by Holly Bush
Jolene kissed Melinda’s forehead and hurried from the room. She curled up on the chaise in her bedroom and thought about what Maximillian had said, but more importantly, she’d thought about what he didn’t say, but was clearly visible on his face. She’d hurt him deeply. She could see it, even apart from his great worry about Melinda. That painful knowledge and the look on Maximillian’s face was what she thought and saw as she drifted back to a restless sleep.
* * *
Jennifer stood and stretched her back. Mr. Moran was finally sleeping quietly. He still had a fever but nothing like when she’d first come into this building, the Bunkhouse, everyone called it. She’d taken over for a young man, sleeping on one of the pine bunks, with his hat over his face. Barnaby was his name, and he’d told her there was only one patient remaining, Mr. Moran, and that he’d given him willow bark tea a few hours before, but it had done little. He was sweating and pallid and moaned as he threw off his blankets. Jennifer had bathed him in cool water, managed to change his undershirt to a clean dry one and forced him to drink some tea. He had called her Jolene several times, which under other circumstances would have made her laugh aloud.
Jennifer’s side and ribs ached. She had to remove the corset she had on and had foolishly walked past all the bedrooms in her sister and brother-in-law’s home, anxious to help and lift some of the worry and work from their shoulders. There was a corner of this room, though, near the end of the cot where Mr. Moran was sleeping fitfully, where she could stand and not be seen by anyone through the windows.
Jennifer opened her jacket and winced as she stretched her arm back to remove the tight sleeve. She pulled her blouse from the waist band of her skirt, unbuttoned it and shrugged it off. She unhooked the twenty hooks on the front of her corset, and stepped a few feet closer to the window where a stream of moonlight let her see how badly her side actually looked as she lifted her chemise. She gingerly touched the black and blue areas and winced.
“Who did that to you?”
Jennifer quickly picked up her blouse sitting on the chair and pulled it on. “How ungentlemanly of you to not let me know you were awake,” she said, a mortified blush creeping up her neck. “I shall report your behavior to my brother-in-law.”
“Thirsty,” he said finally.
* * *
Zeb felt like he was swimming through thick water. Every stroke from his arms or kick from his legs felt as if they had taken hours to complete. There was shaft of light that he was swimming towards, and he could hear voices calling to him. He saw his mother and thought how wonderful and young and beautiful she looked. He smiled and swam towards her, but she was shaking her head and telling him to go back. Turn around. The light got dimmer slowly, so slowly, until it was finally extinguished. He felt himself surface, out of what, he did not know, but he took a deep breath, and opened his eyes.
He was in the bunkhouse, he knew, because he was flat on his back and could see the exposed rafters above him that he’d worked on. When? Weeks ago? Days ago? What day was it? Then he heard a moan coming from near his feet. He let his eyes clear and adjust to the moonlight, pouring through the glass, and making a spotlight on a figure that stood there. It was not someone he knew, although she looked familiar. She was unbuttoning her blouse, and he knew he should stop her but his tongue was as thick and dry as the two by fours used to frame this building. She was concentrating now on undoing her corset, and then she lifted a sheer lacy camisole, exposing the underside of her right breast. It was then he noticed what he thought were shadows were, in fact, bruises, all down her side. She touched them lightly, hissed, and looked up. She was beautiful. Achingly fragile and lovely. And someone had hit her, maybe broken her ribs. He would gladly kill whoever it was.
“Who did that to you?” he asked.
She replied but he couldn’t process her sentences fast enough to understand what she said other than one word. Ungentlemanly.
“Thirsty,” he begged.
Chapter Eighteen
Jolene stared at the knob on the door between her and Max’s bedrooms. Night after night, she waited for it to turn, but it hadn’t. Max was everything polite and kind, but there was nothing passionate, no winsome smiles as he held her hand, no eruptions of laughter and gaiety, nothing to say that her Maximillian was back, and that he was still in love with her. How foolish she was to be transfixed by hopefulness. Nothing wonderful lasted, she knew that from experience.
