Saturday's Child

by Dallas Schulze

  ❧

  "You're restless, boy. Sit down. It's like playing chess with a three-year-old." Tobias's grumpy complaint drew Quentin back to his chair. He sat down and looked at the chess board but he couldn't seem to concentrate. When he stood up again and wandered to the window, Tobias sighed and sat back in his chair, reaching for a cigar.

  "What's eating at you?"

  "I'm sorry, Grandfather. I don't have the concentration for chess today. Maybe it's all this hullabaloo about the wedding tomorrow. Heavens knows the rest of the house is in an uproar. Ann is in tears because it appears it may rain on her wedding day. She's threatening to put an end to herself if the sun doesn't come out, though how she thinks that will improve the weather, I can't imagine."

  "Foolish chit. She takes after your parents. A couple of nincompoops, from start to finish. You, my boy, are all MacNamara. Don't know how you managed it but, by God, you're all MacNamara.

  "You've the spirit and the thirst for new horizons. That's something you never lose, lad, that wondering about what's just over the next mountain. I still wonder. I just don't have the energy to go look anymore."

  "I've found what lies over the next mountain, Grandfather. It's nothing but another mountain and another beyond that. I've had enough of traveling to last me a lifetime and more. I've found what I want. I've a house that looks out on forever and there's not much more a man can ask."

  "Well, then I envy you, my boy. For you've found something I never could. Not even with my Anna. I always had to be seeing what was over the horizon. A sad dance I led her until she finally settled here to wait for me to come back from my roaming. If I'd been able to settle down, perhaps things would have been different. I might have had a son to follow after me. Though I've few regrets. The Lord saw fit to deny me a son, but he gave me you and I've no complaints with that.

  "But you take my advice, my boy. You find yourself a good wife, a girl who'll give you plenty of children. A man doesn't have much in this world if he doesn't have a son to follow after him. A strong woman who can stand toe to toe with you and give as good as she gets."

  "You're hardly describing my ideal of a restful wife, Grandfather," Quentin pointed out with a touch of amusement.

  "You aren't the sort to want a restful wife. You'd be wishing her to the devil inside a year."

  "You could be right. One thing is for certain—I'm not going to find the kind of wife I'm looking for here. It was foolish of me to think I would."

  Now why did he think of Katie when he uttered those words?

  ❧

  When the wedding at last occurred, it seemed almost an anticlimax to all the preparations that had gone before. Perhaps Ann's tantrums had reached the right ears, for the sun shone down on her wedding day. A rather weak and uncertain sun to be sure, but sun, nonetheless. She walked down the aisle with all of San Francisco society looking on.

  Katie heard the whole story from those of the servants who'd been allowed to stand in the back of the church, entering only after the guests were seated, of course, and exiting before the ceremony was complete. It seemed Miss Ann had been pretty as a picture and the clothes worn by the guests had been fashionable enough to prove the city's claim to being the Paris of the Pacific. All in all, it had been a dazzling spectacle.

  Katie had missed it all. She'd set her last stitch just as the sun was peaking over the horizon and had taken the heavily beaded gown down to the bride's room, delivering it into the tender care of her lady's maid. And then she'd stumbled back up the stairs, hardly aware of the subdued bustle around her as the servants began preparations for the big day. She'd barely had the energy to unbutton her shoes before tumbling into bed, and was asleep as her head hit the pillow.

  When she woke, it was to discover that the sun was sinking low in the sky. Fog was creeping up from the ocean, drifting through the streets in tattered gray ribbons.

  Katie sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes and yawning widely. Her fingers throbbed and her shoulders ached, the muscles protesting the abuse she'd heaped on them the past few days. Still, the job was done, and well done, if she dared say so herself. Mrs. Ferriweather should be well pleased.

  She stretched, aware of a hollow emptiness in her stomach. Food had been of little importance to her lately but it suddenly seemed very appealing. But even more than food, she wanted to be out of this stuffy little room. It seemed as if it had been months since she'd been outside to breathe the fresh air. Even the fog looked appealing. And if she hurried, she might make it home in time to see Colin before he left for the night.

