her handbag down onto the shop’s carefully dusted countertop and shrugged out of her cloak. “Borrowed? Emma, he stole that money from me.”

  “He did not! He only borrowed it!”

  “Taking funds from someone’s bank account without their knowledge, let alone their permission, is theft, Emma, not borrowing.”

  “How could you, Tess? How could you let this come about, when you know what’s happened to Mama? Haven’t I got enough problems without having my husband thrown into the hoosegow?”

  “I happen to have a few problems of my own, Emma—not the least of which is my injured husband.”

  Emma subsided a little at the mention of Keith; indirectly, his shooting was her fault, and her recognition of the fact appeased Tess to some degree. “What am I going to do?”

  Tess sighed. Lord, she was tired, and she still had to ferret through those dratted, musty tomes in the back and figure out how to develop a photograph. “If I were you, Emma, I would go to Cedrick Golden and ask him to return some of the money Rod i
nvested in his play. I’m sure the bank would drop the charges against Rod if they had their funds back.”

  “Why should I go to Cedrick Golden?” blustered Emma. “You’re the one who started this by demanding that the bank make good on the money that Rod borrowed from you in good faith!”

  Tess shook her head in quiet, furious amazement. “You’re not actually suggesting that I turn my money over so that Rod can be free, are you?”

  Once again, Emma subsided, though her chin jutted out defiantly and her eyes were narrow. “I thought you were my friend!”

  “I am your friend, Emma,” Tess sighed. “But I’m not your guardian angel. This is one problem that you and Rod are going to have to solve yourselves.”

  Tears blossomed in Emma’s eyes, Tess was determined not to be moved by them. Perhaps, by smoothing things over for Emma whenever she could, she had done her friend a disservice. How could a person possibly become strong if they never had to work things out for themselves?

  “I’ll show you, Tess Bishop. I’ll go to Cedrick Golden. I’ll straighten this whole matter out, without”—she paused to snap her fingers—“this much help from you!”

  With that, Emma swept Tess up in a quelling glare, lifted her chin, and left the shop. Smiling to herself, Tess went to the back room, found the book she needed, and set about learning how to develop the photographic plate she had taken the day before, of Banker Filbertson.

  She was so engrossed in the looking up of formulas and the mixing of chemicals that she barely heard the tinkle of the bell over the shop’s door. “I’ll be right there,” she called out distractedly, frowning at the dusty book and the shallow pan of chemicals she had already prepared.

  “I can wait,” answered an annoyed masculine voice, and Tess stiffened. Cedrick Golden. Her caller was Cedrick Golden.

  After drawing a deep breath and smoothing her hair and skirts—she had not taken time to change her clothes or give her hair proper attention, she had been in such a hurry to develop Mr. Filbertson’s photograph—Tess reluctantly left her work.

  “Cedrick,” she said, in greeting, stepping through the curtained workroom doorway, her smile polite but by no means welcoming. “May I help you?”

  Cedrick looked distracted and more than a bit nettled. “Emma tells me that I must return Rod’s investment in my play.”

  Why tell me? Tess wondered, but she said nothing. Something within her urged her to wait.

  “I am not pleased by this,” Cedrick complained, his eyes wandering about the shop in a quick yet aimless sort of way. “I am not pleased at all. An investment is an investment, after all. A deal is a deal.”

  “I agree completely,” said Tess, still keeping her distance. “In this case, however, Rod invested my money, not his own.”

  Now, the emerald eyes found her face, and Tess was jolted by the stark desperation she read in their depths. There was something feverish about Cedrick, something almost obsessive. “Never fear,” he said, with carefully moderated annoyance. “I have made the necessary arrangements. No doubt, your brother is already free.”

  For some reason, Tess couldn’t say thank you, though she was, for Emma’s sake and Emma’s alone, grateful. “That was fast,” she observed, remaining in her doorway, arching one eyebrow as if to say, “but what has any of this to do with me?”

  “What could I do?” Cedrick’s narrow shoulders, cloaked by a pristine linen shirt and a bottle-green jacket of the finest quality, moved in a fitful shrug. “Emma would have it no other way. She ranted and raved until I had no choice.”

  Tess was secretly proud of Emma, though she hid that. She also suppressed the sigh of impatience inspired by an encounter to which she could see no point. “I really am quite busy,” she said.

  Cedrick was instantly flushed, and his eyes, as green as his jacket, snapped. “I see. What a provider that husband of yours must be. Imagine asking such a wife to work in a common shop!”

  Now it was Tess who flushed. Anger surged through her in a heated wave, bracing her, causing her to thrust out her chin. “I did not marry my husband to secure myself a provider, Mr. Golden. I married him because I love him.”

  “Love! It isn’t his ‘love’ that you want!”

  At last, Tess understood why Mr. Cedrick Golden had put in his appearance on this otherwise pleasant day. He was angry about her marriage to Keith. As if it were any of his business! “Perhaps your interest in most people hinges on what they can give you, Mr. Golden,” she said, with cool dignity, the cloth that covered the workroom doorway bunched in one hand, “but my outlook is somewhat different.”

