Love and Dreams: The Coltrane Saga, Book 6

by Patricia Hagan

  Jade left the ogling crowd and followed Marietta into the house.

  “Mr. Winslow is working late,” Marietta said, speaking of her husband in the proper form all good wives used. Cheerily, she added, “Maybe he’ll give Bryan a ride. They work in the same building. The Stevens offices are just a floor above the bank where Mr. Winslow is president.”

  Jade made a face her hostess did not see. Everyone knew Victor Winslow was president of New York Commerce Bank and Trust. There was no need to mention it, but she was proud. So be it. “Bryan won’t be joining me tonight,” Jade quietly informed her hostess.

  Marietta turned, her disappointment and annoyance quite evident in her sudden frown. “Oh? But the invitation was for you both, and I set a place for him.”

  Jade firmly defended herself. “Well, I responded for just one. I’m sorry if there has been a misunderstanding.”

  Marietta Winslow was dying to know why Jade had not invited Bryan but was too much a lady to pry. So, with a resigned sigh, she walked across the foyer, through the double mahogany-paneled doors, and into the long, garishly furnished dining room. Jade complimented her on the lovely crystal-and-gold chandeliers, and she thanked her, commenting, “I know incandescent lighting and electricity are the latest thing, but I still feel candles are much more romantic.”

  Jade readily agreed, and was glad to see the ornate silver candelabra on the table, with their lovely pink tapers.

  Walking to the other side of the pearwood table, with its grandiose seating for twenty-four, Marietta removed a white place card lettered in elegant black script, Mr. Bryan Stevens, Esquire.

  Jade felt no regret. After all, she’d made the proper response, and it wasn’t her fault if Marietta hadn’t noticed. Suddenly her eyes fell on another place card, which read, Mrs. Triesta Vordane. Jade forced her voice to be calm, natural, as she softly inquired, “Have you known Mrs. Vordane long?”

  “Heavens, yes. Too long!” Marietta snatched the card from the table. “And I forgot she’s not coming…sent her regrets at the last moment. Well, at least we can have an even seating for twenty-two. Such a strange lady,” she added with a soft chuckle.

  It was a real struggle for Jade to appear only vaguely interested. “Really? Why is that?”

  Marietta detested gossip, but when someone inquired about someone she disliked, she did not shy away from the conversation. “In the first place,” she confided, “no one has ever really liked Mrs. Vordane. She’s a malicious gossip and a very cruel snob. Why, I don’t know, because she came from trash, I hear. Anyway, her husband, may he rest in peace, was a jewel. Everyone adored Franklin Vordane. So of course she was accepted, because of his social position.”

  A pity, Jade thought sardonically, that the same could not be said of Bryan and Marnia.

  “We include her in a few things from time to time,” Marietta went on to explain as she called to a servant to remove the place settings for Triesta and Bryan. “Out of respect to Mr. Vordane, of course, but I think this will be my last time. It was rude the way she canceled at the last moment. She had the gall to send her maid for the invitation list, would you believe it? And her maid returned with her regrets. Didn’t say why. No excuse whatsoever. The nerve of her! I suppose she saw a name on the list she didn’t like and decided not to come, and that really makes me angry. I can’t think of anyone she could disapprove of.”

  I can, Jade thought bitterly, but said nothing. Now she was almost certain Triesta had recognized her at the waffle party, then seen her name on the invitation list for Marietta’s and chosen to avoid her. But why? It didn’t make sense. Maybe it was time she started doing a bit of investigating on her own.

  “Marietta Winslow!”

  They turned to see a woman standing in the doorway of the dining room wearing a severe dress of gray wool, a small, sensible hat adorned with one tiny black feather perched atop her dark hair. She had a square jaw, a firm-set mouth with crinkles at the corners, and her eyes, though small and disapproving, shone with a slight shadow of amusement, as though she enjoyed looking so severe and condemning.

  “Are those wineglasses I see?” She pointed an accusing finger toward the table.

  Jade listened in silent amusement as Marietta attempted to appease Miss Frances Willard, the fifty-four-year-old formidable founder of the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union.

