by Holly Bush
“You’ve got a sister in the Dakotas?” he asked as he laid the letter back down.
“Julia,” Jolene said finally. “She is curious about Melinda. I will have to write her back.”
Alice brought the brandy and a new glass and hurried through the connecting door in Jolene’s dressing room. Max poured her two-fingers worth and sat it down beside her.
“Alice only brought one glass, so you’ll want to hang on to that one,” he said.
Jolene picked up the glass and took a long drink.
“This is the one that married a shopkeeper?” he asked.
“She didn’t actually end up marrying the shopkeeper. A mix-up of some kind that only my sister, Julia, could become embroiled in, happened at the train station, and she married a man she knew nothing about. At the least, she had corresponded for a year with the shopkeeper. But she didn’t marry him. She married a farmer named Jake Shelling.”
“How did she find this shopkeeper? Was he connected to your family somehow?”
“No, we knew nothing about her plans,” Jolene said and looked at him. “She found his advertisement for a wife in the Boston newspaper.”
“She really was desperate to get away, wasn’t she?”
Jolene nodded. “I faulted her originally, but . . .”
“You don’t fault her anymore?” Max asked.
“It was beyond foolish to do what she did. But I don’t think she believed there was any other way out. If she hadn’t done it, Julia would still be at home with our mother who would be matching her endlessly with men that she thought may be useful to her or to the bank in some way.”
“Why was your sister so desperate to escape?” he asked.
Jolene smiled. “You really don’t want to know the machinations of Jane Crawford. Let us talk of something more pleasant, shall we? What do you think the outcome of the Ball will be?”
Max shook his head. “Don’t do this, Jolene. We have one chance, I’m thinking, to make this marriage bearable, maybe comfortable, and even some possibility that we will mean the world to each other. I like you. Maybe more than like you. You’re not flashy and fawning over people around you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t care about them. I’ve seen how you treat Alice, and I get the distinct feeling that you never took notice of a servant before this, let alone insist on certain accommodations for one. And you’ve made a world of difference with Melinda. She’s doing well with regular studies and learning to be a lady, but she’s not afraid of you in the least. She adores you. You’ve already stepped into our lives with your grace and your style. Don’t stop at the doorway. You have to come the whole way.”
Jolene’s eyes were filled with tears and one tumbled down her cheek. “I’m afraid, Maximillian. I’m afraid if I let it out, I will never get it back inside me, safely locked away.”
Max stood and put one arm under Jolene’s knees and one hand around her back. He picked her up and stretched out on the chaise, holding her in his arms. He tucked her head against his shoulder and kissed her forehead. “Let it out, Jolene. It’s just you and me, and I’ll guard your secrets till the day I die. I think your past owns you somehow, and sometimes talking it out loud is enough to let the past be in the past and to stop letting it rule you. Take your time now. I think you’ve been waiting a long time to say this to anyone, and a few more minutes won’t hurt.”
“Our home was not a happy one,” Jolene said finally. “My mother was constantly belittling someone, whether it be the servants or her children or her husband. I learned to act as though it didn’t matter what she said and took my frustrations out on my sisters or on schoolmates who did not know how to fight back. I was horrible.”
“At some point, I started understanding how unhappy my father was being married to my mother. He sat me down one day when I was eighteen or so and told me that he loved me dearly, but that I was turning into my mother. It was the worst possible thing he could have said to me, and I was very, very angry, but the more I thought about it, the more I knew he was right. It was a defining moment for me. I let myself dream then that once I was away from Willow Tree, I would leave off the anger, and the lashing out at servants, and the cruelty that had been my hallmark. I even thought about moving somewhere other than Boston where it would be easier to begin again and spoke to Turner about it after we’d become affianced. But he was so caught up in becoming the Crawford son-in-law at the Crawford Bank that he could not imagine giving up the opportunity.”
“So you married him and stayed in Boston.”
