“That’s true.”
“Even Eleanor?”
“I did want her,” he said thoughtfully. “But it was the kind of wanting you feel before you know what wanting really is.”
“Did you ever kiss her?”
“Ah, now you sound jealous.”
“Because I know your kisses,” I said.
“Not this kind. Of course I kissed her. We were betrothed. But I was very respectful. Gentlemanly, even.”
“Really?”
“Her position...there are rules.”
“Did she respond? Did she want you?”
He looked uncomfortable. “Yes. I thought so, anyway. But now I wonder how true it was. If perhaps she didn’t feel the same pressures I did.”
“Don’t make excuses.”
“Perhaps they’re more than that. Our parents...My mother had this notion that I needed a wife, that when she was gone I would have no one to take care of me, which was absurd, because I was the one taking care of both of us. She hated knowing that my only feminine companionship, besides her, was...well, what it was. She had wanted a respectable kind of life for me, a respectable wife. It became rather an obsession. She wasn’t well, but she kept dragging herself to church, above my objections, and that led to Eleanor’s father, and suddenly my mother developed a bizarre interest in the welfare of Celestials—whom she hadn’t batted an eye over before, by the way, except to call them vermin who should learn to speak the language of the country where they lived.”
“I see.”
“Yes. She wasn’t at her most pleasant then. It was when she began to beg me to find my father. That and this idea that Eleanor and I were somehow meant to be together became all she talked about. I ended up working with the pastor on one or two things—helping collect men from opium dens and that sort of thing, where it took more physicality than praying. He liked me. Eleanor liked me—or found me unobjectionable, anyway. We talked, we reached an understanding, and...I was engaged, with every expectation that when we married I would join Eleanor’s father in his ministry. My mother was beyond happy at the idea that a minister might bring her son in from the pasture and keep him fenced. It was her dying wish for me, just as your father’s was for you. Why do we give dying wishes so much weight, do you think? What if it was simply some passing thought they had, like, ‘Oh, by the way, I’d like you to bring me some cherries?’”
“You know it’s not,” I said.
“Yes. But had she lived, I might have fought it. Not right away, but perhaps I would have when I realized...” He paused. “What about you? Would you have fought your father if he’d lived?”
“Probably not. He raised me to be a dutiful child.”
“A dutiful child with a wild heart,” Daniel said with a smile.
“It would pain him to know that,” I whispered. “What about Eleanor? You said she might have felt the same pressures.”
“Why are we talking about her?”
“Because I need to know.”
His gaze slipped away. “Her mother was dead. Her father didn’t like her ministering in Chinatown—a young, unmarried woman—but he needed her help. Marriage solved many problems. His worry was over my ability to provide for her. It’s not as if the ministry gives much of an income, but she wasn’t used to privation either.”
“But he agreed to your marriage?”
“On the condition that I manage to find enough money to keep my lovely wife. He gave me a year to accomplish it.”
“And so you came here,” I said.
“Sent by your south wind, Toolux,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Providence in the form of a newspaper report and a pretty feather.” He brought me to kiss him. Soft and gentle, the kind of kiss one gives a lover of long standing, more tender than desirous. “I thought it was fate, and it was. But I don’t think it was Eleanor I was sent for.”
I brought him for you. He was meant for you.
I glanced over my shoulder at the settee, the mummy, and then back to Daniel. My desire rose like a tide. His collar was open; I traced the ridge of his collarbone; I pressed my fingers to the pulsebeat at his throat. I wanted to gather it up, to hold it close, to keep it for myself—Eleanor and Junius the rest of the world be damned. I moved my fingers and pressed my lips where they’d been, murmuring against his skin, “Does it bother you, to be fate’s servant?”
His hands dug into my hips, pulling me closer, not a space between us.
He said, “Not anymore.”
CHAPTER 22
I WAS NOT ready for the world to return, but it did so anyway.
