Cinders to Satin

by Fern Michaels

  As Anne Powers mused, a terrible thought occurred to her. She couldn’t tell Jasper what she suspected was going on between her son and his little Irish girl. What if Callie were to retaliate by informing Jasper how she’d seen his wife in the arms of a strange man? The thought that someone could point a finger at her, especially someone as far beneath her as a servant, made Anne’s veins turn to ice, feeding the hatred she was already feeling.

  No, she told herself. Don’t be hasty. The time will come. For the time being, it will be enough to separate Rossiter from that girl. There would be time later to dismiss her, when she returned from Boston, without Rossiter.

  Her mind switched to the preparations she would make for the trip—clothes to pack, letters to be written, Jasper to be dealt with. Her brother Stephen was embarking on a new business venture. With a little prodding, she knew she could elicit his help to entice Jasper to Boston. There was nothing Jasper liked more than to put his finger in a new pie, especially if it promised to be profitable. Her eyes fell on Rossiter, sleeping heavily in the bed beside her. Boston was just what Rossiter needed. Boston with its social life, with all the world’s culture, with lovely, rich, suitable girls. Perhaps it was time for her son to take a wife. Anne leaned back, resting her head, her thoughts whirling as she counted her Bostonian friends who had eligible daughters. Rossiter would make a dazzling match, she was certain of it.

  The late spring rains continued for nearly ten days, and Callie was fraught with depression. In all this time she’d not seen nor heard a word of Rossiter. He had not come to her room at night, and when she peered out the window down the drive hoping for sight of him, none came. No one came or went from the Powers’s house except Mary’s tutor and the tall, dark stranger she had seen kissing Mrs. Powers.

  Callie didn’t try to fool herself. She knew that because of what she’d accidentally seen, she had made a terrible enemy in the woman. No reminders were needed to encourage her to stay up on the third floor with her young charge who was becoming more restless by the hour. Even Mary wondered where Rossiter was, and several times she had the occasion to ask her mother. Anne Powers answered in an offhanded way that Rossiter was not at home.

  “I’ve never seen you so jittery, Callie. Is there anything I can do? Do you think you’re still sick from your cold? Lena has all kinds of remedies for colds. Do you want me to ask her?”

  “No, darling. I guess I’m just thinking about home and my mother. I miss her and my family very much.”

  Mary’s small face turned downward in a frown. “I’m sorry you miss your mother, Callie. I would just die if I was sent away from my family. Especially Papá.” Clearly Mary was thinking of the secret about her hearing.

  Callie fingered the locket around her neck. She’d lost track of the times she’d opened it to look at Rossiter’s picture. Where was he? Why didn’t he come to see her? What had she done?

  The rain beat against the window relentlessly. If only it would stop! Then perhaps she and Mary would be allowed to go downstairs; then perhaps she could learn something about Rossiter. She was staring out the window with her nose pressed against the steamy glass when Jasper Powers knocked on the door and called her name. Callie turned in a rush, certain he was going to tell her something about Rossiter.

  “Callie, Mrs. Powers and I will be taking Rossiter and Anne to Boston tomorrow. We’re leaving you in charge of Mary.”

  Callie’s heart missed a beat. “How long will you be gone, Mr. Powers?”

  “It’s hard to tell. Several weeks at least. Possibly a month.”

  “Why is Rossiter going?” Mary squealed. “Rossiter is all grown up and doesn’t need any more culture. Why can’t Callie and I go? Why don’t I ever get to go anywhere, Papá?”

  “Because you’re too little,” Jasper said fondly as he rumpled her curls. “It won’t be too much for you, will it, Callie? You won’t want for anything. Lena will be here, of course, and MacDuff. I’ll tell him to take you and Mary into town for ice cream.”

  Mary pouted, angry that she was always left behind. “I still don’t see why Rossiter is going. I haven’t seen him for a week. Where is he, Papá?”

  “Rossiter has been under the weather with the worst sort of summer cold. It settled in his chest, and your Mamán has been nursing him round the clock. He’s on the mend, and your mother feels that this trip is just what he needs to get him back on his feet.”

