Summers, True

by Poppy

  "We can stand in the mud and watch."

  "Sure. I'll be hanging out the highest window, not to miss a thing. Here we are. I see your brother left a lamp in the living room, but I'll wait until you're inside the door."

  She thought she would toss and turn all night, picturing Dex and Felicite together. She thought she would cry herself to sleep. Instead she dropped her clothing on a chair and, exhausted by emotional turmoil, fell on the bed, barely pulling the covers over herself before she dropped down into unconsciousness.

  Andy shook her awake, wanting his breakfast, demanding sandwiches for his lunch. Poppy stumbled numbly into the kitchen where Andy had the stove blazing and water boiling, and she began to fry cold mush. She had the coffee made before she woke enough to remember fully.

  "Andy, Dex is here."

  "When's he coming to see us? Shall I ask to get off work? How long is he going to stay?"

  "I don't think we'll see him. He's staying at the Pannets'. They gave a big party for him last night. I heard it was for him and Felicite."

  "Felicite Pannet? But, Poppy, you were his girl in Paris."

  "In Paris."

  Andy heard her tone and faltered, "Oh, Poppy, I'm sorry. Are you sure?"

  "He saw me, and he didn't even bow. Here's your mush. I'll give you rolls and cheese for lunch."

  "What are we going to do?"

  "Nothing. Just nothing. I know you won't go running after him. Any more than I will. It's just as well. He doesn't know Jack came with us, and if Dex was around here and Maurice happened to mention our brother out in the diggings-no, we wouldn't want to risk it, anyway."

  "If I see him, I'll run, that's what I'll do, I'll run the other way," Andy said as he left.

  "He won't bother to come looking."

  Her head told her that, every bit of common sense, and she could not believe it. She looked around the house, the house she cherished and lived in with pride, and saw it was flimsy and makeshift. All the white paint she and Andy had spread on the walls and the brown on the floors could not conceal the rough wood beneath. The inner partitions were still of canvas, and the curtains were red calico. The red carpets were worn ones the Palace had thrown out and replaced. She had begged for them, scrubbed, sunned, and put them down. They cut the drafts from underneath, but they were streaked and faded.

  Her comb, brush, and mirror were fine silver, Dex's gift, but they were spread out on a dressing table made of boxes covered with more red calico. The mirror showed her fine English skin darkened to cream by the California sun and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Gold dust, the gaudiness of a dance hall girl, still sparkled in her hair.

  Dex would never come here. He would not want to betray himself by inquiring where that redhead from the Palace lived. So it was quite logical to bathe and scent herself with a Paris perfume and put on the chemise and petticoat covered with dozens of rows of dainty half-inch lace and step into blue satin slippers. Then she washed her hair and toweled and brushed it into shining,curling tendrils frothing halfway to her waist.

  When she heard the knock on the door, her blue satin robe was ready. She tied the wide white ribbons at the waist and, head high, opened the door. She stood in silence. She knew she had changed, but she also knew she looked her loveliest.

  Dex only said, "May I come in?" He stepped inside, looked around, and raised an eyebrow. "I would have thought you could do better than this."

  "Better?" Tall with shock, her eyes flashing blue fire, Poppy said, "We were extremely lucky. I own this and the house next door."

  "I know prices are high, but I intended you to settle in a suitable place, with conveniences." He looked at the canvas partitions. "A comfortable place."

  "We were lucky to settle with a roof. And our lives."

  "You had trouble?"

  "Gold is not as safe as an order on a bank."

  "Not for a young girl and a boy alone," Dex agreed. He leaned on his cane, hat in hand. His black hair was crisped from the sea sun, his face darkly bronzed and his narrowed eyes brilliant. "But I understood you arrived accompanied by a young man."

  He had not come to see her. He had not even asked what trouble or danger the gold had caused. He was still the heir hunter, interested only in finding Jack, and he knew Jack had disappeared from Paris the day they sailed.

  She snatched at a half truth. "Yes. Yankee Bill. A nice young man crazy for the gold fields. He did come ashore with us."

  "I heard you had a brother in the gold fields."

  So he had inquired, and not even the Pannets could object to 'his heir hunting, but had got only her address and some vague talk. "Bill tried it for a week and went back to sailoring."

  "Andy?"

  All at once, she wanted to confide in him. She wanted to tell him that Andy was working with the smith and happy with it, but that she had uneasy moments about his doing it. The smith had informed once, betrayed for money, and what a man did once, he could do again. Dex would tell her whether he thought Andy should be left with the smith.

  But he was not interested in their perplexities and dangers. His inquiry was merest courtesy.

  "Andy has never been so happy. He's working in an iron manufactory."

  "I hear a prominent and well-regarded gentleman is seriously interested in you."

  "I am content here for the present." That reminded her of the letter to Daisy. She had to know. "Is Daisy married?"