Jolene nodded against his chest. “I was happy and excited to be married and running my own home. I refused to let Mother’s harping about the wedding expenses or Turner’s family deter me. And there was such a scandal brewing in our family that I thought I would never see the altar.”
“A scandal?”
“Yes,” she said. “A scandal. Mother had sent Julia to stay with our Aunt Mildred because, you see, she was expecting a child. She was-sixteen-years old. No one spoke about the particulars, but there was a gloom over our household just weeks before my wedding. I was desperate that no one find out about her condition even though she wasn’t in Boston. Mother was as well, it appeared at the time. One week before my wedding, Mother sat me down and told me that she and Julia would be taking an extended holiday together after my wedding, perhaps even to Europe, and that when they returned, I would have a new brother or sister. I was appalled but said nothing. None of us did.”
Jolene sat up then and stood. She walked to the window and looked out. Max waited because he was certain that was not the end of the story.
“Mother visited me on the day after my wedding. I was packing for my wedding trip. I was a virgin, of course, on my wedding night, and was reveling in feeling womanly. Turner and I were both young and inexperienced, but it had been a wonderful night. I was feeling loved and cherished and wanted,” Jolene said wistfully. “And then she told me that Turner was the father of Julia’s child.”
Max sat for some time digesting that final sentence. When he looked up, he saw that Jolene had sat down on the edge of her bed. He knelt down in front of her, held her hands and kissed her palms. She looked exhausted and brittle. “It’s out now, Jolene. The worst is out. Turner is gone from this earth, and you’re not in Boston any longer. There are no constant reminders of his betrayal.”
Jolene stood and retrieved the letter. She handed it to him and he unfolded it and read. “So all this time you’ve blamed Julia, and your mother orchestrated it all.”
“Yes. I’ve hated Julia all these years. Much as I hated Turner and Jillian, their daughter.”
“What did Turner say to you?”
“Nothing. We never spoke of it. But he knew that I knew. The expression on his face when I told him that Mother and Julia would be traveling for a year was all the confirmation I needed. I had been trying to change, to begin my adult life being less critical, less cold to other’s feelings, but that ended on the first day of my honeymoon.”
* * *
Jolene felt as if she’d been hollowed out. That there was nothing left to her but skin and hair. Then Maximillian’s arms were around her, and he kissed the top of her head. She let herself relax against his chest, and he picked her up again. This time though, he stretched out on her bed and pulled her close to him. Jolene thought about all the wasted years and anger that she’d put herself through. Tears fell from her eyes, and Maximillian wiped her face and shushed in her ear. It was dark out now, and she lay there in his loose embrace and listened to his even breathing.
Jolene woke up the next morning with her head on Maximillian’s chest. The facts were out now, she supposed, with no way of bottling it up again, and in all truthfulness, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Some long held tensions that had propped her indignation upright had relaxed. She sat up on the side of the bed, pushed her hair back from her face, and quickly braided the thick tresses, wrapping the end with a satin ribbon.
“There is something very beauti
ful about a woman working her fingers through her hair,” he said from behind her. “I could lie here all day and watch you do that.”
Jolene stood at a knock on the door to her dressing room. She opened it and found a pot of tea and one of coffee and two cups on a tray. There were sweet rolls with a crock of butter and jam besides. She picked it up and carried into her sleeping room.
“I do not believe I have the appetite for more than some tea,” she said. “It appears that Alice knew you hadn’t gone to your rooms.”
Maximillian shrugged and stretched. He sat up, scratched at the stubble of his beard, ran a hand through his hair and looked up at her. “If you thought for one second I was going to leave you after you told me what you did, you still don’t know me very well.”
“I cannot believe I told you,” she said.
Maximillian stood and pulled her into his arms. “It’s out. It’s over. It can’t hurt you anymore and there’s no reason to let it fester. For your own sake, try to let it go a little more each day. I want you to be happy.”
“It feels very recent having said it out loud,” she said.