“Come in,” she said to Jennifer as her sister tapped on the door and stuck her head around the corner.
“Will you join everyone today for the picnic, Jolene?” her sister asked and seated herself.
“I’ve got so many things to catch up on, that I doubt I’ll have the time. But, please, enjoy yourself,” she replied.
Jennifer stared at her, began to stand from her chair, and dropped back down. “You’ve got things to catch up on? How ridiculous!”
“Sending letters of condolence and others in thanks have never been ridiculous, Jennifer.”
“You must stay in your rooms then, while everyone exults in being alive and having made it through a terrible ordeal, that you had a hand in saving. While they mourn losses and share each other’s grief and remember those that are gone, you will stay here and wrap yourself in your dignity and pride and coolness. Julia and I had hoped you had changed. In your letters you seemed happy. Content and perhaps learning to care for your husband. I had so hoped.”
Jolene looked at Jennifer. It would have been so remarkably easy to reply in the manner she’d always done. So simple to dismiss Jennifer coldly, or even rudely. But she remembered then that she’d been so looking forward to Jennifer’s arrival. Before, well before, when she thought it would be good to let Jennifer see how she and Max got along, and how he openly loved her with his kisses, touching, and his words. She might be able to prove to her that there was, indeed, love in the world, and that she received it every day. But that was before.
Jolene stared at her hands. “Max and I are not in charity. It is . . . it is difficult to be in his company and not have him act in the manner that I’d become accustomed to.”
“What manner is that?”
“With happiness and abandon. With generosity and wisdom. With all the attributes that make Maximillian Shelby who he is,” Jolene said.
“With love?”
She nodded. “He told me every day, every hour, and more than that, he showed me. He’s a stranger now. I have chased him away. He is cool and distant.”
“Your husband does not appear to be shallow. I don’t believe his deep feelings for you have gone. It sounds to me as though he bared all to you, even when you did not encourage him to. He put his feelings, his love for you, out in the open, as vulnerable as that made him.”
Jolene looked up sharply. “And I have not replied in kind. I have hurt him instead.”
“You have.”
“I don’t know what to do. I can’t talk about my son to him. I . . . cannot. I don’t know if I would ever recover if I let him see, really see,” Jolene said and beat her fist on her chest, “that my heart is gone. That there is nothing soft or kind or loving left inside of me. That I hate, hate that others lived and my son did not!”
Jennifer shook her head and tears flew from her cheeks. She stood. “You are wrong, Jolene. You are so wrong. You tended the sick here yourself, down to every last disgusting task that needed done. You went without food or rest and saw Melinda through her illness, and wept for her, and begged her to hear your voice and stay with us. You are beloved here! And they love you because you cared for them with your last bit of strength. I refuse to believe there is nothing soft or kind inside you. I refuse!”
“Jolene?” she heard from the hallway. “Are you there?”
Jolene hurriedly swiped at her eyes. “Come in, Melinda.”
Melinda rushed towards her and leaned on each arm of Jolene’s chair. “He has done it! Daddy has gotten me a puppy!” Melinda stood straight and looked at Jolene
. “Why are you not dressed? The picnic starts soon. Where is Alice?”
Jennifer laughed. “That is exactly why I am here, Melinda. Let us go find Alice and send her here to help my sister, who is being quite the lazy bones, get dressed for the picnic.”
“Where is your shawl, Melinda? I don’t want you to catch a cold and even yesterday you were very tired by evening. I will not have you over-doing,” Jolene said.
“But I am not tired! I am happy,” she said with a huge smile. “Some of the families have returned, and Daddy burned the bunkhouse down yesterday.” She faltered. “I am sad about Beatrice and the others though. I won’t forget them.”
“Today is a new day, though, is it not?” Jennifer said. “Let us go find Alice.”
