Cinders to Satin

by Fern Michaels

  Callie was worrying more and more about Mary. Mr. Harrison Reader had noticed that Mary couldn’t follow along in the tunes he tried to teach her, and he would shake his head, muttering something about a “tin ear.” It seemed that what hearing Mary had was fading. Mary herself awakened one morning and saw the rain beating aginst her window. She ran to Callie, terror contorting her face, clapping her hands over her ears. “I can’t hear it, Callie! I can’t hear the rain!”

  As the day wore on, Mary’s hearing returned to its previous. level. Callie begged the child to release her from her promise. Mary was adamant. No one was to know. She didn’t want to be different, and she didn’t want to be sent away to a school for the deaf. As long as she had Callie, she didn’t need to hear.

  From that moment on, Callie doubled her efforts to help Mary practice reading lips. They would sit face to face on the carpeted floor while Callie read from school books or just engaged in conversation. Mary knew it wasn’t a game they were playing and paid rapt attention to her young instructor. “Always remember, Mary, don’t turn your back to people. And you must learn not to stare so intently at their mouths. That will give you away. Try to watch the whole face.” Her fear of being sent away was all the incentive the little girl needed. “We have to work on your speech also. You’re beginning to talk too loud. I’ll work out a signal for you.”

  There were times Callie would have sworn that Mary’s hearing was normal, she was so adept at lip-reading. “I have the advantage, Callie,” Mary laughed. “I can ‘hear’ what people are saying across a room just by watching them. Rossiter better watch out or I’ll know all his secrets! He’s my most favorite brother!”

  “He’s your only brother,” Callie teased.

  “What will you do if when Rossiter comes home he falls in love with you?” Mary asked bluntly. Ever since Mr. Reader had assigned them passages from Romeo and Juliet, Mary was preoccupied with love and romance.

  “I’ll tell him quite honestly that I’ve no time for romance because I have this little girl who takes all my time and my love. I’ll tell him there’s none left for tall, golden-haired young men, and if he persists in loving me, I shall beat him off with a stick!”

  Mary loved the game and giggled delightedly. Rossiter would love Callie. Papá loved Callie. She loved Callie.

  There was a secret smile playing around Mary’s mouth as she watched Callie dress for the day. Mary had arisen early, earlier even than Callie, and had burst in upon Callie even before her eyes were opened for the day. Today was Callie’s birthday, and if the surprise of the party weren’t enough, Mary had learned something wonderful that very monring. Rossiter was coming home! Today! She had seen the hall gas lamp lit on the second floor and saw Mamán walking across the landing to Papá’s room. Curious, she had gone to the open bedroom door and saw that Mamán’s face was wreathed in smiles. The kind of smile that was reserved for Rossiter alone.

  “Come in, chick,” Papá had called, lifting her onto his huge, high bed. “Your Mamán has just received a message from Rossiter saying he’s coming in on the afternoon ferry.”

  Yes, Rossiter was coming home, and she would be with the two people she loved best in the world besides Papá—Callie and her brother.

  “You aren’t going to wear that old thing, are you?” Mary frowned as Callie went to her wardrobe and withdrew one of her two black bombazine uniforms. She didn’t want to mention the birthday, so she answered Callie’s questioning look offhandedly. “It’s only that it promises to be such a beautiful day. The sun is already so nice and warm, and don’t you remember? Mr. MacDuff is taking us into St. George so I can buy some new watercolors.”

  Callie watched Mary’s dancing eyes with suspicion. “No, I haven’t forgotten. Well, what should I wear then? My jumper? I warn you, it’s much too short on me and squeezes me in the most alarming places.”

  “Wear the white muslin with the blue dimity print that Anne gave you. It looks so nice on you, Callie, and goes so well with the knitted shawl Lena made for you.”

  “Such a fancy dress just to go shopping in St. George? You’d think we were going across the river to New York.”

  “Please, Callie? I’ll wear my new yellow eyelet if you do.”

  “All right, seeing as it means so much to you.” Callie sighed. She hadn’t forgotten that today was her eighteenth birthday, and she liked the idea of dressing like a grown woman for a change. Mary was so filled with herself, dancing about the room and making every pretense of not mentioning the birthday that Callie suspected there was some sort of conspiracy underway.

