Samuel pulled her closer. “Don’t, Teresa. Don’t spoil your special day with bitterness.”
“You think I don’t have a right to be bitter? I’m carrying your child, yet I’m treated like a slave on the auction block. You’ve sold me because you want to protect your legitimate family and good name from scandal. Meanwhile your bastard will grow up to call another man father.”
“Do you think this has been easy for me? Do you know how difficult it is for me to know that another man will claim my flesh and blood as his own? If I hadn’t met M.J., there is no doubt you and I would’ve stood in that church and become husband and wife. You have a part of me that I’ve never given any woman. You are my weakness, my obsession, Chica. And I will never forget you or what we shared.”
“What we share,” she said softly, correcting him. “We share a child, Samuel.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Teresa. I’ve relinquished all claim to the child you carry. The only children I will acknowledge as Coles are the ones my wife gives me.”
The musical piece ended, and Samuel led Teresa back to Everett. He inclined his head. “Thank you for letting me dance with your wife.”
Teresa floundered in an agonizing maelstrom of despair and loneliness. She was in a garden with more than sixty people who were laughing, eating, dancing and drinking, but she couldn’t have felt more alone if she’d been locked in solitary confinement.
She replayed Samuel’s statement over and over until she felt like screaming at the top of her lungs. She hated him, she hated Everett, and she hated the woman whose claim on Samuel was unconditional.
“I’ll be right back,” she said to Everett. He pulled back her chair, helping her to stand.
Pasting a smile on her face, she headed for Marguerite-Josefina Cole. She touched her arm to get her attention, and a pair of large dark eyes crinkled in a smile.
“May I have a few words with you?” she asked in Spanish.
“Of course,” M.J. replied.
The two women walked a short distance. They were shielded from the others by an eight-foot hedge.
She and M.J. were physically complete opposites, yet both had won the affection of the same man. “I’m so overwhelmed with everything, and I’d like to thank you and your husband for your generosity in hosting my wedding reception.”
M.J.’s dimples deepened in a warm smile. “It was nothing. Samuel and Everett are like brothers, so there isn’t anything we wouldn’t do for him. I wish you and Everett a long and happy life together.”
“Thank you,” Teresa said facetiously. “I hope we’ll have half the happiness you share with Samuel.”
M.J. patted Teresa’s hand. “You’ll have what we have and so much more.”
“Like children?”
“Of course.”
“Samuel told me you are now carrying your third child.”
Placing a hand over her belly, M.J. nodded. “Yes, I am.”
A light went out from behind Teresa’s eyes as she glared at the slight swelling under the fashionable dress. “And I’m carrying his fourth.”
The blood drained from M.J.’s face, leaving it a sickly yellow shade. “What are you talking about?”
Vengeance, bitter as bile, swept over Teresa. “I’m also pregnant with Samuel’s baby. I only married Everett to save your husband’s reputation. I love him just that much.” She pressed her attack on seeing an expression of shock mar the beauty of the woman she hated for claiming what she wanted. “Samuel told me he married you for your money, but slept with me because he truly loves me.”
Lifting the hem of her gown, she turned and walked away from Mrs. Samuel Cole, feeling as if she had exacted a measure of revenge on the man who’d sold her to a man wherein by law she had to submit to his will.
Her husband rose to his feet with her approach. “I have to leave now.”
His brow furrowed. “But we haven’t cut the cake.”
She held his hand, her nails biting into the tender flesh on his palm. “I’m going to be sick, Everett. You don’t want everyone to know that your bride is with child so soon after the ceremony.”
As soon as the last word was out of her mouth, her eyes rolled back and she sagged weakly against him. He managed to catch her before she collapsed to the grass. Lifting her against his chest, he made his way over to Samuel.
“Please apologize to everyone for our hasty departure, but I’ve got to take her home.”
Samuel patted Everett’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of everything.”
M.J. had composed herself enough to confront her husband. She tapped his arm. “I need to see you in the house.”
He frowned at her. “Not now, darling.”
“Either it’s now or everyone will hear what I have to say to you,” she mumbled.
There was something in his wife’s gaze and in the tone of her voice that unnerved Samuel. “All right.” He excused himself and followed her into the house.
They stepped into the living room. “Talk, M.J.”
Shaking her head, she headed for the staircase. “Upstairs.”
Samuel had no choice but to follow her, his gaze lingering on her shapely legs in a pair of sheer black stockings. She slowly mounted the staircase, her hand gripping the banister.
Once in their bedroom, he turned and stared at her, his heart pumping uncontrollably. There was something wrong with his wife. Was it the baby?
“Sit down, darling.”
M.J. shook her head. “I don’t want to sit.”
“Are you all right?”
A slight smile curved her mouth. “Yes.”
“Then why are we here?”
Moving over to a small round table cradling a collection of egg-shaped crystals, she picked up one and launched it at his head. Samuel ducked just in time to avoid injury. It hit a wall, breaking into shards.
“Why didn’t you tell me!” she screamed before she launched another missile at him.
Samuel dodged this one, too. “What the hell are you talking about?”