The window of my father’s room faced the bay, and I heard the shout clearly that afternoon and recognized it, and all my intentions flew, everything I’d been telling myself I would do, gone in that moment, in the sound of his voice. I remembered our life together, how I’d loved him, and I was suddenly afraid of the change I’d told myself I wanted.
I sat up, pulling from Daniel’s arms. “Junius.”
Daniel froze. “It’s just the call for the oyster schooner, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s Junius.” I scrambled from the bed, grabbing for my clothes, which were strewn throughout the room. No time to wash or to compose myself. No time for anything.
Daniel said, “Leonie—”
I turned to him as I clutched my dress to my naked breasts, glaring, panicked. “Get dressed, damn you, or he’ll know.”
He crooked his elbow beneath his head. “Isn’t that what we want?”
“No.” I shook my head, dropping the clothes I held, pulling my chemise over my head. I could not control my panic or my dread. “Not now. Not yet. I need to...Please, Daniel. Please...I can’t...”
“Can’t do what?” His voice was cold; his eyes had gone stony.
My dress next. My fingers shook as I tried to do the buttons up the flannel lining of the bodice. “We need to talk about this—”
“We certainly do.”
“—But not now. I thought we had more time, but...please. For now, please just get dressed.”
He hesitated; I thought he would argue and my panic increased. I glanced toward the window. I saw the gliding shadow of the canoe coming ashore, someone—Lord Tom—jumping out, splashing into ankle-deep water.
“Daniel, please. Please just hurry. They’re coming ashore now.”
He pushed back the blankets. Naked, he came to me. He pushed aside my shaking hands and did up the buttons of the inner lining, so calmly, so easily, and then the buttons of the outer bodice. I thought he would kiss me, and I pulled away a little desperately, batting at his hands, reaching for my stockings, putting them on.
“He’ll know anyway,” he said.
“Not if we don’t tell him,” I said, tying my garters.
“Leonie, he has to know.”
I stopped and gave him a pleading glance. “We’ll discuss this later. We’ll decide what to do later. But for now please just...don’t say anything. Please, Daniel. Please.”
“You aren’t staying with him.”
“For God’s sake, get dressed.”
He let out his breath and reached for his long underwear, and I was so relieved I felt tears start. I blinked them away, forcing myself to think, to be calm, to act as I always did—what was it I always did? How did I act when Junius came home from a long trip? Would I have missed him? I tried to remember other times, other greetings, and could not. I could not remember how I’d been, or what was the last thing he’d said to me, or how I should greet him now, and for a moment I was paralyzed by indecision and uncertainty. I could only sit there watching Daniel—my stepson, I thought suddenly, with a sense of unreality, something I’d forgotten—as he put on trousers, and I felt as if I sat there in a dream, sleeping again, when I had been so very awake...
Daniel glanced over his shoulder, to the window, as he pulled on his shirt. “He’s coming across the yard.”
I rose. I could not feel my own skin. Daniel glanced at me. Softly he said, “There�
��s no need to panic, Lea. I’ll do as you want. I’ll do whatever you say. For now.”
His voice broke through the dream. I nodded. I went to the door and out, down the stairs, hearing him behind me, following me as he buttoned his shirt. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped me. “Your hair,” he whispered, and I put my hand to it and realized it was down. I turned to him in shock, paralyzed again, and he said, “I’ll get your pins,” and raced upstairs again, and it seemed forever before he was back, holding a handful of them, giving me one at a time as I scrambled to gather my hair—how odd it felt, to have it up again after weeks, to feel the air on my bare neck, the heaviness of the chignon at the back of my head, but it was also what restored me. I suddenly felt myself again, the Leonie Junius would know, the one who had him as a husband and liked it. And yet...how strange. I was not this woman any longer, and I felt an imposter.
Daniel whispered, “You’ve disappeared.”
Again I felt tears. I wiped them away viciously, hurrying to the door, shoving my feet into my boots, and then I was outside, racing down the porch steps, because I remembered how I’d always greeted him, and this run across the yard was it, the way he dropped the bag he held and opened his arms, catching me, holding me tight—the smell of the sea and smoke and unwashed skin. He held me away long enough to kiss me hard, and then he was smiling and his eyes were glowing and I felt how much he loved me in a deep, deep ache.