  “You’re all grown up today,” Mary blurted, quickly covering her mouth before more of the secret spilled out. “I mean, you look so grown up in that dress. Don’t you think you should put your hair up like Anne and her friends do? I’ll let you borrow my hair pins, and I think I’ve got a blue ribbon just the shade of your sash.”

  “All right,” Callie giggled. “If it will make you happy.”

  The white muslin dress with delicate blue cornflowers flattered Callie’s coloring, enhancing the pink of her cheeks and the azure in her eyes. The high-necked, ruffled collar delineated the elegant length of her neck and rested softly beneath the rebellious curls at her nape. “Now, wear those high-heeled slippers Anne didn’t want anymore, and you’ll be gorgeous!”

  “You imp! Come here and I’ll fix your hair. With me being so gorgeous, we can’t have you looking like a little urchin. Perhaps on the way home from St. George, Mr. MacDuff will let us stop in the meadow behind the church. The cherry blossoms and dogwood should be in bloom. We can pick armfuls for your Mamán. Don’t forget your bonnet, darling; an hour in the sun and you’ll be a summer full of freckles.

  The outing was a delight. Hugh MacDuff drove them into St. George in the buggy, waiting outside the little shop where Mary purchased her new watercolors. Spring was in the air, and they could smell the sunshine turning the grasses a brighter shade of green. In the meadow behind the church, they gathered fragile pink and white dogwood blossoms and fragrant, blush-colored cherry flowers.

  MacDuff sat atop the buggy, smoking his pipe, watching Mary and Callie chase each other across the field. He was a taciturn man with a love of nature and children, and he always went out of his way to make whatever time Mary and Callie spent with him enjoyable. He had helped gather the blossoms with them, his pipe clenched firmly between his teeth. Callie liked him, and so did Mary. Hugh was never one to say two words when one would do, and the girls’ frolicking and laughter brought a smile to his weather-beaten face.

  The lass was a comely one, Hugh thought watching Callie run lithely after Mary. He’d watched her change before his very eyes this past year. She’d come to the Powerses a frightened child, and here she was, eighteen today and a young woman with a promise of enormous beauty. His gaze darkened as he recalled that this very afternoon young Rossiter was to come home. What changes would he see in the young man? Two years away from his domineering Mamán would surely have changed the young buck. Hugh had always liked the young man with his wild, rebellious ways. Rossiter was a good lad, but he had a dangerous flaw as far as Hugh was concerned. He was weak. Too tied to his Mamán’s apron strings. Two years away must have made the difference, but Hugh worried that these changes would only be external. The young man’s character had been formed years ago. Rossiter had once confided to Hugh that he had an ambition to become a painter, and remembering that Rossiter had always had an eye for beauty, the man’s eye turned to Callie.

  A new wrinkle formed on Hugh’s weathered brow. Rossiter was known and loved for his charm and his astounding good looks. The boy could have his pick of any beautiful young girl, and Callie, so young and inexperienced, would fall easy prey to that dashing rogue. A sour look crossed his face. If Rossiter’s Mamán got wind of any flirtatious interest on her son’s part, Callie would find herself out on the street, bag and baggage. It must be hard to be young, he decided. He didn’t think he’d ever been young. He was born ol
d and crotchety.

  There were times, like now, when the world was young with spring, that Hugh wished he’d found himself a good woman to marry and raise children. Now it was too late. More than half his life was gone. Keeping his snoot in a bottle every chance he got wasn’t something a woman would put up with, not if there were children to be fed and clothed. Did he really have regrets? Probably not, he thought as he drew on his pipe. He was carefully tamping fresh tobacco when Mary ran back to the buggy with a bunch of wild bluebells. “For you, Mr. MacDuff, for having the patience to wait for us. I’ll never forget today.” She smiled brightly. “Here, let me stick some in your hatband. You’ll look so handsome, Lena will want to catch you and kiss you. What would you do if a woman caught you?” Mary teased as she worked stems of the delicate flowers into the handyman’s hatband.