  He was alive. He hadn’t deserted her. He was sick. The world was once again right side up. The sun was shining in her heart. Pray. She had to remember to pray this evening. For what? a niggling voice asked. He’s going away. His mother is taking him with her tomorrow. You won’t see him. But he hasn’t deserted me. He was sick, her heart sang. He’ll come back and . . . he’ll come back.

  The smile she favored Jasper Powers with was dazzling. Jasper was so fond of this girl with her bright blue eyes and spirited disposition. Whatever Anne was hinting at between Callie and Rossiter was ridiculous. Callie was hardly more than a child, and Jasper knew his son’s tastes ran toward more sophisticated girls from extremely wealthy families.

  The first light of a new day pierced the dimness of Callie’s attic room. She could hear birds singing and smell the fragrance of new grasses and budding flowers through her open window. At last the rain had stopped. The world was alive. But she was dead, had died during the night as she lay awake listening and waiting for Rossiter. He was leaving today, leaving her. Surely somehow, some way, he could have come to her. He’d been ill, but now he was well enough to travel. How could he just leave this way? Why? Tears burned her eyes, and she fought to keep them from slipping down her cheeks.

  Last evening Mary had been called downstairs to bid her goodbyes to the family. Because of their early departure, they explained to their youngest daughter, there would be little time in the morning. As far as Callie knew, Mary was still asleep in the nursery next door.

  Callie stretched, her body stiff and unyielding. More than anything she wanted to go downstairs for a glimpse of Rossiter. More than anything she wanted to hear him tell her he’d soon return and look into her eyes with unspoken promises. But he had not come to her, he was keeping himself from her, and her pride would not allow her to beg his favors now. Far below, on the first floor, she could hear the distant booming of Jasper’s voice and Mrs. Powers’s shrill directives. Finally, unable to stop herself, she went to the window, looking down into the drive, praying for and dreading a last glimpse of Rossiter.

  Below, Rossiter sat at the dining-room table with his sister and parents. He was becoming exceedingly angry with his mother’s undue attention. It was as though she were reluctant to let him out of her sight! “Perhaps I’ll go upstairs and give the tadpole a last kiss,” he said offhandedly. “I really can’t see why we don’t bring Mary with us. She loves going to Boston, and things can get a bit dull around here during the summer.”

  “You will do no such thing!” Anne Powers hissed. “I will not have you waking that child and subject me to a last-minute fit of hysteria just before we leave. It’s better that she sleeps and we leave quietly. Any goodbyes that are necessary were said last evening.”

  “Yes, perhaps you’re right, Mamán. You’re always right, Mamán ,” Rossiter murmured, not trying to hide the derision in his tone. Jasper caught it, though, and peered at his son over the rim of his cup. Rossiter’s inclination to go upstairs for a moment with Callie dissolved. He was angry and offended that during his illness she had not once come to his room to inquire after him or to help him while away the lonely hours. Several times during the past few days, when he was feeling more like himself, he had been tempted to go upstairs after everyone was asleep, but his pride would not allow it, however great his need. With the disappearance of his fever, his baser needs had returned, and the satisfaction for those hungers lay just a floor above him. But it had become obvious to him that Callie neither sought nor welcomed his attentions.

  “Your mother is right, Rossiter. Alth
ough I quite agree with you, I can’t see the sense in leaving Mary here.”

  “Jasper!” Anne turned on her husband. “If you think I want to spend my holiday chasing after that child, you’re sadly mistaken. Am I not entitled to a lessening of my responsibilities?”

  Clattering his cup back into its saucer, Jasper said, “Dammit! Why don’t we bring Callie with us? She’ll look after Mary for you, she always does. And the apartments in Boston are certainly large enough to accommodate one small girl and her companion.”

  “No. Absolutely not! Think of it, Jasper. Mary would be con-finned to the apartment; the city streets are no place for a child. At least here she has the run of the yard, and MacDuff will take them into Richmond or St. George for a bit of diversion.”

