Brighter than Gold (Western Rebels Book 1)

by Cynthia Wright

Everything looked magnificent. The carved pocket doors between the drawing and dining rooms had been opened to form one huge room that seemed to exude Christmas cheer. A long buffet table stretched across one wall, covered with a snowy white cloth and studded with artful centerpieces of evergreen, candles, and fruit. Around them was arranged food of every description. There were dishes with various pates, scalloped oysters, lobster patties, sausage rolls, salads, iced prawns, and galantines of duck and tongue. A huge roast goose with chestnut stuffing had been artfully arranged beside a garnished, glazed pink ham, and both were surrounded by raised chicken pies, woodcocks, plovers, and cracked crabs. There were plates of fresh biscuits, bowls of pumpkins squash and green beans with almonds, compotes of fruit, tartlets of jam, bonbons, sweetmeats, tiny cheesecakes, plum puddings, dates, and nuts. The piece de resistance had been baked by Katie—a magnificent Christmas cake covered with snowy white frosting and decorated with sprigs of holly.

  There were several small Christmas trees on tabletops throughout the house, glowing with the light of miniature candles. Each was gaily decorated with strings of glass beads and cranberries and hung with tiny brightly wrapped packages, colorful blown-glass balls, crystal snowflakes, and little birds with real feathers.

  The magical effect was made complete by the hundreds of candles that illumined the entire downstairs of the house. A fire danced in every fireplace, and on the parlor mantel Katie had arranged an exquisite hand-carved crèche she’d discovered in a box in the attic.

  Now she paused in front of it, remembering what her mother had told her each Christmas. As Jack came up to give her a cup of hot mulled cider, Katie murmured, “This is the essence of Christmas for me. Mama used to say that the celebration of the Christ child’s birth should be a time of rebirth for all of us, that winter could bring more new growth than spring... new growth in our hearts. That’s the gift I want most for Christmas. I want to be cleansed, to replace my fears and pain with courage and serenity as I enter the new year.” Her eyes glistened. “I believe it’s possible, with God’s grace.”

  Jack felt a tightening in his chest and a surge of tenderness toward his wife. He wanted to tell her that his dream for 1865 was the same as hers, but before he could speak, there was a resounding knock at the front door and guests began to arrive.

  A stringed quartet began to play in a corner of the drawing room while the house slowly filled with the richly garbed cream of San Francisco society, as well as many of Jack’s less wealthy but more colorful friends. Ambrose Summers and Conrad, both clad in white tie and tailcoats, were there to help assume some of the hosting duties, but everyone wanted to meet the new Mrs. Wyatt. All were gracious when presented to her, though Katie was well aware of the curious stares and whispers from across the room and the occasional eyebrow that arched at her red gown. But she didn’t care. Tonight she could feel headstrong Katie MacKenzie from Columbia merging with the more womanly Kathleen Wyatt, and she knew a sense of peace that she had never experienced before.

  Polished servants, under the watchful eye of Mrs. Gosling, moved discreetly through the crowd with bottles of French champagne, while others served hot buttered rum, mulled cider, eggnog, and wassail from huge silver bowls. Guests milled around the buffet table, filling their plates, and a few couples began to dance in the drawing room.

  Bret Harte and Edwin Murray, the Morning Star’s city editor, approached Jack. Between sips of champagne, the dandified Harte clapped Wyatt on the back and remarked, “We were just saying how very beautiful your bride is, old boy. I cannot remember ever being in the company of a more fresh and radiant woman.”

  “I’ll second that.” Edwin nodded, hiccupping. “If you don’t mind my saying so, sir, you made the right choice. Mrs. Wyatt is a stunner.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said, grinning. “For once I agree with both of you at the same time.” He indulged himself in a long look across the room at Katie, who was hugging the newly arrived Hope Menloe. She was surrounded by several admirers, many of whom were neighbors or members of their church whom Katie hadn’t met until now. Even from a distance, Jack could see and feel the radiance Bret Harte had spoken of. It shone from inside Katie and was reflected in her eyes, her glowing skin, her smile, even the bounce of her glossy black curls.