  “Why, I’ll just let her catch me. That’s what any self-respecting man would do, right, lassie?” he asked, directing his question to Callie, who was blushing furiously. A pity one like her hadn’t crossed his path in his younger days.

  When Callie and Mary returned to the house, the atmosphere was so quiet and still for this particular time of day, Callie assumed everyone had succumbed to the lazy sunshine and had retreated for afternoon naps.

  “Let’s take these flowers out onto the back porch; they’ll look so pretty with all the sunshine coming through the windows,” Mary said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You go first, Callie, so you can open the door for me.”

  “Hush, I think everyone’s taking a nap; we don’t want to wake them.” Quietly Callie and Mary crossed through the dining room and out through the side door to the glass-enclosed sun porch.

  It was Byrch Callie saw first, but it was Jasper’s voice that thundered, “Surprise! Happy Birthday!” For a long moment Callie stood poised like a cat, ready to spring, uncomprehending that the gathering was for her, to celebrate her birthday. Her cheeks pinked to the color of the cherry blossoms in her arms as everyone offered their congratulations. Mary and Mr. Powers, Lena and Hugh, Miss Anne, Mrs. Powers, and last but never least, Byrch Kenyon.

  Byrch stood off at a distance watching. Was it the warmth of the sun coming through the gleaming windows or was it the astonishing change in Callie that bubbled through his blood? Gone was the little urchin from the alleyway in Dublin and the drenched little kitten from the button factory. Here stood Callie on the beautiful brink of womanhood, and she was a sight to behold.

  She’d grown inches since he’d last seen her, and the graceful sweep of her back and neck, combined with the delightful swell of her high, firm breasts, hinted at an elegant length of leg beneath her sweeping muslin skirt. Callie was the image of the summer to come, cheeks flushed, eyes clear and bright, bluer than an August sky, chestnut hair shot with gold. He had never seen her hair this way—soft and loose, confettied with cherry-blossom petals—and he realized his hand itched to touch it. His tiger eyes narrowed as he surveyed the tiny waist and the feminine curve of hip below. And most amazing of all, Byrch found himself thinking, was that these changes only presaged the promise of her full beauty yet to come. Already the turned up nose had taken on a new balance and a slimness in her adult face. The planes and hollows of her features had elongated from childish roundness to a nearly perfect oval, the high cheekbones adding an obliqueness to her eyes, slanting them slightly at the corners.

  Shyly, Callie reached out her hand to Byrch, winding her fingers between his. She lowered her eyes demurely. “Your being here means so much to me,” she said in her deeper woman’s voice that held only a hint of Ireland. The rich, lyrical tone was music to his ears.

  Jasper Powers watched the little scene between Callie and her friend. She was indeed a beautiful girl, and apparently Byrch thought so as well. Jasper was quick to note a certain tenseness in Byrch’s neck and could see a stiffening of his broad shoulders. Surely he hadn’t expected Callie to remain a child. Girls did have a way of growing into women.

  The back porch had been decorated with pink and green streamers and the table set with a lace cloth and Anne Powers’s best crystal punch bowl. The silver tea service was waiting on the sideboard. Lena had outdone herself with a wonder of a confection: a three-layered cake with pure white frosting under pale pink rosebuds and green jelly stems. Plates of delicate sandwiches of watercress and ham salad stood beside a sparkling pitcher of lemonade. Callie presided at the table as though to the manner born. She was aware of Byrch’s eyes upon her, and she struggled to retain her poise and grace although it seemed that tiny bubbles were bursting within her. He was so handsome in his dark green coat, quilted satin waistcoat, and tan trousers. The whiteness of his shirt and high cravat was accentuated by the bronze of his skin and the black of his hair. But it was his eyes that filled her awareness: a tiger’s eyes watching, watching her.

  It seemed he could not take his gaze from her. The tiny pink petals still clung to her hair, and he found the soft gold-flinted curls that rested against her cheek adorable. Her lips, that in childhood had seemed a bit full and pouty, were now balanced amid her other features, and he admired their soft, petulant curve. The girl was beautiful! The year and more that she’d been employed by Anne Powers had added decades to her education. She presided at the table, deftly pouring lemonade and tea as though she’d been doing it all her life. She was able to maintain a charming conversation with Anne and Jasper and still direct fond glances at young Mary, who obviously worshipped her. Yes, Callie had become a woman; more, she was a lady, yet there was still a girlish exuberance that added to her charm, making her positively bewitching.