The paperweights kept coming. “You fucked her!”
Samuel tried to get close enough to stop the assault, but M.J.’s aim was a little too accurate. “Who are you talking about?” A table lamp crashed inches from his feet.
“Teresa Maldonado! She told me that you got her pregnant!”
Once M.J. ran out of things to throw, he came toward her. “Oh my God!”
M.J., her face streaked with tears, neatly coiffed hair falling down around her shoulders, backed up until a wall stopped her retreat. “Do not blame him for what you’ve done. How can you do this to me, to us, to our children?”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen, M.J.”
She glared at the man she loved beyond description, Samuel seemingly aging before her eyes. “You promised me that you would be a faithful husband, but not only do you fuck another woman, but you also get her pregnant.”
“Don’t say that word!”
“What? Fuck! Why not, Samuel? But isn’t that what you did? Or did you make love to her?”
“Stop it!” he shouted.
Her eyes narrowed. “I will not stop until I’ve had my say. You’ve married her off to another man. Now I want you to send them away. Somewhere where I will never see that woman or the bastard she’s carrying ever again.”
Samuel felt as if a hand had closed around his throat, making breathing difficult. “But where, M.J.?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. Anywhere but in West Palm Beach.” Cradling her belly with both hands, she moved over and sat down heavily on the bed. “I want you to move your things out of this bedroom.” She turned, presenting him with her back. “Right now I can’t stand to look at you.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t tell me what I mean, Samuel Cole. If I weren’t carrying this baby I’d take my children and leave you. And don’t you dare tell me I can’t take your children away from you, because I’m certain you wouldn’t want anyone to kn
ow that you’ve been breeding bastards. Now get the hell away from me before whatever I feel for you turns to hate.” Her shoulders shook; then came the sobs, the sound reaching down deep inside her, tearing at her heart and leaving her to bleed, unchecked.
Samuel turned and walked out of the bedroom where he’d shared his life and passion with his wife. Guilt tore through his gut like a lighted fuse, a racing out-of-control fire. His wife had issued an ultimatum.
He had to send Everett and Teresa away to save his marriage.
PART 4
1929–1947
Samuel Claridge Cole
You only begin to discover the difference between what you really are, your real self, and your appearance when you get a bit older.
—Doris Lessing
Chapter 30
I must be sure to do whatever seems hardest.
—Saint Bernadette
West Palm Beach, Florida—October 7, 1929
Everett knocked on the door to Samuel’s office, getting his attention. His teeth shone whitely beneath his mustache. “Kirkland, here, reporting for duty.”
Samuel felt his heart sink. It had taken him a week to formulate a strategy that would banish his best friend and confidant with little or no effort or fanfare. A series of telephone calls had put the plan into motion.
Forcing a smile he did not feel, he beckoned to Everett as he stood up. “Come in. How was Cuba?”
“Beautiful. It was very emotional for Teresa, meeting cousins she’d only heard about.”
Samuel approached Everett, rested a hand on his shoulder and steered him to the conference table. “I have to talk to you about something.”
“Talk to me, Cole,” Everett said glibly, taking a seat at the table.
Samuel sat down and stared at the gold band on Everett’s left hand for several seconds. “I’ve decided to open an office in Miami, and I want you to head it. You will be responsible for ColeDiz holdings in Costa Rica and Mexico. I will assume total control for Jamaica and Puerto Rico.”
Everett did not move, not even to blink. “Are you sure this is what you want?” A barely perceptible nod of Samuel’s head followed his query. Letting out a breath, he stared out the window. “I understand, Samuel. It will be easier on all of us if there is some distance between you and Teresa.”
“It’s not Teresa.”
“Then who is it?” Everett asked, his gaze swinging back to Samuel.
“M.J.”
“You told her?”
“No. Your wife did.”
Everett’s face was a glowering mask of rage. “When!”
“At your reception.”
“Shit!” The expletive exploded from the accountant. “Why the hell would she do that?”
Cradling his head in his hands, Samuel closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
“I’m going to…” His threat died on his lips when Samuel glared up at him.
“Do not,” he said softly, “do or say anything to her.”
A feral grin thinned Everett’s mouth. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that Teresa is my wife, not your whore.”
Samuel stared at the man who had become closer to him than his own brothers. But at that moment he wanted to smash his face. “Tell me now, Everett, if you want to move to Miami. Otherwise pack up your things and walk the hell out of here.” His voice, though quiet, held an undertone of cold contempt.
There was a pulse beat of silence before Everett said, “I’ll take what you’re offering.”
Pushing away from the table, Samuel walked to his desk, retrieving a large envelope. He returned to Everett and extended it to him. “I’m buying back your house. There’s enough in here to buy a very nice place in Miami. There’s also the name of a moving company who will come and pack up your belongings. I’ve included the name and telephone number of the agent of the building where you’ll set up your office.”
Everett took the envelope. His expression mirrored complete unconcern. “You did all of this in a week?”
“I’d do it all in a second if it meant saving my marriage.”
Tilting his head, Everett stared up at the ceiling. “How bad is it, Samuel?”