  “Well, well, look who’s just arrived.” Harte cocked an eyebrow as he stared toward the entry hall. “It’s the overrated star reporter from the Sacramento Union. Oh, sorry, I’ve put my foot in it again. Phillips works for you now, doesn’t he?”

  Jack was glad of an excuse to leave Harte and Murray, both of whom had obviously sampled a bit too much champagne. Weaving through the crowd, he kept Grant Phillips’s blond head in sight. Katie was moving toward him, too, and Jack was just a few steps behind when she reached the new guest.

  “I’m so pleased that you could come,” Katie said, reaching for his hand with both of hers. “I’m Kathleen Wyatt.”

  “I’m Grant Phillips.” Hazel eyes smiled at her from behind steel spectacles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wyatt. As you may have heard, I am newly arrived in San Francisco, so I’m grateful to you and your husband for inviting me to your home.”

  “Of course!” Katie’s face brightened with recognition. “You’re from Sacramento, aren’t you? I’ve only been here a few weeks myself, so we have something in common.”

  Jack came up behind his wife and shook Grant’s hand. “I’m glad you could make it. Did you take my advice and search out a young lady to escort?”

  Grant smiled. “I did indeed—the prettiest girl I’ve seen in San Francisco, present company excepted, of course. She is just handing over her cloak to your maid....” He turned toward the entry hall, and his smile widened. “Here she is! Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt, are you acquainted with Miss Genevieve Braithwaite?”

  Katie paled, and she felt Jack’s arm tense around her back. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” she murmured.

  Taking her place at Grant’s side, Genevieve smiled coolly and announced, “Jack and I are old and intimate friends, aren’t we, Jack? And this must be your bride. I would have known you anywhere, Mrs. Wyatt, by your scarlet dress. Isn’t that color de rigueur for saloon girls?”

  Chapter 28

  December 18-19, 1864

  A hush fell over the crowd of guests, while others across the long room whispered, “What did she say?”

  Jack gave Genevieve a murderous look. “Miss Braithwaite, I think you owe my wife an apology.”

  “Do I?” Her shrill voice carried easily. “Oh, my, I didn’t realize it was a secret that she was working in a saloon when you met. If I’ve spoken out of turn, I do apologize. I don’t suppose I can blame you for being embarrassed by your past, Miss—I mean, Mrs. Wyatt.”

  “My wife owned the MacKenzie Saloon,” Jack said, his voice carrying. “She was not a ‘saloon girl.’”

  Katie felt faint. She was trying to find her voice when she glimpsed Yong and Choy Sung peeking into the dining room. Yong wore an ill-fitting brown suit, and his hair was slicked back into a long queue, while Choy was clad in the traditional Chinese costume of a long, embroidered tunic with a high collar fastened to one side, over loose silk pants. Their faces shone with loving smiles when they saw Katie.

  The assembled guests, already staring attentively at the scene between the Wyatts and Genevieve Braithwaite, now wore expressions of undisguised shock. It seemed that everyone began to whisper at once. When Katie moved forward to embrace the new arrivals, a few of the women gasped aloud. San Francisco’s upper class was noticeably more tolerant of the Chinese than other Californians, and appreciative of their contribution to the city, but socializing with them was unthinkable. Although Katie could feel the tension in the air around her, she proceeded to introduce the Sungs to other guests, who had no choice but to smile, nod, and mouth polite amenities.

  Jack was torn between two crises. He felt bound to give Katie support with the Sungs and so helped her make introductions all the w
ay over to the buffet table. She was explaining the various dishes to Yong and Choy when Conrad came up behind Jack.

  “You’d better do something about Genevieve,” he murmured. “She’s telling everyone who’ll listen about Katie’s life as a saloon girl, and adding spiteful comments about her choice of friends”—he nodded at the Sungs—“for good measure.”

  Conrad’s face was even whiter than usual in contrast with his bright red hair and side-whiskers. He was in an agony of guilt over his own part in the havoc Genevieve was wreaking on Katie’s lovingly planned party, and he was also more than a little worried that she might decide to tell Emma Pierce about the cozy scene between them in his office.

  Leaning toward Katie, Jack whispered, “I’ll be right back.” Her only response was a nod; she didn’t look up.