Maximillian held her away from him and looked her in the eyes. “That’s one hell of a horrible thing your mother did, Jolene. To you, to your sister, and to your niece. She intentionally put you at odds with them.” He held her face in his hands. “But it’s out now. All out. If you want to try and be happy here, this is your chance. It’s no wonder you’re hesitant to be attached to anyone. What do you say we call this day the beginning for us with no more secrets?”
“Why do you continue trying, Maximillian? I have not been easy, or open with you, yet you continue to try and forge a relationship with me.”
“We already have a relationship, Jolene. You’re my wife.”
“No, Maximillian. Even from my first day here when I was terrified of what I’d done and what I’d left and reacted by being short and cold to everyone, you continued to smile at me and try and make me comfortable. You have been the soul of kindness . . . and I have been not been. I would have no idea how to be. ”
“Pain and loss and heartache don’t vanish in a day or a month, or even years. Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in the hurt and let it rule your life. But I’m thinking each time you were able to get yourself righted, something else happened to set you back. It can be different now for you,” he said. “No more secrets or set-backs. Forget the past. We’re just going to live our lives and do the best we can do.”
Jolene gazed up at him. But how could she forget Little William? How could she ever move on from that pain and loss? There was no righting herself from that, and there was no way she could get to the bottom of that grief and forget about it. As if she could ever forget about her son. Nor would she ever share that with Maximillian. Her husband had an uncanny way of mining her deepest secrets, but that was one she never, ever planned on sharing. Because to remember and share those horrible days, to relive the fear and anguish and the helplessness would be more than she could possibly bear. A child’s death was not something that could ever be lightened from a mother’s heart and certainly not by revealing the abject pain and misery of the event. She would continue to bury that grief in the deepest recesses of her being. But there was some happiness within her grasp, and she thought perhaps she should take it. She was here, after all, for good.
* * *
Jolene greeted each of her guests at the door and showed them to a rarely used formal parlor near the back of the house. The scene through the long windows was of the low hills to the west of the Hacienda and was picturesque.
Cornelia Gregory fussed over the oil painting above the massive fire place. “This room is lovely, Jolene! And this printed furniture is so bright and beautiful!”
“Thank you,” Jolene said. “I’ve done some redecorating in this room as of late. The couches and settees are not new, however. They’d never been sat on from what I came to understand from the staff, and I just had them re-upholstered. Mrs. Pierce was recommended to me by Mrs. McCabe, and I am quite pleased with her work.”
“I never did know what Max ordered for this room when I helped him decorate some of the other rooms here. These are beautiful!” Emma Jean said.
Tea and light refreshments were served while the women chatted. Felicity Kenney gave a report on the orphanage and some new children who had come to them. They laughed when she shared that her husband, the minister, had been washing laundry to help the over-worked staff there and managed to burn holes with the bluing in six new sets of sheets.
“I couldn’t imagine why he thought he’d be able to help. He’s never done a day of house work in his life,” Felicity said with a laugh.
Jolene was refreshing tea cups when she saw Melinda in the doorway. “Come in, Melinda,” she said. “I don’t know how many of you have ever met Maximillian’s daughter.”
Melinda approached cautiously and looked around the room. She looked very pretty in her yellow dress with a square white collar and cuffs, with kid half-boots, and her hair plaited in two neat braids. The women were all nodding at her with approval, and she dropped a slight curtsy before sitting down beside Jolene. She was clearly nervous, and Jolene picked up her hand.
“What a lovely young girl,” Martha Newmeyer said. “How old are you, dear?”
“Twelve, ma’am. I’ll be thirteen in a month.”
“Well, you’re a lovely young lady with pretty manners,” Cornelia Gregory said and glanced at Jolene. “And lucky to have a step-momma here to guide you.”
“She sure is,” Maximillian said from the doorway. “I’m lucky to have her, too. How is everyone today?”