  “That’s not what you said two weeks ago! You said Mary was becoming a little savage and needed to be subdued. That was why you ordered Mary and Callie confined to the nursery, or am I mistaken?”

  “No, you’re not mistaken. And it accomplished just what I set out to do. Now, I’ll not hear another word.”

  Rossiter pretended interest in the scone he was buttering. His ears were pricked when Jasper mentioned Mary and Callie being confined to the nursery. That was why Callie hadn’t come to see him as he lay in bed recovering. She was under orders from his mother!

  “I must admit, Papá,” said Anne, “It will be quite a relief not to have that little brat underfoot along with her companion!” The imperious tilting of her sharp little chin set her glossy dark curls bobbing. “Perhaps now that Rossiter is well again, Mamán can turn her attention to me for a change. Mamán was positively encamped in Rossiter’s room for practically the entire time he was unwell. It’s a wonder to me how she didn’t catch whatever it was he had.” She turned to her brother. “Did you know that when she wasn’t sleeping in your room, she slept in the guest room just across the hall from you so she could hear your every breath!”

  Rossiter’s eyes went from his sister to his mother. His brows shot up in surprise when he recognized triumph in his mother’s face. She knew! Or if she didn’t exactly know, then she suspected, which with a woman like his mother was almost as deadly. He must get upstairs to see Callie before he left. Wiping his mouth on the fine linen napkin, Rossiter pushed away from the table.

  “Where are you going? You’ve hardly touched your breakfast.” Anne challenged.

  “I’m going upstairs to my room. I think I’ve forgotten to pack some of my paints—”

  “No, absolutely not! Whatever you’ve forgotten you can purchase in Boston.”

  “Mamán, I am going upstairs.”

  Anne Powers fixed her son with an authoritative gaze, her mouth set in a tight, grim line. “Sit down, Rossiter,” she ordered. “Sit and finish your breakfast.” Her tone was quiet, almost devoid of emotion, but the message was clear. And the boy in Rossiter complied, obeying his mother as he had since he was a child, too much in awe of her authority to argue.

  Picking up his fork, Rossiter began to nibble at the coddled eggs on his plate. If only, if only she weren’t so strong . . . if only he weren’t so weak. He wasn’t certain exactly what his feelings for Callie meant; he only knew he wanted to see her, to tell her goodbye for now, that before summer’s end he would return.

  The thought brought him comfort. There was no need to go against his mother. In a few short weeks’ time he would return, and he and Callie could pick up where they’d left off. He felt his appetite returning and his annoyance at being treated like a child begin to fade. Before summer’s end, he promised himself again.

  Lessons, games, long walks over the hill, rides into town with Hugh MacDuff all became deadly chores for Callie as the days wore on and she missed Rossiter more every minute. One week passed, then two and then three with no word from him. Letters came for Mary from her parents, but any mention of Rossiter or what he was doing or when he was expected back home was vague. Week four and then five slipped into six. The hot days of August were upon them, and the breezes that blew in from the bay were heavy with humidity. Callie became dull-eyed and gaunt; violet smudges stained her eyelids. There was a chilling kind of beauty to her as she imagined she struggled with her sanity. A letter arrived from Ireland and remained on her dresser unopened. She didn’t want to hear from Peggy nor read any rebukes concerning the scarcity of her own letters home. All she could think about, all she wanted to think about, was Rossiter.

  What could she have done to make him leave without a parting word? Why hadn’t he at least written her? If only she didn’t feel so tired and ill all the time. If only she could keep more than tea and broth in her stomach. The mirror told her she was looking as she had when she first came to America. Her reflection alarmed her. There in her own eyes she could see the image of Beth Thatcher—the same desperation burning, the same helplessness. As she stared at her reflection, she thought at least she knew what Beth had felt for Patrick and why she’d done what she’d done. Callie herself would have turned the world inside out if it would mean Rossiter’s happiness and that he’d come back to her.