  Cedrick’s voice was a low, sardonic drawl. “You know as well as I do that you’ve married into one of the richest families in the country. Your wounded swain may be fooled by your appearance of fresh-faced independence, Tess, but I am not. I am an actor myself, and I know a theatrical production when I see one, whether or not it is played out on a stage.”

  Nothing he could have said would have insulted Tess more. When she’d fallen in love with Keith Corbin, she’d known nothing of his family or their money. And she sincerely didn’t care whether she ever saw a dime of it or not. She wanted only to be near her husband, whether that involved traveling in his wagon, from town to town, or remaining here, in her shop, while he worked at some other profession.

  But Cedrick Golden had no right to any explanations or denials. Who did he think he was?

  “I have work to do, Mr. Golden,” Tess said stiffly. “If you’ll just excuse me, please.”

  She turned to go back into the shadowy workroom, back to her task of developing Mr. Filbertson’s portrait, considering the conversation to be over. Angry as she was, it was a moment before she realized that she’d made a mistake.

  Cedrick Golden had followed her.

  Until that time, Tess had, for the most part, regarded this man as a pest, persistent at times, but relatively innocuous. Now, her every instinct told her that, under certain circumstances, he could be very dangerous indeed.

  She stepped around the worktable, with its clutter of books and chemicals, to put some barrier between herself and him. “Please leave,” she managed to say.

  He ran one index finger down a page in one of the books. “It’s dark in here,” he observed lightly. “No windows.”

  A chill crept up Tess’s back. “Darkness is required for the development of photographs,” she replied evenly. “Please leave now, Mr. Golden. As I said, I have work to do.”

  “Photographs,” he repeated idly, tracing the outer edge of a pan of developing fluid with one slender index finger. “Yes. The profession you prefer over the theater.”

  Tess was edging toward the door leading back into the shop. “Please, don’t touch that. Th-the chemicals contain acid—they can be dangerous.”

  Cedrick looked up, assessed Tess with shadow-veiled eyes, and gave a chortle of smug amusement at her obvious attempt to escape him. “Are you afraid of me, my dear?” he asked, in a soft, disdainful voice.

  “No,” lied Tess, gaining the doorway and backing through it. Just as she did so, the bell above the front door chimed briskly.

  Tess doubted that, however bad business might become, she would never be more grateful for the appearance of a customer than she was at that moment. She turned, smiling nervously.

  The visitor was a woman, and she was, with her lush, cinnamon-colored hair and shamrock-green eyes, stunningly beautiful. “Tess?” she said, with an inquiring smile.

  Forgetting all about Cedrick Golden and his quietly threatening manner, Tess nodded. Some instinct told her that this glorious, self-assured creature had not come to have her likeness taken.

  The woman smiled again. “My name is Banner Corbin, and I believe I am your sister-in-law.”

  Tess went to take the extended hand, which was gloved in elegant kid. “Mrs. Corbin, I’m so glad to meet you.”

  Bright laughter rang in the little shop. “And I’m happy to meet you, too. Happier than you could possibly
know. But, please—call me Banner.”

  Cedrick came out of the back room just then, and his presence embarrassed Tess. What would Banner think?

  Wise green eyes assessed Cedrick and then Tess herself, revealing nothing of whatever impression might have been made. Cedrick muttered a few words of farewell and, looking exasperated, took his leave.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt your work,” said Banner, peeling off one glove and then the other. “I can come back tomorrow if that would be better.”

  “Oh, no!” Tess protested quickly. “Don’t go, please. I—I want to get to know you.”

  Banner smiled. “As we all want to get to know you, Tess. The family, I mean.”

  “I’ve met Keith’s brothers,” Tess flushed at the memory of their finding her asleep on the couch in the elegant suite at the Grand Hotel.

  Banner had obviously heard the story from the men, one of whom must be her husband, and she looked amused. “I’m sorry that they frightened you that way,” she said, after a short silence. “They can be overwhelming, to say the least. Adam, the dour one with the dark hair, is my husband.”

  Tess remembered Adam. For all his seriousness, he’d seemed the kinder of the two men and she had liked him. “He was very nice to me,” she said, mostly to make conversation.

  Banner laughed. “And Jeff was obnoxious. I hope you won’t hate our mutual brother-in-law, Tess—he’s really a very good man. It’s just that he has never mastered subtlety.”

  Now, Tess laughed, too. “He certainly hasn’t. My Lord, he scared me to death!”

  “Jeff often has that affect on people.” Banner sighed and reached up to unpin her hat. “Might I sit down for a few minutes? When we received the wire saying that Keith had been shot—well, we all panicked. I was elected to come and investigate, and the steamer trip seemed to take forever. Following that, of course, I hurried to the hospital as quickly as I could, and now I’m simply exhausted.”

  Banner Corbin was clearly a vital, energetic woman, but she did look tired. “Do sit down,” Tess invited quickly. “I’ll go upstairs and make you a cup of tea.”