After Bridget’s hateful visits Callie always felt like a wet rag that wouldn’t dry. Inevitably she would take a bath and change her clothes, but even that didn’t make her feel better. Callie Kenyon. Flanna Beauchamp. Callie sounded like a cat’s name. Flanna sounded worldly and sophisticated. Beautiful even. If Edward said she was beautiful, then she must indeed be a gorgeous, ravishing creature while she, Callie, was plain and ordinary with a plain, ordinary name that sounded as though it belonged to a cat.
Just how fond of Flanna was Byrch? She wished she knew. She wished she knew a lot of things. Did Byrch like her white skin? Bridget said it was like alabaster. Did he compare Callie with Flanna? She didn’t want to know. Suddenly she remembered Bridget saying that Flanna had dropped her married name. What was it? Oh, yes. Skaggs. Callie burst into laughter, the sound delightful, even to her own ears: There was nothing worldly or glamorous about the name Flanna Skaggs.
The presses—massive tons of iron and steel in the basement floors of the Clarion-Observer—thundered and roared, making the whole building vibrate, including the boards beneath Byrch’s feet. He leaned on his desk, reading letters and notes that were a direct result of Callie’s column describing the fire on McDowell Street. Some people wrote in praise of C. James’s social conscience; others were outraged by her description of the two local fire companies who responded to the alarm but who were busy fighting one another rather than the greedy flames that had robbed families of their homes and shopowners of their livelihoods. Some of the letters called for reform; others, from fire commissioners, denied that b’hoys would ever forget their duties.
There was a knock on Byrch’s office door. “Come!” It was Jimmy Riley.
“This just came for you, Mr. Kenyon.” He carried a large flat package wrapped in brown paper. A white envelope was attached to the cord wound around all four sides.
“Hmmm? Bring it here.” Byrch took the package, testing its weight and giving it a shake. He couldn’t imagine what it contained. He dismissed Jimmy before he took out his pocket knife and cut the string. Disengaging the envelope, he opened it and found a note. It was scrawled in a bold hand. “Read your wedding announcement in the paper. Give this to Callie along with my love. Rossiter.”
Byrch frowned and tore at the heavy brown paper. It was a painting. Standing it against his desk, he stared down at it. It was Callie’s son. Rory.
For a very long time Byrch stared at the likeness. There was no mistaking the child he had held in his arms on the night of the fire in Shantytown. Rory’s sweet little face must have been imprinted on Rossiter’s memory for him to have painted him with such detail. Byrch was overwhelmed. There was love and pathos in every brush stroke. The colors were muted, as though seen through a dream. The boy’s hair was golden, curling softly about his head and onto his peach-round cheeks. Rossiter’s imagination had given the child life; the boy’s blue eyes looked out at the world in wonder, and there was something of Callie there in the lift of the chin and the direct level gaze.
Byrch could have wept for what Callie had lost, but he knew in his heart that Rossiter’s generosity would bring her great joy. She would have a piece of the past; she would have something that was Rory. What a magnificent child he would have been, Byrch mourned. Being Callie’s son, how could Rory have been anything less?
Edward worked all day in the kitchen. Dinner parties did not perturb him in the least. As a matter of fact, he loved showing off his culinary expertise and having the ladies plead for his recipes. Tonight would be no exception with his capons stuffed with wild rice. It wasn’t the capon or the rice but the herbs and spices he used that made the fowl so memorable. Late-summer vegetables in a salad would be perfect. Ruby beets seasoned and marinated for hours were sure to bring at least three requests for the recipe. The tiny pearl-white potatoes smothered in butter and fresh chives were one of Miss Callie’s favorites. He stopped his chopping for a moment and stared out the kitchen window. Tonight was going to be the first time Miss Callie set eyes on the ravishing Flanna Beauchamp. Would there be fireworks? What ever possessed Mr. Kenyon to invite her? One never put a dog and a cat in the same pen. He sighed wearily. Mr. Kenyon had so much to learn when it came to women. He supposed the main reason Flanna Beauchamp was dining with them was because Phillip Horn was her escort; or was it the other way around? He wasn’t sure.