Junius released me, his eyes crinkling. “That’s the kind of greeting that makes a man glad to be back,” he said—the same thing he always said. He bent to retrieve the bag he’d dropped, and I looked at Lord Tom, who was coming up beside him, and who was watching me with this careful look, and I thought, though I had no reason to, he knows.
It made me nervous; again I felt that edge of panic, and I told myself Lord Tom couldn’t know, that it was only guilt that made me think it. I smiled and said, a bit too brightly, “I’m glad you’re home. I’ve missed you both. How was the trip?”
“Long and arduous,” Junius said, walking again, and I fell into step beside him. “Getting that canoe on a train was a misery. It wouldn’t fit on a single car. We had to cut it in half.”
“In half?” I didn’t have to feign dismay.
Junius nodded grimly. “But it’s off now. Good riddance.” He glanced up as we approached the house. “So he’s still here?”
I followed his gaze to where Daniel stood beside the doorway in his stocking feet, his arms crossed over his chest, looking belligerent already.
I glanced away and said as casually as I could, though my heart was racing, “Yes, of course he’s here. I would have been lost without his help.”
“Is that so?” Junius went up the stairs. I held back, letting both him and Lord Tom go before me. Junius paused at the door, looking at his son, saying, “So my wife tells me you were a help.”
Daniel’s eyes flickered to me, then back to Junius. “That was your command, wasn’t it? Do as she directs—isn’t that what you said?”
“It was.” Junius reached for the doorknob. “I’m just glad you remembered.”
“I remember everything,” Daniel said, and though he was looking at Junius, I knew those words had been meant for me. I thought of how we’d been only moments before wrapped in each other’s arms, drowsy and satisfied, and to my dismay I felt the blooming heat in my cheeks.
Thankfully, both Junius and Lord Tom were ahead of me, and I didn’t think either of them noticed. But Daniel did. Junius opened the door and stepped inside, and Lord Tom followed, and as I went to follow, Daniel grabbed my hand, pressing it hard—only a moment, not enough for anyone to see—before he let me go again. I didn’t look at him; I could not.
I felt him come in behind me, closing the door. Junius bent to take off his boots, and then he stopped short, saying, “What the hell?”
Lord Tom froze, muttering something beneath his breath, backing away so hard he ran into me. He looked horrified.
Junius said, “What’s that doing in here?”
It was a moment before I realized—the trunk in the middle of the floor, its lid open, the mummy inside.
I hurried over to it, closing the lid, trying not to feel the way it closed her in darkness. “The river was flooding,” I said quickly. “It got to the barn. We had to move her—” I motioned for Daniel, who stepped over obediently. “We’ll put her on the porch, tot. Don’t worry.” I glanced at Daniel.
Daniel lifted one side of the trunk while I lifted the other.
Junius said, “The river’s not high now. Put it back in the barn.”
I felt a moment of horror as strong as that evidenced on Lord Tom’s face. “We’ll put her on the porch for now,” I said firmly. “You just got back. The barn can wait for later.”
Daniel and I took the trunk outside. He pushed aside the old chair, kicked a few pails to roll between the railing slats and fall to the ground below, and then we set her carefully against the wall. I glanced at the roof overhang above. “Do you think she’ll be safe here?”
“As safe as anywhere.” He straightened; his gaze made me feel naked and vulnerable. In a low voice, he said, “Christ, this is untenable already.”
I shook my head at him. “Not now.”
He looked as if he might protest, but then he nodded, and together we went back inside. Lord Tom was staring at me, again I felt uncomfortable in it, and I said, “I’m sorry, tot. I...I wasn’t sure when to expect you.”
“The tides were with us,” Junius said. “So we took the Unity stage across the beach. Borrowed Wilson’s canoe in Oysterville. It all probably saved us a day. Maybe even two. Which was good, given how wretched it was getting down there.”