  Hugh MacDuff took a paternal interest in his young friend, helping her with her little patch of garden and making suggestions of activities that might break her lethargy. He discussed Callie with Lena, who tried her best to mother the girl without seeming to interfere. Both she and MacDuff were becoming alarmed by her appearance and her loss of spirit. Mary was not oblivious to Callie’s lack of interest in everything. She sorely missed Callie’s attention and company, but quietly went about her activities, silent and subdued. She contented herself with having the run of the house and doing as she pleased for long hours at a time.

  “The postman! The postman is here,” Mary shouted as she ran to the door to greet him. “Look, Lena, there’s a letter for Mr. MacDuff from Papá! Fetch him quick so he can tell us what it says. Hurry, Lena, while I get Callie!”

  Lena ran to call MacDuff into the kitchen so he could read his letter. Callie followed Mary downstairs, eagerly anticipating any news of Rossiter.

  Hugh MacDuff slit the envelope with the point of his pocketknife, making great ceremony over the event. By the time he ran his work-calloused hand through his hair and perched his spectacles on the bridge of his nose, Callie was ready to scream. Surely there would be news of Rossiter. Some small bit concerning him. MacDuff cleared his throat and read, his Scottish burr lending its note to Jasper’s written words.

  Dear Mr. MacDuff,

  Please be at the ferry in St. George to meet Mrs. Powers and Miss Anne on the afternoon of the 7th September approximately three o’clock. I will not be returning with them as I have business here that has not been completed. I am trusting you are overseeing the farm in Kreischerville. Master Rossiter will remain here with me, and I trust you to look after my family in my absence. A letter will follow to dear Mary.

  Regards,

  Jasper Powers

  MacDuff extended the letter to Callie, his light gray eyes watching her sorrowfully. Callie shook her head and put out her hand as though to push the letter away. She felt so choked she thought she would faint. Lena led her to a chair and rushed to get her a cup of tea. MacDuff watched Callie’s pain, twisting the letter in his huge hands. He felt so useless. Poor Callie. What would happen to her? Who would watch after her?

  “Mary, darlin’,” Lena said, “don’t you think you should check on those new chicks? It’s terribly hot, and they might need cool water.” Mary ran outside, and Lena indicated to Hugh that he should follow.

  Alone with Callie, Lena sat opposite her. The time had come for some straight talk. “Callie, girl, there’s no use you pining after Master Rossiter. I think his mother got wind of what was going on between the two of you, just as MacDuff and myself did. Mrs. Powers isn’t about to allow her son to come back here to you. I’ve a good idea she’s plotting how to rid herself of you this very minute. You’d best accept that fact, child, right here and now and start worrying what you’re going to do with the baby.”

&
nbsp; Callie raised startled eyes, her lower lip quivering, “What baby?”

  “Good God, girl, the child you’re carrying. Master Rossiter’s baby. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “How . . . how do you know?”

  “I’ve had two girls of my own and both of them mothers. All I have to do is look at you and I can see. Mrs. Powers will know too, soon as she sets eyes on you. You’d best be thinking of what you’ll do.”

  Callie looked at Lena blankly, too startled for tears, knowing the truth although she’d been denying it even to herself. How stupid she felt. A baby. Quickly she let her mind calculate, and when she fixed her mind on the right date, she paled. Merciful God! No, no, it couldn’t be true, but it was and she knew it.

  “You can’t be far along, child. Think, how long has it been?”

  “Since just before my birthday.”

  Lena counted on her fingers. “Your birthday was April eleventh and now it’s . . . Lord, Callie, you’re nearly four months along! I . . . I don’t know what to say,” she fretted. “What I do know is that life here in the house will be unbearable when Mrs. Powers discovers what you’ve been up to!”

  Callie hung her head in shame. It was all too ugly. Something so beautiful between Rossiter and herself had suddenly become very ugly. And the shame of it was carried in her belly.

  “Don’t be thinking Mr. Powers will intervene in your behalf, Callie. There’s a difference between rich people and folks like us. They never mix, you can count on it. We’ve got to think of what you can do. Do you have any friends or relatives here who might be willing to help?”

  Callie thought of her cousin Owen Gallagher and Madge. She shook her head. Not for the world would she even consider Byrch Kenyon. He had done enough for her, given her a chance, and she couldn’t go crying to him now.