Mrs. Beauchamp was a lady. Everyone said so. A beautiful widow. An unbidden thought raced through his head. Black widow spider. Mrs. Beauchamp always dressed in black. Surely her mourning period was long over. He didn’t know all that much about women’s clothes. He did like color, he knew that. Black was for death and crows. He liked the way Miss Callie dressed. Perhaps Mrs. Beauchamp favored black because it made her skin more noticeable. She did make a startling first impression. More than once he had seen Mr. Kenyan favor her with a long, thoughtful look. But that was before Miss Callie arrived.
He wondered what Miss Callie was going to wear. Was it his place to go to the study and tell her that the other ladies would be dressed to the “nines” as Mr. Kenyon was fond of saying? Maybe he could manage to work it into the conversation in an offhanded way. It would be up to Miss Callie to pick up on his cue. That’s what he would do. He would fix her a nice cool glass of lemonade along with some raisin-filled cookies. She would appreciate it as dinner was a good two hours away.
Edward knocked softly on the door of the study. It was half-open and he wasn’t in the least surprised to see Callie sitting with her head propped in her hands, daydreaming. She looked up and smiled. “How nice of you, Edward. How did you know I was just thinking about coming out for a snack?”
Edward preened. He did do things right, no one could say he didn’t. “Since dinner is going to be late this evening I thought you could use a little refreshment. It’s a hot day, isn’t it?”
“I suppose we should enjoy it. There can’t be that many more left before fall gets here. How are the preparations for dinner coming? Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Not a thing, Miss Callie. Do you plan on working much longer?”
“No, I’m about finished. I thought I’d take a nice long soak before Byrch gets home. He does leave the bathroom an untidy mess, and I like to get in there before him. Then I’ll dress and just wait in the parlor. I’m very anxious to see Jasper Powers again.”
“What will you be wearing this evening, Miss Callie?” Edward asked nonchalantly.
“I really hadn’t decided. Probably the gray silk.”
Crows and doves, Edward thought. No gray for Miss Callie!
“Miss Callie, might I make a suggestion?” At her nod, he continued “Mr. Kenyon admires you in the emerald silk, and it does wonderful things for your eyes. Even Mrs. Darcy complimented you on your choice. The people coming to dinner have never seen you in that particular gown, whereas you wear the gray one quite often.”
“I thought that the neckline . . . what I mean is, it seems as though it might be out of . . . if you say so, Edward.”
“When one has assets it is best to—how shall I say it—let it be known. Miss Callie, you have lovely assets.”
“Thank you, Edward. I do want to look my best . . . for many reasons. It will be the green silk.”
“Very good, Miss Callie. I’ll be back for the dishes later.” It was so easy. He often wondered if he was wasting his time being a servant. Surely there was room for him in politics. Wasn’t that what politicians did? Make suggestions and let other people follow through? It was a pity the world wasn’t ready for a black politician. Some day, perhaps in his time, but he rather doubted it.
Callie dressed carefully for the party. She was anxious for many different reasons. She was going to be seeing Jasper Powers for the first time since leaving the house on Todt Hill. She was eager to meet the dear man again. Then there was Flanna Beauchamp. How right Edward was. The gray silk would have made her look like a soft gray mourning dove. In the emerald silk she felt regal, even elegant. What’
s more she felt confident and able to hold her own.
Edward stepped into the parlor to check on things. “Tell me again, Edward, who’s going to be here tonight? My mind is absolutely blank,” Callie said. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I hope I can keep their names straight.”
“Miss Callie, I’m confident you will be most charming. The guest list includes Mr. Phillip Horn, a possible candidate for assemblyman from New York City. Mr. Horn will be escorting Mrs. Beauchamp. Mr. and Mrs. Jason Webster, very nice people by the way, who are ready and able to contribute generously to Mr. Kenyon’s campaign. Mr. Jasper Powers and Mrs. Loretta Cummings. Erskin Taylor and Devon Whitany will complete the seating. Then of course there will be yourself and Mr. Kenyon.”
Callie paced the long, narrow parlor, her fingers touching familiar objects. Byrch’s chair near the hearth, his pipe stand on the nearby table. At a sound behind her, Callie turned to find Byrch watching her. “You look so right standing there, Callie,” he told her, his voice vibrant with warmth.