  "Most happily." A comer of Dex's mouth twitched up. "Her husband is not a young man, but he is reasonable, most reasonable. They do a reasonable amount of entertaining both in the country and in town. I understand he has no objection that she has taken a reasonable, reasonably small, interest in the betterment of fallen women."

  Poppy felt a pang of pity. Poor Daisy, married to a reasonable man. Still, she had no doubt that Daisy loved being a lady and saw to it her husband was a contented man.

  "You say you own the identical house next door? Who are the men I saw there?"

  Poppy snatched again at yesterday's inspiration. "They are employed at the same emporium."

  "Gamblers, then. At the Palace. I had hoped for better for you, Poppy."

  Poppy hunched up like a spitting kitten. ''They have never intruded here, never set foot here except by invitation or in company. Maurice helped me when I was alone and hurt and didn't know where to turn." The bitterness spilled out. "I could have died from that gold you seem to think should have done so much for me. A lot of the thanks that I'm here today, safe and well, and have everything I do, are owing to Maurice, in spite of the gold."

  "Then your fancy is fixed on this gambler?"

  "My fancy is fixed-?" Poppy gasped to a halt.

  "Yes?"

  Poppy blazed, "I have a good life. I have everything -home, friends, family, work, everything, all my own. You walk in here asking questions about things that have nothing to do with you, criticizing condescending, knowing nothing. I tell you I have everything I want."

  "Poor Poppy," Dex said gently.

  "I can be anything I want, and I will."

  "That's why I am afraid for you."

  "I don't want anything you can give me," Poppy said, and burst into tears.

  He threw his hat and cane on a chair and caught her in his arms. Poppy flung herself against him and clung, raising her hot, wet face for his kisses, and then kissing him back wildly like a child seeking comfort after great fear.

  She had no pride. She had no anger. Later, there would be time for those. Now was the only moment. The only reality was Dex, the sensations that were Dex, the deep, quiet sound of his murmuring voice in her ears, the remembered scent of soap and some dry-wine fragrance that seemed peculiarly his own, the rippling strength of his shoulders under her clutching fingers-all were life warmth after long, chilling near-death. His kisses sent deep throbbing waves surging all through her, until her whole being yearned toward the moment when it would become a part of his being.

  Dex lifted her and carried her into her be
droom. He tumbled her on the bed and tore off his clothing. Poppy waited for him, eyes shining and lips softly smiling. They had this time of sharing, this mingled tumult and peace, this hunger and fulfillment, this remembered ecstasy and a new tearing of emotions.

  They did not talk, only murmured and whispered broken phrases. Poppy could not have spoken. She had no words to bridge the long, echoing emptiness that had been the time without him. She had not been in his arms for so many months, had known no love. No man had kissed her, and she had not wanted any other man to kiss her.

  Now she could only tell him that with her kisses and embraces. She could not get enough of kissing, his kissing her, her kissing him. She had thought he would never be with her, never love her again, and yet he was, and she could not bear for it to end. She held him, clung, enticed. Twice he started to leave, and twice he returned.

  When she knew she could not hold him any longer, Poppy turned her face to the wall and refused to watch him leave. Her eyes refused, but her ears heard the door close behind him. Naked and alone, she stretched out on the bed that no longer held him. When she finally raised her head and looked around, something young and tender was gone from her eyes. Her mouth had a deeper, stronger curve, a woman's acceptance.

  She had feared she might never see him again. She had tortured herself they would never make love again. Yet, they had, though that had not been his wish or intention when he came here. She knew that. But he had loved her, and for him, too, it had been complete while it lasted.

  He had left, thinking only that they had had this one last time. He did not intend to return. To him, it was finished, there would be no more. His silence had told her that more clearly than words.

  But he had betrayed himself. Away from her, he could be completely devoted to the beautiful Felicite, the woman who was the perfect wife for him by breeding and station. With Poppy, with her kisses warm on his lips and her body close to his, Felicite faded to a distant image, a pretty picture of a woman, not vital flesh and blood. His banker's mind planned to marry Felicite. His man's body responded to red-gold hair, scarlet lips, and deeply violet eyes.

  Poppy sprang out of bed. She did not regret what she had done or what had happened. At worst, she had had the only thing in life she had ever really wanted, had had it this one last time. She would not despise either herself or Dex for the way it had happened. She would hold it close to her, alive in her memory, knowing she was revitalized and brought to life again by the miraculous burning flame of Dex's love.

  She would go out and behave as usual. But she would go armored with a new weapon he had put into her hands today. In her presence, Dex could not resist her. His body answered hers as a magnet drew steel. She would give him cause to remember that. He was not married to Felicite yet.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  TODAY she had remembered she had not always lived in a board and canvas shack. Today she had held the living memory of a rich, elegant life close to her. So she put on the gray dress of stiff satin embroidered with an elaborate design in tiny iridescent beads so that when she moved, she seemed to be the center of a thousand multi-hued sparkling, flickering lights.