He knew Everett was referring to his relationship with M.J. “I’d rather face a pack of rabid dogs than deal with M.J.”
“Look, man, I’m sorry.”
“No, Everett, I’m sorry. This is the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make in my life.”
There was a lengthy pause. “I understand why you have to do it.”
The two men stared at each other; then Samuel pulled Everett into a strong embrace.
“Thanks, Kirkland.”
Everett forced a smile. “Don’t mention it, Cole.”
Samuel walked down the hallway leading to his wife’s bedroom. He knocked on the door, waiting for a response.
“Yes.”
Pushing open the door, he walked in. M.J. sat on a tapestry-covered chair in the sitting room, reading. She’d rested her bare feet on a matching footstool.
She’d broken her promise to him and had cut her hair. It had been her way of punishing him for his infidelity.
He met her questioning gaze. It was the first time he’d entered his old bedroom since the Kirkland reception.
“It’s done.”
That said, he turned and walked out, closing the door softly behind him.
Pressing her head against the chair’s back, M.J. found no joy in the news that she would not be reminded that her husband’s mistress was carrying Martin’s and Nancy’s sister or brother.
A single tear slid down her cheek. A second one followed, then more. She cried silently for the end of something that would never be the same.
“Mr. Cole.”
Samuel answered the intercom. “Yes, Mrs. Harris?”
“Mr. Kirkland is on the line for you.”
“Please put him through. Kirkland,” he said when he heard the familiar voice.
“Have you heard the news?”
“I’m listening to the radio right now. You predicted it, Everett.”
“The banks are closed. You know what that means, don’t you?”
Blowing out a breath, Samuel nodded even though Everett couldn’t see him. “Yes. I’m all right. How about you?”
“I’m good. How much do you stand to lose?”
Samuel smiled. “Less than five thousand.” That was the projected amount needed to cover business expenses for the remainder of 1929.
“I will lose half that amount,” Everett said. “How’s the family?”
“Everyone’s good. How’s Miami?”
“Hot. There’s a lot of building going on, but it still looks like a swamp. Ramon and Silvia plan to move down before the end of the year.”
Samuel wanted to ask about Teresa, but held his tongue. He’d convinced himself she was no longer his concern because she was another man’s wife.
The two men talked for another quarter of an hour, then rang off. They’d discussed October 24, 1929, which had come to be known as Black Thursday, a day of trading that caused panic throughout Wall Street and spread to other exchanges and markets.
ColeDiz had been spared because it was a privately held company, and systematic cash withdrawals had protected Samuel Cole’s fortune. The stock market crash and bank failures had plunged the country into an economic tailspin as President Hoover sought to use the power of his office to bolster the country’s financial system.
Reclining in his chair, Samuel anchored his feet on the corner of his desk as a wave of nostalgia hit him. He missed Everett, his financial genius, sharing in-depth discussions about the market, crop prices and tariffs.
He missed his friend, and his friend’s wife. What he could not afford to think of was the child whom he would never see or claim as his own.
Chapter 31
The effect of the large family upon the father is only less disastrous than it is upon the mother.
—Margaret Sanger
West Palm Beach, F
lorida—February 27, 1930
Marguerite-Josefina Cole opened her eyes for several seconds, then closed them again. “Did you see her?”
Samuel stared at his wife’s face, its pallor enhanced by the inky blackness of her hair. She’d lost a lot of blood. “Yes, I did. She’s beautiful.”
M.J. struggled to keep her eyes open. Her labor was long and difficult, as it’d been with her other babies. “Are you upset, Sammy?”
“About what?”
“Three babies and they all look like me.”
Sitting beside the hospital bed, Samuel leaned over and kissed her parched lips. “I don’t mind, darling. You’re a lot prettier than I am.”
She smiled. “Have you decided on a name?”
Samuel nodded. “I like Josephine. What do you like?”
“Juliana.”
“Perhaps we can give her two first names. Juliana-Josephine.”
“That’s too long. We’ll call her either Josephine or Juliana. Help me sit up, Samuel.” Anchoring an arm around her back and under her knees, he lifted her, supporting her back with several pillows. “Thank you.” She unbuttoned the front of her nightgown.
A white-clad nurse walked into the room, carrying a hospital gown and face mask. “Mr. Cole, you’re going to have to put these on before your wife can feed your daughter.”
Samuel slipped into the hospital gown and fastened the ties to the mask at the back of his head. Minutes later another nurse entered the room carrying a tiny bundle. She handed the baby to M.J., then turned and left, the rubber soles on her shoes making swishing sounds on the waxed floor.
He sat down again as M.J. unwrapped the baby, counting her fingers and toes. “They’re all there.”
“I just wanted to make certain.” She removed a full breast from her gown, putting the nipple close to the baby’s mouth. Within seconds the tiny girl closed her mouth over the nipple and began nursing.
Samuel sat, transfixed by the tiny dark-haired baby girl suckling her mother’s breast. He’d missed so much: sharing a bed with his wife, making love to her and watching her body change each advancing day of her confinement.
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