  “Now, Frances, dear,” she began placatingly. “You know our beloved Christ turned water into wine, and it’s socially correct and acceptable to serve wine with a formal dinner.”

  Miss Willard was quick to fire back a sharp retort. “Our Lord did not have to contend with heathens wanting an excuse to be heathens, and a few nips seem to provide that justification.”

  Jade and Marietta exchanged smiles.

  “There are no heathens among my guests, Frances,” Marietta said, putting the proper amount of indignation into her tone.

  “Oh, posh!” Miss Willard said dismissively. “We shall see. But I want the glass removed from my setting, and I shan’t tolerate any abusive behavior from those around me.”

  “Well, I’m sure there won’t be any. Now…” Marietta attempted to change the subject. “Did you find a place to leave Gladys?” She winked at Jade, and grinned as she explained, “Gladys is Miss Willard’s bicycle.”

  “Bicycle?” Jade echoed, bright with interest. Frances Willard looked from her to Marietta and snapped, “You really are becoming lax in propriety. You haven’t introduced me to this young lady.”

  Marietta did so, and Miss Willard seemed impressed, commenting that she’d heard her mentioned with high regard. “Perhaps you’d like to join our Temperance Union.”

  “I’d rather see your bicycle,” Jade answered evasively. “That’s something I’ve been thinking of getting. It’d be a lot nicer to be able to ride from my hotel to my studio without having to find a taxi every time.”

  Miss Willard looked surprised. “Oh, really? But it’s being said that you and that nice widower, Bryan Stevens, are going to announce your engagement soon. So what’s all this talk of bicycles and studios? What kind of studio?”

  Jade took a deep breath of resignation, decided it was time to quell the rumors. “I don’t know where you got that idea, Miss Willard. Mr. Stevens and I are merely friends.”

  The wiry little lady pursed her lips thoughtfully, eyes twinkling as though she could see straight inside to Jade’s heart. “Well, that’s a shame, my dear, because the two of you make a lovely couple,” she finally said.

  Jade heard a shrill buzzlike sound from another part of the house, and Marietta jumped and exclaimed, “Oh, dear, I’ll never get used to that thing. Every time I turn around, Mr. Winslow is having some newfangled invention installed. Keeps a body scared to death of what will happen next.”

  A maid appeared in the doorway, curtsied, and politely said Mr. Winslow was calling.

  Exasperated, Marietta followed her out of the room, wringing her hands and mumbling that that was the only reason Mr. Winslow had a telephone installed, anyway, so he could call and say he was going to be late getting home from the office. Before, he didn’t dare be late, for there was no way of letting her know unless he sent a messenger, and that was a bother for just a short delay, so he made sure he was on time.

  A butler came to them with a tray of appetizers and glasses of sparkling, cold champagne. Miss Willard haughtily marched out of the room, muttering she’d probably just go home if spirits were to be served. Jade took a glass and wandered through the open doors to the terrace.

  The Hudson River rolled on so lazily, Jade thought, like liquid silk in the gathering twilight. How much happier life would be if a person could just roll along as easily as the water, not worrying about currents or bends in the way, confident in the knowledge that sooner or later, no matter the obstacles, a peaceful destination would ultimately be reached.

  She looked across the sloping lawns to her own house. How sad and lonely it looked, as though an invisible cloud of pessimism
and hopelessness had descended to smother and stifle any semblance of life. She’d loved it on sight, taken joy in its restoration and refurbishment, but now it no longer seemed to matter.

  Somewhere out there in the sizzling city that was New York, Colt lived. But now another woman received his good-morning and good-night kisses, shared his joys, sorrows, hopes, and dreams…and also knew the wonder and ecstasy of his lovemaking.

  For a time, she, too, had had another, someone to love away the emptiness.

  But she’d lost him.

  Through stubbornness? Pride?