  Sliding off the bed, she shook out her dark skirts, grimacing at the wrinkles her daylong nap had pressed in the fabric. Searching among the bedclothes, she found a handful of hairpins, barely enough to control the unruly mass of her hair.

  She put on her shoes before shaking her skirts one last time in hopes that a few more wrinkles would disappear. Shrugging, Katie lifted her coat from the chair where she'd laid it what seemed like months ago. She could hear the sounds of laughter drifting up from the first floor.

  The bride and groom were to spend the night at the St. Francis Hotel, barely a year old and one of the most elegant establishments in the city. But if the newlyweds had departed, it sounded as if the guests were lingering, partaking of the Sterlings' hospitality.

  Katie had no intention of lingering. All she wanted was home and food, in that order. She yawned again. And sleep. She felt as if she could sleep for a week, or at least the rest of the night. Mrs. Ferriweather would be expecting her at the shop promptly at seven.

  She started toward the door, only to fall back, startled, when it was pushed open and a tall figure loomed up out of the darkness.

  "What a pleasant greeting, my dear. I wasn't expecting such a welcome." Joseph Landers stepped farther into the room, reaching out to turn on the gas lamp she'd shut off on her way out. Katie backed away, uneasy but not yet frightened.

  "If you'll excuse me. I was just on my way out."

  "But I won't excuse you." He said it pleasantly enough. There was even a faint smile on his lips, but there was nothing pleasant about the look in his eyes. "You and I have a bit of unfinished business, my dear. Now seems as good a time as any to finish it, don't you think?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about." She edged to one side, her eyes flickering to the door. If she could get past him, he'd surely not chase her down the stairs. As if reading her mind, Joseph pushed the door closed with a careless flick of his hand.

  "Just to insure that you don't make too hasty a departure. I want to be sure we have plenty of time."

  He tugged at the sleeves of his tuxedo, settling them more precisely. With his crisply pleated shirt, low-cut black vest and exquisitely tailored jacket, he looked the epitome of a gentleman.

  But there was something in his eyes that made Katie think of a mad dog she'd seen once. There'd been a cold, cruel look in those eyes, as if the only thing that could ease the animal's suffering was to cause suffering in others. She'd pitied the dog, knowing that with the illness upon it, it couldn't help what it had become. Joseph had no such excuse.

  "I think perhaps you've had too much to drink. If you'll just let me past, I'll say nothing of this." She was stalling for time, trying to think of some way to get to the door.

  "It doesn't matter whether or not you say anything to anyone. Who would believe you—a seamstress, a servant? And even if they believed you, who would care? Are you going to fight me?"

  Katie felt her stomach roll. He wanted her to fight. He'd enjoy subduing her. Perhaps, if she didn't struggle, he'd lose interest.

  Yet, when he lunged suddenly, catching her arm in a bruising grip, her response was instinctive: her other hand slapped his face. He bit off a curse but didn't loosen his hold, and only dragged her closer despite her struggles.

  Three floors below, laughter and music floated upward, a gay tinkling sound at odds with the nearly silent struggle going on in the small room. Even if she'd had the brea
th to scream, Katie knew it wasn't possible that it would be heard over the noise of the gathering below.

  She dragged her nails down the side of his face, feeling a savage satisfaction at his howl of pain. But it was a short-lived victory. A moment later, he swung her around, catching her with an openhanded slap that made the world go gray for one terrifying moment.

  Before she'd regained her spinning senses, he'd thrown her across the bed, pinning her down with the weight of his body, catching both her hands in one of his, stretching her arms over her head. Katie arched frantically, but couldn't throw him off.

  "Now let's see how high and mighty you are, you little bitch."

  Her ears still ringing from the force of his blow, Katie thought she'd never seen anything more evil than the set of his face. He hooked one hand in the high neckline of her dress, bruising her throat as he wrenched at the fabric until the buttons popped loose.