* * *
Max saw Jolene as soon as she exited the doors from the kitchen out on to the grassy areas that had been set up with food and drinks. Two weeks had gone by since the last of the sick were well or gone. That first week had been spent rounding up animals and setting their barns to rights, burning sheets and bedding and the bunkhouse that had just been built. And burying the last of the dead and marking all the graves with a carved stone. It had been slow going as his work force was down in number and many were exhausted, and still caring for some sick ones.
But things were definitely getting back to normal, and he asked Maria if she was up to getting a picnic ready as a celebration. She was ready, she said, and so were many others, even those that had lost a husband or wife or brother or sister, or even a child, to celebrate that they had made it through the storm and to remember and memorialize those that hadn’t. He’d spoken a few words at the gravesides a few minutes before, mentioning each person who had died and their contribution to the Hacienda. There’d been no time for services when they’d died, but he felt it was important to open the day with some sermonizing about those they’d lost. There were tears and some laughter, but mostly silence as he moved from grave to grave, finally stopping and telling them all how thankful he was for their contributions.
As they moved towards the food and the tables set out to eat at, they all saw Jolene, standing outside of the kitchen door, Melinda on one side and her sister on the other. Those talking and laughing were suddenly silent as they made their way to his wife. Every man, woman, and child, lined up to pay their respects to her. As usual, she was stunningly lovely in dark gray silk, with her hair tied back in a loose bow, holding each hand and listening closely to what each person had to say.
Max was proud beyond words. According to Zeb and others, she rallied staff to do as she’d asked, gave direction for the property and livestock, all the while caring directly for the sick. There were few ladies who would have done what she did. She was his equal in every possible way, and he was as in love with her at that moment as he’d ever been. It would be long lonely life, though, loving her from afar.
“Maximillian,” she said after she made her way across the yard to him.
He tipped his hat. “Jolene. I’m glad you’re up to the picnic. You look lovely today.”
Jolene stared at him, and he at her, until he turned to her sister with a smile. “Jennifer. You’re looking fine as well. Have you seen the all the food that Maria has managed to come up with?”
“Oh, my,” Jennifer said. “It is good to see things getting back to normal. Melinda. Why don’t you show me this new puppy?”
Max watched the two walk away and looked back at his wife. She was staring at him. He was reserved when he spoke. “I’ve never had a chance to tell you how proud I am of you and how thankful I am that you were here with our people. I will never ever be able to thank you enough for all that you did.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Max!” she said softly.
“No tears. This is to be a day to relax and be thankful we’re alive,” he said with a smile. Max turned then, and walked away, as much as he wanted to hold her and kiss her and tell her that he loved her and would love her until the end of days, he could not risk more hurt.
* * *
“There is to be a soiree in Dallas to celebrate Maximillian’s Senate victory. My lady friends are anxious to meet you, Jennifer,” Jolene said at dinner. “And we have not seen each other since before the influenza hit.”
“That will be nice,” Jennifer said but did not raise her eyes from her plate.
“I’ve not had a chance to tell you, Jolene, that Zeb has agreed to become my Chief of Staff in Washington. Pete is set to take over some of his duties, and we will see if he is ready to become the ranch manager.”
“Congratulations, Zebidiah,” Jolene said. “This is quite an honor for you and quite a wise choice for Maximillian, who will need smart, honest men he can trust when he arrives at the Capital.”
Jennifer looked up at Maximillian and back to Zeb. She was white-faced. “Congratulations, Mr. Moran.”
“Thank you, Miss Crawford,” he said.
“So formal,” Maximillian said with a laugh but then the smile was arrested on his face. “Aren’t you coming to Washington with us, Jennifer, to help set up our house there?”
Jennifer said nothing. “She has not yet agreed to come with us,” Jolene said. “We must not push her.”
“But you must come, Jennifer! You are the only one who likes my puppy,” Melinda said. “Say you’ll come? I’ll miss you if you don’t.”