  Apparently Callie’s charm was not admired only by himself, Byrch thought as he accepted a steaming cup of tea. Old MacDuff was clearly besotted with the girl, and Jasper treated her as though she was his third daughter. Even Anne Powers, formidable and forbidding, seemed to accept Callie’s grace and gentility as a matter of course. It was only Miss Anne, the oldest daughter, who seemed emphatically bored by the whole idea of all this fuss for a servant’s birthday. If anything, she was even offended by it and had only condescended to attend because of her mother’s demands. The girl lounged insolently against the back of her chair, a sour expression on her young face, which in time would be an exact replica of her mother’s. Several times Byrch caught Anne glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, and he knew that her pretense of complete boredom was for his sake, and that she hoped he would think her too mature and sophisticated for children’s birthdays.

  “Won’t you have a sandwich, Mr. Kenyon?” Callie extended the plate in his direction, and for just a moment their eyes met and held. Her clear blue gaze smiled into his, and he was hypnotized by the effect. At that moment, Byrch wanted nothing more than to carry her off, to have her to himself, to be free to touch that soft, downy skin and to smell the sunshine in her hair. Her body was so slim, so supple, he knew it would bend in his embrace, fitting itself to him. . . .

  It was Jasper who broke the awkward moment by clearing his throat. “There seems to be a carriage coming up the drive,” he announced, steeling himself against the effect it would have upon his wife and daughter.

  “A carriage?” Anne questioned. Then, “Rossiter! It must be Rossiter!”

  Callie quickly glanced at Mary, who was already jumping up from her chair. “I kept it as a surprise!” she explained. “I wanted to surprise you!”

  “Come, everyone,” Anne Powers directed. “Everyone come and give my son a proper welcome!”

  As the family rushed to the front door, Callie and Byrch lagged behind. At the doorway to the dining room, Byrch allowed Callie to pass in front of him, touching the flat of his hand to the small of her back. It was a touch he never wanted to withdraw. He was close enough now to see the thick fringe of lashes and the delicate, finely textured skin and to smell the heady scent of sunshine and wild flowers that forever he would associate with Callie James.

  The family gathered around the newcomer; Hugh and Lena stood aside with Byrch and Cal
lie. Callie caught only a glimpse of a cranberry-red shoulder, a black, shining boot, and the sun glinting off the soft, vagabond curls of gold.

  “Rossiter! Ross!” Mary was squealing with delight. “You’re the best present for Callie’s birthday party!”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Callie’s birthday!” he exclaimed. “Where is this wonder you’ve written me about?” He laughed at his little sister. “Am I at last to meet your wonderful Callie?”

  Mary seized her brother by the hand, pulling him to where Callie stood beside Byrch. Callie’s first impression was of dark, laughing eyes beneath thick, ashy brows, a square jaw, and a star-bright smile. Callie was instantly drawn to his magnetic charm as he took her hand and pressed the fingers to his lips. She was aware of the shocked gasp emitted by Miss Anne and of the disapproval in Mrs. Powers’s face. Everyone else seemed to take it for granted that Rossiter should kiss a pretty girl’s hand for the amusement of his little sister. Callie pulled her hand away, blushing prettily, not wishing to offend either Rossiter or his mother and sister.

  Byrch witnessed Callie’s interest in Rossiter. He frowned as he recalled Jasper confiding that his son had been embroiled in several misalliances, one of which had irreparably damaged a young woman’s reputation. “Miss James,” Rossiter was murmuring as though for Callie’s ears alone, “Mary has written volumes about you, but nothing she could have said would have prepared me for this moment.” He looked down at her, gratified by her smile and the demure lowering of her eyes.

  “Rossiter, you of course remember Byrch Kenyon. He’s come to help us celebrate Callie’s birthday,” Jasper said heartily.

  “Yes, of course. How do you do, Mr. Kenyon?” Rossiter replied, hardly taking his eyes from Callie.