  She lay beneath him, bare but for the fragile protection of her chemise. In an instant, that was gone too and he stared down at her naked breasts. For one moment, it was as if time had frozen. Katie stared up at her attacker, the horror of what was happening impossible to absorb.

  "Lovely," he murmured, licking his lips. "So pure." He lifted his head to meet her terrified eyes, closing his free hand over one delicate mound. "Am I the first? Of course I am," he answered his own question, his eyes glittering with unholy lust. His fingers tightened with deliberate cruelty until the pain made tears start to her eyes. "I'll make sure that your first experience is a memorable one, little Katie."

  The cruel sound of his laughter broke the frozen moment and Katie bucked frantically upward, crazed with the need to have him off her, away from her. She knew that her struggles only excited him more but she couldn't stop. Every fiber of her body revolted against him.

  Her frantic struggles seemed to amuse him for he laughed again, the sound drowning out the quiet click of the door opening and then closing again and then the sound of footsteps hurrying down the stairs.

  "Well, Annie had her big sendoff and Sylvie got to put on her show. Now, maybe we can have a little peace in this house." Tobias lifted the forbidden glass of brandy, sipping it slowly.

  Quentin lifted his own glass, settling back deeper into his chair. Two floors below, the guests were still celebrating, though he was willing to wager that few of them could remember just what they were celebrating.

  "I hope Ann will be happy."

  "As long as his money holds out, she'll be happy. The girl lives to spend."

  Quentin would like to have argued with his grandfather's acid opinion but it was too accurate to deny.

  "Perhaps she'll change as she matures. She is very young," he offered.

  "And perhaps a man can fly to the moon."

  "You're in a very cynical mood today, Grandfather."

  "Weddings and funerals always make me grumpy. And it was hard to tell which this was. Bunch of nitwits dressed up like penguins. And Annie looked like an advertisement for a furbelow shop."

  Despite himself, Quentin chuckled. His short, plump little sister had been completely overwhelmed by her fussy, frilly gown. And the elaborate loops and coils of her hair had completed what the dress had begun. Most of it had obviously been contributed by numerous rats of false hair, tucked in amongst her own locks. At least the overdecorated dress had served to balance the overdone coiffure.

  "Heard Mr. Roosevelt is trying to get the Russians and the Japanese to talk peace," Tobias said acidly.

  "Well, if anyone can get them to listen, he could. T.R. could get the lion to lie down with the lamb if only he, could get them to listen." Quentin smiled, swirling the brandy in his snifter.

  "Well, Admiral Togo seems to be leading the Russians a merry chase. If they don't watch out, he'll give them a thorough trouncing and then they'll have to listen."

  "I think—"

  But what Quentin thought was destined to remain unspoken. The door unceremoniously thrust open and Edith tumbled in, her cap tilted over one eye.

  "What the devil?" Quentin rose in automatic response to the air of urgency that spilled into the room along with her. "What is it?"

  "It's Katie, sir." She paused, clinging to the door as she tried to catch her breath.

  "Katie? What's wrong? Is she injured?" Quentin was halfway across the room.

  "It's that Mr. Landers. They were struggling. I came as quick as I could. I didn't know where else to go. Hurry, sir. Please hurry." But she was speaking to empty air. Quentin had already brushed by her. Edith's eyes met Tobias's.

  "You did the right thing, girl," he told her. "Katie? That's the little red-haired gal, isn't it?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Quentin will take care of it. You should go. She may need a woman's care."

  Quentin took the narrow stairs three at a time. By the time he reached the door to the sewing room, he felt rage explode in his chest. His cousin's back was to him as he crouched on the bed and all that was visible of Katie was a length of pale leg and a tangle of gray skirts.

  For a moment, he thought he was too late, that Joseph had already accomplished his foul aim. He lunged forward, grasping the other man's shoulder and jerking him backward, tumbling him off the bed. Relief surged through him. Though Katie's dress was torn, Joseph was still fully dressed.

  He had only a quick glimpse of Katie, pulling together the front of her bodice, her face white and shocked. Then Joseph came up off the floor, aiming his fist at Quentin's jaw.