  Her shoes were beaded to match and so were the gray shoulder-length gloves. She smoothed them on tenderly. She would never be able to afford gloves like these again after they were soiled, and even if she could find them in the same gray, they would not be beaded. But she looked and felt as elegant as if she were setting out for the opera in Paris.

  For the street, she covered herself with her largest shawl, but when she stood beside the bar in the Palace and removed it, she could hear the hiss of admiration run all along the mahogany length. Then a young miner, as tow-headed and blue-eyed as Andy, was standing before her, mouth rounded in admiration and holding out his hand.

  "A lovely day," Poppy said graciously and then saw what was cupped in his palm. The earrings were almost the same color as her eyes, elaborately carved, of some strange smooth stone she had not seen before. She stared at them. "How beautiful."

  Behind her, Pete whispered, "I think it's amethyst jade, Miss Poppy. I've heard of it but never seen any. Very valuable."

  "I was in a sailors' place, looking for a game," the boy said simply. "I'd seen you here yesterday, and when I spotted these on the table, I sat in."

  "That's Imperial stuff, treasure, probably stolen," Pete murmured.

  "And I've still got my poke," the boy said, patting the bulge on his chest under his shirt. "These, please, miss, I won them for you. Because they match your eyes."

  "I never saw anything so beautiful."

  "If I"-the man's face reddened-"could just put them on for you and see you wearing them."

  "Of course," Poppy said and tilted her head.

  Breathing heavily, he fumbled and finally managed to fasten them on her ears. Then he stood back. "It's just the way I pictured you," he whispered. "Like a picture, only better, because you're perfect and alive."

  "Dazzling," Pete supplied

  Poppy stood absolutely still. The earrings did not feel firmly fastened, and she was afraid if she moved, they would fall.

  "Miss, if I -" His face went even redder.

  "Yes?"

  "-if I could just kiss you. Once."

  Every head at the bar nodded. Even Pete beamed paternally.

  Poppy laughed. This would be like kissing Andy, kisses that did not count. She smiled and tilted up her face.

  The young man took a deep breath, held out both arms, then grabbed her in a bear hug and kissed her soundly. Then he jumped back, stared at her adoringly and said in a low, awed voice, "Hey, now!" He jumped in the air and clicked his heels before he whirled and started for the door at a run. Just inside, he turned, laughing, and yelled, "Hey, now!" and jumped and clicked his heels again, then ran outside and disappeared in the crowd.

  At the bar, every man whooped and banged his glass in an order for a full one. Pete grinned and turned, reaching for a bottle, while Poppy hesitated. The earrings still held. The least she could do was walk across the room and let everybody see them.

  Jeremiah was waiting, and he was scowling blackly. "Take those off."

  Poppy looked back at him, level-eyed. "He was a nice young man. He reminded me of Andy."

  "Do you think I want people saying my wife was mauled by any dirty miner who happened into the Palace? That man wasn't any Andy. I can see the look on your face. I never saw your eyes shining like that before."

  Poppy caught her breath. Jeremiah was too involved in anything that touched her, too observant. He was reading this morning's lovemaking still glowing on her face. He had only mistaken the person.

  "I never wore Imperial jade before," she said quietly.

  "And you won't again." Jeremiah's voice rose. "Take those off and give them to me."

  "No. I think you should take yourself off and find another kind of woman for a wife."

  His face collapsed. "I'm sorry, Poppy. I went crazy for a minute. I can't stand the thought of any man touching you. And I had to watch." His voice threatened to rise again.

  "Then you needn't come in here to watch ever again."

  "No, Poppy, no. I said I'm sorry. I am. Come have something to eat. There's fresh brook trout. Or maybe a quail?"

  She was starving. If she refused to sit with Jeremiah, she might go all afternoon and evening without anyone else offering to buy her a bite to eat. Besides, she remembered Daisy saying only a stupid woman parted on bad terms with a man unless his behavior had been so freaky and fractious as to reduce her to humiliation and despondency. Jeremiah had not behaved that badly. He was only jealous.

  Poppy condescended to a brook trout and tried to appear to be only toying with the rolls while she ate every bite.

  "Work like this when you could live in every comfort and luxury," Jeremiah was mourning. "That dress, it's fit for a governor's ball."

  "I'm happy you like it."

  "I'm not happy. How do you think I feel? Knowing any man can come in her
e and look at you and touch you. And the rest of the time, not knowing where you are or what you're doing."

  "You know I'm home with Andy."

  "And the mornings, after he leaves for the manufactory?"

  Jeremiah could not know. What had happened was not written on her face. "Are you implying I compete with the Chileans in my free hours?"

  "I know you don't, I know you don't," Jeremiah groaned. "But if we were married, I could protect you. What did you do this morning?"