“We thought of you,” I said. “Didn’t we, Daniel?”
“Wondered if maybe you’d drowned,” he said, sitting on the settee hard, every movement clipped and angry.
“Well, that would have satisfied you, no doubt,” Junius said wryly, going to the stove. “But you didn’t get your way this time, though it seemed like you might once or twice. No coffee?”
“Oh, I...I was so busy I forgot,” I said.
“You forgot coffee?” Junius gave me a puzzled smile. “What had you so busy you did that?”
There was no insinuation in his words; of course not. Still I had to look away, avoiding Lord Tom’s eyes too, scrabbling for the best excuse, settling on, “The springhouse flooded. We spent nearly the whole day cleaning it out. Well, Daniel did most of it.”
“I see.” Junius reached for grinder, opened the drawer, and scooped out coffee into the pot. “The schooner come?”
“We sold about four hundred bushels.” I told him.
“Good. And I think Baird will pay well for that canoe, too. It’s a good specimen, even cut in half. I told him it was for war parties and slave raids. He’ll like that.”
“Bibi said it was for whaling,” I said.
“He won’t know that.” Junius put water in the pot and set it on the stove to boil.
“You’ll make Baird think the Shoalwater are warriors.”
“What of it, Lea, if he pays more because of the story?” Junius ran a weary hand through his hair. “Even Lord Tom doesn’t care if I lie about it a little.”
Lord Tom said wryly, “You white people respect war.”
“You see? Better than saying the truth, which is that they dig clams and drink whiskey.” Junius laughed lightly. “We’ve made his tribe noble. With any luck we can rehabilitate them into a proud, resilient people—though actually, I think the savage barbarian story is what draws crowds, don’t you think, boy?”
“How would I know?” Daniel asked.
“Because you work for a newspaper, perhaps?” Junius needled. “I’d think you would have an idea of how best to get the attention of your reader. Which reminds me; finished the story on the mummy yet? When are you planning to move on?”
“Junius,” I said, and Junius laughed again, but it was thin.
“Just jokin
g with you, boy. No harm done.” He pulled out a chair and sat down, patting his leg for me to come sit on his lap. He had made such a gesture a hundred times before, and I felt a little sting of resentment and wondered that I hadn’t noticed how like calling a dog it was. But neither had I ever ignored it, so I went to him now, seating myself, trying not to stiffen as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close, breathing deeply of me.
He pulled away, frowning. “You smell different.”
“The springhouse, no doubt.”
“Maybe.” His frown deepened. He glanced down, then reached for my arm. “You’re still wearing this?”
The bracelet. I snatched my arm away. “What’s the harm in it?”
“It looks ready to fall off.”
I glanced down at it. It was true. Over the last few weeks the twine had begun to fray and unravel. Some of the charms looked held on by the merest thread, ready to snap or drop. I’d grown attached to the thing, to the way Daniel touched and tangled it, his fascination, and now I felt a little panic at its decay—which was odd, wasn’t it, because now I remembered what its purpose had been. To protect me from Daniel. It was such an obvious contradiction that I was confused and disoriented suddenly, I brought him for you and you will regret it now he is here rubbing uncomfortably against each other in my head.
Daniel was off the settee, now settling himself against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. “It’s been through a great deal,” he said. “I’d say it’s a miracle it stayed on at all.”
I sent him a warning glance, which he ignored.
Junius frowned more deeply. “What are you talking about, boy?”
“Lea nearly drowned while you were gone. Taking your oysters in. The storm hit when we were coming back from Bruceport. She slipped and fell off the boat. She won’t tell you that. She thinks it nothing. But she didn’t see how close it was, neither the drowning nor the cold.”
Junius looked at me. “Is that true?”
I made a face. “Yes, it’s true, but it turned out all right, as you can see. I’m here. Daniel kept his wits about him and pulled me in.”
My husband glanced thoughtfully at me, and then turned to Daniel. “I suppose I have something to thank you for then, don’t I? For saving my wife’s life.”
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