Callie laughed to ease the moment. “You always see me here,” she teased.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He was across the room in two strides, taking her hands in his. “You belong here, you know that, don’t you? You belong here in my arms,” he dared, gathering her close, bending his head to place his lips at the sensitive point beneath her ear. He felt her stiffen in his embrace for just an instant until she leaned against him. The door knocker tapped against the brass plate, destroying the moment.
“Damn!” Byrch swore softly, his thick dark brows drawing together in annoyance. Unwilling to release her from his touch, he held her hand as he took her to the door with him, his eyes promising to pick up where he’d left off, later when they were alone. Callie felt herself shiver with expectation. Perhaps. . . .
“Jasper, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” Byrch exclaimed as he slapped the older man on the back. “Loretta, I’m so glad you could come. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Jasper turned and immediately saw Callie. Tears gathered in his eyes as she moved forward to greet him, intending to offer her hand, but Jasper would have none of it. His arms were around her, hugging her close, somehow touching the past and those remembered with love in this contact with her. He whispered quiet words of welcome and regret. “You don’t know how often I’ve wanted to come to see you. I would like to think it was out of respect for your wishes, but it was cowardice to a degree on my part. You’re lovely. I knew you would be.” With his arm still around Callie’s shoulders, he turned her to face Loretta.
“Loretta, this is Callie James Kenyon. Callie, this is the lady who has made my life complete. I hope you will come to know one another and become friends.”
For a brief instant Callie was uncertain of what she should do. When uncertain, always do what the heart wants. It was Callie’s turn to wrap the buxom woman in a warm embrace. Neither woman could see the wide smiles on the men’s faces, so intent were they with their first meeting. Callie knew in an instant that this woman was warm, soft, and comfortable.
Byrch stood by like a proud new father while his two favorite people fussed over Callie and welcomed her. He was proud of her too. Like all men, he took full credit for her being what she was. Not all the time, just in good moments, like this one. It was a pleasant, congenial gathering as the other guests arrived. The women were included in the conversation and not ignored as women so often were at dinner parties. Jasper was amused at the admiring glances the men bestowed on Callie. He was aware, as was everyone else, of Byrch’s scowls when the admiration threatened to get out of hand, but he ignored the undercurrent of hostility until Loretta whispered in his ear. From that moment on Jasper sat up straighter, his hearing and eyesight sharpened. Flanna Beauchamp, a lovely woman, was flirting outrageously with Byrch, who appeared to be enjoying it immensely: Callie was not.
“I think, dear heart, that there is going to be trouble in paradise,” Loretta managed to whisper softly in Jasper’s ear. “I think one of us had best take matters in hand. You’re going to have to snare that seductress away from Byrch. Do it, Jasper. She won’t be able to resist you, and for another thing she knows of your political clout.”
Jasper sighed heavily. What she was asking him to do was tantamount to playing the gigolo. But if Loretta wanted it, he would do it. He would do it for her and for Callie. He couldn’t bear to see the wounded look in Callie’s eyes as she tried to keep up with the sophisticated Flanna.
“Callie, I’m just an old lady, but I do remember what it was like to be young. Enjoy Devon’s attention,” Loretta advised.
“A little discreet flirting never hurt anyone,” she whispered to Callie. “Keeps a man on his toes. If it looks as though Byrch will take a seizure, I’ll intervene. But isn’t Devon a dashing man?”
Unmindful of the circumstances, Loretta could not understand what was going on between Byrch and Callie. They were newlyweds and obviously perfect for one another, but something was amiss.
Callie smiled and turned her attention to Devon Whitany. It had been a long time since a man had paid such obvious attention to her. “Power” was the word that came to Callie’s mind. Devon Whitany was a powerful man. A man who worked behind the scenes to get what he wanted. He had wealth and charm—a devilish combination. Seated beside Devon during dinner, Callie found herself engaged in a sparkling conversation with him. She liked the way his dark eyes flashed at her.