  As he strode across the room, he could clearly hear Genevieve saying to Charles Henry Webb, founder of the literary weekly, the Californian, “I hardly think that it can come as a surprise, that woman bringing Chinese into Jonathan’s house as guests! How could she possible know better? I mean, just look at that gaudy dress she’s wearing. The poor thing was raised in the mountains, and she worked in a saloon until Jonathan took pity and married her. I shudder to think whom she’ll invite next to this beautiful home. Can you imagine the sorts of friends she must have?” She widened her beautiful eyes to suggest various unmentionable possibilities.

  People around Genevieve pretended to sip their drinks and chat, while listening with one ear to everything that she was saying. Jack was rigid with fury. Coming up behind her, he gripped her elbow and said softly, “Come with me.”

  “Of course, Jonathan darling.” She looked around until she spotted Grant Phillips and then called, “Now, don’t you worry about me, Grant—I’m just going to have a moment alone with Jonathan. Old times, you know!”

  Jack could hear the buzzing that began as soon as they reached the entry hall, but he didn’t care, nor did he care if he bruised Genevieve’s arm as he dragged her into his study and slammed the door.

  “You bitch! I could kill you for this!”

  Genevieve reclined gracefully against the overstuffed armchair Jack all but tossed her onto and smiled up at him, one eyebrow arched. “I can’t imagine what you mean, darling. All I did was tell the truth. If the truth is unpalatable, perhaps you had better make some changes.” The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable. “It’s not too late to admit that you’ve made a mistake, you know.”

  Jack stared, incredulous. “You must be out of your mind!”

  “On the contrary, I am saner than you. My mother always told me that an inability to admit mistakes was a flaw inherent in men, but somehow I hoped that you were better than that, Jonathan.”

  “I don’t know what the devil you’re babbling about, and furthermore, I don’t care—”

  “I’m talking about that woman you’re trying to pass off as your wife. You must see by now that she can never do justice to your fine family name. Jonathan, you can tell me how you really feel; I of all people will understand. And I’ll wait for you while you disentangle yourself from this disastrous marriage.”

  Jack longed to smash something, but instead he clenched his jaw and drew up a straight-backed chair next to Genevieve. Slowly he said, “Obviously this is not an argument worthy of my time. You are a spoiled, self-centered girl who is so used to having her own way that you distort other people’s lives until they suit your purposes. I thank God for bringing Kathleen to me, thereby delivering me from doing something insane in a weak moment—like marrying you!”

  Genevieve’s expression was uncomprehending. “But Jonathan—”

  “Be quiet for a change! Kathleen is nothing like the person you imagine her to be. She is the finest thing that ever happened to me.” He paused. “Now listen carefully, Genevieve: I love Kathleen with all my heart and I intend to do everything in my power to make her happy.” Jack took a deep breath. “If you say one more word against my wife, or do anything to harm her or her reputation, I won’t be responsible for my actions. Is that clear?”

  “Mm.” Sulking, she twisted her hands together in her lap, staring down at them.

  Jack stood up. “Look at me! Is that clear?”

  Genevieve returned his stare defiantly. “Yes! Yes, it’s clear. But don’t come to me later, when you’ve seen that I’m right, and beg for another chance!”

  Walking toward the door, he said over his shoulder in icy tones, “I’ll have Elijah drive you home. Do not rejoin the party.”

  * * *

  When the last guest had departed, Ambrose discovered his grandson in the parlor, gazing pensively into the dying fire.

  “I’d say that the party was a success, in spite of everything,” the old man murmured. “After you sent Miss Braithwaite home, I thought you and Katie did an excellent job of repairing the damage she tried to do.”

  Jack smiled bleakly. “People seemed to understand that Genevieve was acting out of jealousy, and Kathleen is so obviously genuine that our guests couldn’t help being charmed by her. She went right on with the party as if Genevieve didn’t matter. Kathleen won them over simply by being herself.”

  “Your support counted for a great deal, my boy,” Ambrose assured him. “And now that they’ve all gone home, Katie might welcome some personal attention. She’s organizing the cleanup with Mrs. Gosling. Why don’t you lend her a hand?”