  It took Katie several seconds to grasp what was happening. At first, all she could absorb was that Joseph was gone. She didn't question how or why. She clutched at her ruined bodice, drawing in great lungfuls of air.

  She was vaguely aware that it was Quentin who'd come to her rescue but it didn't seem terribly important. Sitting up, she pushed her skirts down over her legs, noting that her stockings had been torn. She wondered if she'd be able to darn them. Stockings were thirteen cents a pair and the wool to knit them not that much less. She'd have to try to mend these. Now that the wedding was over, she'd have time to tend to such chores.

  The fight had moved onto the landing. She heard the harsh sound of a fist striking flesh, and then a solid thud and then silence. Looking at the doorway, she felt nothing. No fear, no curiosity, nothing. It was as if all feeling had been drained away, leaving her numb.

  Chapter 5

  When Quentin stepped into the room, she stared at him solemnly without saying a word.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Yes."

  She could see that the simple answer nonplussed him but she couldn't offer more. Edith rushed by him, her eyes bright with concern.

  "Are you hurt, Katie?"

  "No, I don't think so. My dress is ruined, though, and I don't think I'll be able to mend these stockings." She turned her head, a fitful frown creasing her forehead. "If you'll hand me my wrap, I'll be more modestly covered."

  Quentin reached out, snagging the cloak from where it had landed across a chair when Joseph ripped it from her. Edith took it from him, her eyes meeting his. This calm wasn't natural. She handed the wrap to Katie, draping it across her shoulders.

  "Now, would you look at that. The tie is ruined." Katie tugged at the dangling end of ribbon that had served to hold the cloak together. "I'll have to replace that, too. It seems the mending is never done."

  "Are you sure he didn't hurt you, Katie?" That was Edith, her voice gentle.

  "Didn't I tell you I was fine?" Katie asked irritably. "My garments have taken more damage than my person."

  "Perhaps you should lie down," Quentin suggested.

  "I want to go home."

  "Perhaps you should see a doctor," Edith said hesitantly.

  "I don't need a doctor. I just want to go home." Katie's voice rose, taking on a querulous note.

  "All right. We'll take you home," Quentin told her soothingly.

  "I don't need an escort," she began, but he interrupted her.

  "You're not go
ing home alone."

  Her eyes met his for an instant before dropping away. "If you insist."

  "I do. Edith, go and tell Graves to bring the carriage around to the side entrance. And say nothing to anyone about this. Not to anyone."

  Edith nodded and threw one last worried look at Katie before hurrying from the room. Katie barely seemed to notice her going. She'd wrapped the cloak tightly around her and now clutched it with a grip so tight that Quentin could see the white gleam of bone beneath the skin over her knuckles.

  "It won't take Graves more than a moment to bring the carriage around. Are you ready to go now?"

  "You needn't act as if you think I'm going to dissolve in a puddle of mush," she told him, her voice lacking the strength to put any real annoyance in the words. "I've told you I'm fit."

  But her legs didn't seem to have gotten the message, for when she slid off the bed, her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. Her startled gasp brought Quentin to her side, his hand under her elbow to offer support.

  "I'm fine," she insisted but she didn't try to pull away from his grasp.

  With both hands clutching her cloak across her torn bodice, she crossed the room with slightly shaky steps. Quentin felt Katie shudder as she paused in the doorway. Joseph was sprawled on the landing, blood oozing from his split lip. He'd regained consciousness and was propped drunkenly against the wall. Hatred flared in his eyes when he saw them.

  "Going to finish what I started, cousin?" His sneering words were distorted by his swollen jaw.

  Quentin's hand tightened on Katie's arm, feeling the rigidity of her muscles beneath his fingers.

  "It's a pity I didn't kill you," he said quietly. "I would suggest that you be gone when I get back, lest I regret my generosity."

  The very quietness of his tone made it more threatening than any invective he could have shouted. He turned away, making it clear that Joseph wasn't worth another thought.