  Miss Willard, in her innocence, had provoked the anguish of her loss, and by so doing, Jade realized that perhaps she’d only been fooling herself, and the time had come to face reality. Tomorrow, she vowed firmly, she would go to Bryan and talk to him; tell him that, at last, she had stopped living in the past and—

  “Jade, dear…”

  She turned at the sound of Marietta’s voice, at once startled by the tone…so mournful…so grim.

  With a sudden lurch of foreboding in her heart, Jade realized Marietta was crying. There were others gathered behind her; the women were all dabbing at their eyes with lace hankies, and the men looked very stern and equally grim.

  Icy fingers of dread and apprehension were clawing at her spine, and she reached out to place trembling fingertips against the stone wall surrounding the terrace.

  Marietta took a step closer to her. “Oh, Jade, darling, I’m so sorry—” she whimpered.

  A scream was working its way up her throat from the very pit of her soul, and Jade quickly spoke above it, lest it choke and smother all sound. “Tell me! What’s wrong? Why are all of you acting so strange, and why are you looking at me this way? What’s happened?”

  One man, Jade vaguely recognized him as the man she’d earlier offended, rushed forward to put his arms about her. Now he was solicitous…and sad. She did not push him away, knowing instinctively that she would need his support.

  Finally, Marietta choked out the words. “Oh, God, I hate to tell you this, but there’s a fire…in Mr. Stevens’ building, and…” Her voice caught on a sob, and she covered her face with her hands, unable to continue.

  Jade’s scream began to bubble forth as she begged for someone to please tell her what was happening, and somewhere through the gray, clutching fog that was descending to mercifully carry her away to oblivion, she heard the man who held her speak, and she shook her head wildly from side to side, as though to do so would repel the horror of his words.

  “Mr. Winslow said Mr. Stevens is still inside.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jade called on every fiber of her strength to stop the world from spinning as she gradually brought herself up and out of the abyss of hysterical surrender. Looking about at the sea of anxiously staring faces, she beseeched, “Will someone take me there…please?”

  A round of protests exploded, but she was not to be dissuaded. When no one responded to her plea, she rushed from the house, intending to walk, if necessary. Halfway across the lawn, she felt a hand on her arm, shrugged it away, then froze as she heard a man gently say, “Miss O’Bannon, wait. I’ll take you.”

  Gratefully, she looked up into the compassionate eyes of Marietta Winslow’s nephew, Robert Penrose. “I hope you don’t mind riding in my horseless carnage,” he asked worriedly, as though she might be afraid of the new invention.

  Had the situation not been so tragic, Jade would have laughed at such a suggestion. Instead, she grabbed his hand and said, “Thank you—more than you’ll ever know.”

  Oblivious to startled horses rearing and whinnying in terror, they made their way through the streets of New York, and when they were still many blocks from the triangular intersection that was Broadway, Fifth Avenue and Twenty-third Street, the air became thick and choked with smoke.

  Jade did not, could not speak; she could only look ahead to the black haze rising into the silver-blue sky, creating an ominous umbrella of stifling soot.

  Suddenly, they could go no farther. A barricade had been set up by the police department. Officers milled about, keeping the curious onlookers back.

  “This is as far as we can go,” Robert said, sounding relieved that it was so. “There’s nothing you can do, Miss O’Bannon,” he hated to add.

  Jade bounded from the vehicle, snagged her skirt on the door, and ripped it free without a second thought. Robert called to her, but she pushed doggedly onward toward the blazing building.

  A policeman saw her slip through the barricade. “Hey, you, miss,” he shouted. “You can’t go in there! It’s dangerous. Get back behind that line!”

  Ignoring him as well as others who called to her to come back, Jade ran straight into the smoke-filled air, oblivious to burning eyes and throat. Abruptly, powerful arms reached out to grab her, and she found herself helpless against the strength of the big, black-coated fireman.

  “Just hold on, little lady. You’ll get yourself hurt. Stay back here. That building could collapse any minute.”

  “Let me go!” She kicked out at him, but he held fast. Ahead, she could see smoke pouring from every window, flames shooting toward the sky. The air was oppressive with the intangible aura of terror, and the sounds of the firemen and onlookers and bells ringing. She could see the fire engines with their steam-driven pumps, men struggling with the hoses that unleashed water upon the inferno. An old-fashioned bucket brigade had also been set up in a feeble attempt to fight the war of the flames.