Seated across from Callie and Flanna, Byrch somehow became the target of Flanna’s questions, one after the other. He had to smile and answer or be considered rude by his other guests. Conversation was soft and muted. Each time his gaze went to Callie, she was deep in conversation with Devon Whitany. Phillip Horn, Flanna’s escort, appeared to be annoyed. Another problem. Christ, the one thing he didn’t need was a jealous suitor after him, especially Phillip Horn. Damn Flanna. Was she doing it on purpose? Why? It was obvious that the others were aware of it. Every chance Jasper got, he jumped into the conversation. Loretta, usually a quiet woman, was talking nonstop with Phillip to try to ease the situation.
Callie was angry. Byrch was humiliating her in front of his friends. She felt like crying and leaving the table. Instead, she glanced at Loretta, who nodded slightly and winked. Callie swallowed hard and turned her attention to Devon Whitany. It wasn’t long before everyone at the table was more than aware of the effect Callie was having on Devon, and they seemed to find it amusing. Everyone except Byrch. Damn! He liked Devon, even admired him. They had shared a close friendship for some time now and reflected one another’s views. Now here was Devon, sitting at his table, eating his food, and making cow eyes at his woman! Jealousy ripped at Byrch’s insides, and he could hardly keep his mind on the conversation. He’d only felt this way once before, at Callie’s eighteenth birthday party when Rossiter had come home. If he’d acted on his impulses at that time, perhaps Callie would have been spared all that suffering. The primal animal in him stirred, pawing, hungry for blood. He wanted to take Devon by the throat and rip it out. When he was aware of Edward’s firm touch on his shoulder as he prepared to pour the wine, Byrch could feel himself snatch back his control. He had almost made a complete ass of himself!
She was enjoying it! Callie was actually flirting with Devon, encouraging those flashing dark looks and that whispered conversation. Devon was leaning toward Callie, leaning too damn close, and where was his left hand? In his lap, or patting Callie’s knee? There wasn’t much Byrch didn’t know about flirting and making a woman silly over him, but he’d never applied those practiced arts to Callie. And now here she was, smiling up at Devon and enjoying the man’s sloe-eyed attentions.
Once during dinner Callie glanced at Byrch, meeting his gaze. Her smile was so warm and so intimate, Byrch nearly slid from his chair. Loretta met Jasper’s glance over the rim of her wineglass. Things were working out. Tonight would be one of those nights, or at least that was what Jasper interpreted the look to mean. A
fter all this time, Loretta could still get his pulses pumping with one of those heavy-lidded glances.
Callie found herself joining in the praise of Edward’s fine dinner. He took the compliments graciously and smiled at Loretta when she asked for his recipe for peach torte. For this lady he would list all the ingredients. A man like Jasper Powers deserved the best, and he knew Loretta would whip up his torte with tender hands and serve it with love.
After dinner the men retreated to the back terrace, Flanna in their wake. The women stood by in wide-eyed wonder at the sight of the voluptuous woman being included in “political man talk.” Callie was furious. Loretta made soothing noises as did Mrs. Webster. Their looks seemed to say that if Mrs. Beauchamp wanted to make a fool of herself, let her. They certainly knew their-place, and who wanted to be surrounded by clouds of cigar smoke? Callie seethed inwardly as she made small talk with the women. Flanna out there with all those men. What was she saying that was so important? Why was she included? There was certainly nothing manly about Flanna. Was she standing next to Byrch? And Devon, where was he? With the men, of course. Damnation!
“Don’t mind so much, my dear. It means nothing,” Loretta whispered, confident in Jasper’s powers. If anyone could thwart Flanna Beauchamp, it was Jasper. Callie felt better knowing the older woman was on her side.
An hour-and-a-half later Callie thought she would scream. Loretta looked as if she felt the same way. Ellen Webster was discussing cookie recipes and dress patterns. Just when Callie thought she couldn’t stand it another minute, the men trooped back into the room. Loretta smiled when she noticed Flanna walking with Jasper, her arm linked through his. Dear Jasper. Dear, dear Jasper. Loretta wanted to tell Callie not to worry, that Jasper had things well in hand. There was no time unfortunately, as everyone started talking at once.
Cinders to Satin Page 58