  Jack’s white tie was already loosened, and now he unfastened his starched collar and sighed. “I already tried. Kathleen doesn’t seem to want anything to do with me. To be honest, Grandfather, I’m afraid I waited too long to tell her how I feel, to show her how much I love her. She’s been drawing away from me for a long time, and that scene with Genevieve tonight may have killed whatever feelings she had left for me....”

  Ambrose frowned. “Nonsense.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen the way she looked at me.” He stripped off his tailcoat, slung it over the back of one of the new velvet chairs, and walked to the sideboard. Pulling the stopper from a decanter of brandy, he sloshed some of the liquor into a glass.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Having a drink.” He returned to the fire and stared into the glass.

  “Don’t be a fool, boy. That brandy’s not going to help you! Only you can fix this problem, and you need to start this very moment. Go to her and tell her how you feel! Do you expect her to be able to read your mind? Hasn’t it occurred to you that she might be as confused as you are? For God’s sake—”

  Jack threw the glass into the fireplace, splashing brandy and shattering the crystal over the flames. Bracing himself against the mantel, he let his eyes rest upon the crèche, and Katie’s words came back to him. Fears replaced by courage, she had said.... “All right,” he whispered. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Come over here for a moment,” Ambrose ordered gruffly. He embraced Jack with all his might and muttered, “I’m proud of you, and I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Grandfather. Wish me luck.”

  Crossing the hall, Jack found that there were only two kitchen maids removing the last of the food. They told him that Mrs. Wyatt had just retired for the night. He ran lightly up the stairs, then turned the corners of the hallway until he saw Katie passing the door to his bedroom. Carrying her shoes in one hand and holding her skirts with the other, she looked so small and vulnerable.

  “Kathleen.”

  She stopped but did not look back.

  Jack came up behind her. “I’d like to talk to you.”

  “I’m very tired.” Katie lifted eyes clouded with pain to meet his.

  “Please, just give me a few minutes. It’s important.” He opened the door to his room and gestured for her to precede him. She bit her lip doubtfully but entered. Elijah had lighted a fire and turned back the covers on the bed to reveal two plump, inviting pillows. Turning her back on the bed, Katie stood stiffly in the middle of the magnificent Turkey carpet, waiting. Jack
approached but stopped a few feet away, and when she looked at his face, she found it different somehow. His eyes and mouth looked more boyish, unguarded, and hopeful than Katie had ever seen them before.

  “I’m sorry about the way the party turned out,” Jack said.

  She blinked back tears. “So am I.”

  “I know how much it meant to you—”

  “Well, I think that the guests certainly had a good time, and that was most important.” Her chin trembled. “I’m so very tired. Was that what you wanted to say to me?”

  “Please... won’t you sit down with me?” Jack led Katie over to the bed and perched next to her on the edge, holding her cold hands. “I have to tell you that... I love you, Kathleen. I love you and I need you. It’s taken me a long time to realize just how strong my feelings are, but that’s my fault, not yours. If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll try to be a husband to you in every sense of the word, in every way that you long for.” Bending his head, he kissed her fingers. “Tell me that I haven’t waited too long.”

  Katie began to weep. “Oh, Jack, I just think that Genevieve Braithwaite may be right after all. I don’t think I can ever be the wife that you deserve, and I can’t change the person that I am. It would have been better if you’d married someone who was born to this life. I’ll always be doing things like inviting the wrong people and speaking my mind at the wrong time and—”

  “But that’s what I want!” he said hoarsely. “I want you, just the way you are—”

  “You wanted to get away from me tonight, after she told everyone about my past, and then Yong and Choy came. Weren’t you embarrassed? Isn’t that why you left? Everyone was whispering during the time you and Miss Braithwaite were off alone together, whispering that you and she—”

  Jack took a snowy linen handkerchief from his breast pocket and gently dried her tears. “Kathleen, my love, nothing could be more ludicrous, and I think you know that. I feel nothing but contempt for Genevieve, and I made that clear to her tonight. The only reason I took her to the study was to make certain she understood that her little scheme wouldn’t work. I told her that I love you and would not tolerate another word spoken against you. Then I sent her home.” Tenderly he kissed Katie’s brow and stroked her hair. “I could never be embarrassed by anything you say or do. On the other hand, I was embarrassed tonight to think that my name had ever been linked with Genevieve Braithwaite’s.”