  “Miss O’Bannon! Miss O’Bannon!”

  Jade turned her head in the direction of the hysterical voice, saw Miss Pearson, Bryan’s secretary.

  “Let me go, please. I know her,” Jade desperately pleaded with the fireman.

  Gruffly, he snapped, “I ain’t lettin’ you go, miss. Yoru don’t know what you’re doing, and it’s my job to keep you from getting yourself killed.”

  Just then Miss Pearson reached them, looking in fright from Jade to the burly man who held her.

  “Where is Mr. Stevens?” Jade demanded.

  The young woman swayed ever so slightly, closing her bloodshot eyes momentarily as though in prayer; then she pointed toward the burning building. Raggedly she whispered, “In there.”

  “No!” Jade wheezed against the knotted bubble of hysteria constricting her throat. “No…he can’t be…” Her head hung limply, as though her bones had melted in horror.

  “He got out, but he went back in,” Miss Pearson rushed to explain. Her voice broke on a sob. “Oh, God, Miss O’Bannon, there’s no way he can get out now.”

  Jade mustered what strength she had left and gave a mighty thrust, attempting one last time to break the fireman’s grip. When she could not, she exploded, venting painful frustration upon him. “Let me go, goddamn you, and do your job. Get him out of there!”

  “He’s done for. It’s too late. Now, please, ma’am, if you don’t calm down, I won’t have no choice ’cept to knock you out, bad as I’d hate to hit a woman.”

  Robert Penrose arrived then. “That won’t be necessary, sir. I’ll take over.”

  The fireman hesitated, but only briefly, for he had other things to do besides wrestle with a loco female. Handing her over in relief, he said, “Be my guest, mister. You can have her, but I’m warnin’ you, she’s lost her mind, and if you don’t hang on to her, she’s gonna run right into that fire. Just keep her back.” Eagerly, he disappeared into the crowd.

  The man who was still a stranger to her, despite his kind help, held her tightly.

  It was as though, in that instant, she resigned herself to Bryan’s fate, and her own as well. She stopped struggling. “Why?” she moaned, pressing her face against Robert’s shoulder. “Why did he go back inside?”

  Miss Pearson shook her head in helpless pity, then told her they had been working late and heard someone shout that the building was on fire. They’d run out quickly to stand side by side on the street, watching as the fire engines arrived.

  “Al
l I could think of,” she sobbed, “was poor Mr. Stevens, standing there looking at those flames shooting out of the windows, and how he had to be thinking how his wife and little boy died like that. He looked awful, just awful, like at that very moment he wished he was dead himself Then we heard a scream,” she continued, “and we saw a woman at a window on the fourth floor. Everybody started yelling at her to jump, but she just stood there screaming, begging for help. Nobody did anything. I remember hearing a fireman standing nearby saying it was hopeless…nobody could get inside, and then all of a sudden Mr. Stevens just ran across the street and into the building before anybody could stop him.”

  Jade shuddered and thought she was going to be sick as the image of Bryan in the flames danced before her numbed brain.

  If…

  The word paraded before her mind.

  If only they hadn’t fought. Then they’d have been together, he wouldn’t have been working late…wouldn’t have been in the fire…

  If only she’d found the strength to make that final leap from past to future, they’d be planning a wedding…maybe even be married…

  And Bryan would still be alive.

  She stumbled through the streets, oblivious to the acrid odor that seemed to tag behind her like a taunting demon. She thought of other nights she’d walked the same avenues, with Bryan beside her, hand in hand, enjoying the romantic glow of the gaslights. They’d talked of that elusive future as though it were right there, in their hands, to grasp and hold on to, for it was only when she was alone that Jade couldn’t completely escape her memories. With Bryan, all things seemed possible. Solitude brought back the dreams of another time, another life…another love.

  Now all of it was gone. Every dream…every hope…every shared heartbeat of a future together.