“There’ll be parties and dances, I’m sure, and lots of young men that would be interested in a young woman as beautiful as you,” Maximillian said to Jennifer, but stared at Zeb as he did.
“I don’t know what I’ll do yet,” she said.
“Would you like to take a turn in the garden, Miss Crawford?” Zeb asked.
Jennifer pushed her chair back and stood. “Yes. Excuse me, Maximillian, Jolene.”
Zeb followed her out of the dining room, and Melinda begged to be excused a moment later.
“What,” Maximillian said when they’d left the room, “was that all about?”
Jolene sipped her tea. “I do not know. Will there be many at the soiree? Aren’t many of the families in mourning?”
“It has been more than a month since the influenza. People around here, even high-born, don’t follow the strict rules that you most likely did in Boston. I am glad. There is too much death in life to lock yourself away for months on end. Life goes on, but I imagine it will be subdued.”
“I am not even positive who all have lost family members from among our acquaintances,” Jolene replied.
“We will find out that evening. Excuse me, Jolene,” Maximillian said as he stood.
It was like this now between them, Jolene thought, and would be destined to continue in the same way. Polite strangers who were unwilling to engage in more than the most cursory or necessary exchanges. She hated it. There’d been a few occasions when she’d been very near to blurting out her secrets, but the time didn’t seem right, but then when would it? She just didn’t feel she could go from some cool polite conversation about menus to baring her soul. But she must find a way to talk to Maximillian. She knew things would not change unless she changed them, and it had been clear to her for some time that she was able to think about William and remember happy times as well as the sad. That not every thought of her son, whom she had loved, should be cloaked in sadness and anger. Did she have the courage?
* * *
Jolene enjoyed introducing Jennifer to her friends, and Jennifer seemed to be enjoying meeting everyone as well, on the night of the soiree at Emma Jean’s and Timothy’s home. Jolene was glad to talk to the women she’d gotten to know there, but hadn’t seen in some time.
Elsie Hooverman’s brother had died and so had Cornelia Gregory’s aunt, and Jolene commiserated with the two women.
“Waste no time on us, though, I thank you,” Elsie said. “The real tragedy is Felicity’s. I don’t know how she has borne it.”
“What happened?” Jolene asked, even as she dreaded the answer.
Cornelia shook her head and dabbed her ey
es. “Her little boy, Benjamin, just two, died from the coughing disease he contracted after he’d survived the influenza. What a tragedy. I remember when she was increasing with that one.”
“Where is she? Is she here?” Jolene asked suddenly. “I must speak to her.”
“She was sitting in the small morning room the last I saw her,” Elsie said. “She’s looking very fragile, but brave as well.”
Jolene turned, hurried actually, to the place the women said that Felicity was sitting. When she arrived in the entrance, she saw Felicity was sitting alone although there were a few others in the room. Her friend was worrying the strings on her reticule and looked up and smiled a watery smile. Jolene went right to her and bent down to take her hands.
“I have just heard, Felicity. I am so very sorry,” Jolene said, knowing the inadequacy of her words.
Felicity nodded and squeezed her hands. “Thank you. Do sit if you are not too busy with others right now.”
Jolene sat. “Tell me about Benjamin.”
Felicity nodded and let the tears flow as she told Jolene about the little boy whom she’d lost. About how he loved the blanket she’d made him and lit up with smiles when he saw his father. She talked about the day he died, gasping for his breath, in his bed, she holding one of his hands and her husband holding the other, their four other children beside them.
“So you see, Jolene, he was the light of my life,” Felicity said. “A handsome, loving boy who made my heart sing while he was here. I wish I could explain it to someone, the loss I mean, but I would never wish this pain on anyone else just for the sake of understanding. Never. I never would.”
Jolene could feel the tears drip from her chin. She smiled at Felicity. “I am sorry to say that I know exactly what you mean.”
“What are you saying?” Felicity asked.