The women, of course, were charmed, and Melinda stood and held Maximillian’s hand as he moved around the room greeting the women, and introducing himself, or making small talk with the ones he knew. He did not pause long at Anna Cummingsworth’s chair and maneuvered Melinda to stand in front of him while he spoke to her. Jolene liked watching him chat with her lady friends. He was clearly enjoying the attention and the women were laughing and tittering a bit. The effects of a handsome man, no doubt, Jolene thought.
“What do you think of suffrage, Mr. Shelby?” Bella asked.
“Now don’t put him on the spot,” Elsie added. “But I am curious.”
Maximillian sat down on the arm of the chair Jolene was sitting in. “My wife asked me what I thought about women voting the very first time she met you ladies. It made me think about why women aren’t allowed to vote, and for the life of me I couldn’t think of one reason that held water.” He looked at Jolene and put his hand on her shoulder. “My wife is every bit as smart as any man I’ve met, if not more, and she manages this household and the twenty-five or so staff members necessary to make it run smoothly, and she makes it look easy. I know it isn’t easy. Since coming here she has taken up Melinda’s education, and from what I’ve recently heard, she’s working with our head housekeeper on reading and writing classes for our employees’ children.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Of course, she should have say in how our government works. She’s a citizen and well able to make good decisions.”
“Well-said,” Bella said. “I’ll pass that on to my husband. He’s a great supporter of the Cause and we’ll be glad to hear what you think.”
“And so sweet of your husband to say,” Cordelia said and leaned over to pat Jolene’s knee. “Just enchanting.”
“Thank you, Maximillian,” Jolene said and could feel heat in her cheeks.
Maximillian stood. “I will let you ladies alone. Enjoy yourselves. Melinda? Are you staying with the ladies, or are you coming with me?”
Chapter Fourteen
Jolene wasn’t joyous but she was feeling content as of late. There seemed to be no machinations at play at the Hacienda, other than small disagreements among some of the staff, which Maria was adept at handling. It had taken nearly six months to have some confidence that her life was settling into a routine without constantly wondering who w
as plotting against her or trying to manipulate her. She was less on her guard than she’d been for as long as she could remember. Bringing her to the question, or rather the ache, that signaled she was craving her husband. Jolene was having a difficult time justifying why she was not sleeping with Maximillian more than just the one memorable occasion on the night of the Cattlemen’s Ball.
Jolene knocked on his office door. He looked up and stood.
“Come in,” he said and signaled a chair for her to sit in. “Would you like tea or coffee? I just ordered some.”
“Yes, thank you,” she said and sat. Maximillian was not himself, she could see. There were worry lines on his forehead and dark circles under his eyes. She watched him look down at the papers on his desk, tap his pencil against his adding machine, and finally looked up when a young woman brought in a coffee tray. Jolene poured his and added a dollop of cream.
“Thank you,” he said and took a sip. “What can I do for you, Jolene?”
“What is troubling you, Maximillian?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. Just sorting through some things that Timothy sent me.”
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Not really.”
Jolene waited and hoped Maximillian would confide in her. She had been surprised, shocked really, at how less tense she felt after talking to him on two notable occasions. It had been terribly painful to reveal that her husband had been so faithless, that he’d slept with her sister. And that knowledge had hardened her, she knew, and had left her unwilling to be open to another person, in any area of her life, but especially in her intimate life.
While she had taken pleasure in Turner’s body when it suited her, she found it easy to imagine him as a nameless, faceless stranger, even when they were both naked and panting from a robust round of sex. He’d tried for some years to talk to her while they coupled, to tell her he loved her, and whisper worshipping words in her ear. He would look at her solemnly and attempt to convey some emotion to her. It was simple from many years of practice dodging her mother’s cruel words by acting as if they meant nothing, to treat Turner’s attempts at intimacy with cold disdain. And if she was feeling maudlin and emotional, and felt herself giving in to his onslaught, she had one vision to fall back on. That of her husband and her sixteen-year-old sister in the throes of passion.
