Heart of Glass

by Jill Marie Landis

  “I’ve heard the rumors.” Kate feigned nonchalance. “They’re nothing but gossip, and I’ll take no stock in them until I’ve seen Colin Delany for myself.” Who knew what state Colin might be in? She hadn’t laid eyes on him since before he went off to war.

  If rumors were to be believed, Colin was no longer the dashing, confident young man who had enlisted with his father and gone off to fight for the Confederacy.

  “You’re obsessed with the place,” Myra grumbled. “Much as you are with him.”

  That much was true. Kate’s heart had broken the first time she’d witnessed the neglect and decay that threatened to ruin the place beyond salvation. From that day until now she had labored over the reconstruction plans.

  “This isn’t just about Belle Fleuve or Colin.” Kate never tired of defending her vision. She blinked away tears. “It’s about how good the Delanys were to me, about how they opened their home and their hearts to me. My childhood would have been terribly empty without them. Besides, if Colin is as bad off as they say, then it’s my Christian duty to help him.”

  Surely Colin would appreciate all the work she’d done, the details and effort she had put into the drawings. After all, it was his father, Patrick, who’d inspired her love of architecture.

  But according to the rumors, Colin had sequestered himself from the world. What if he refused to give her permission to begin?

  Kate took a deep breath and reached up to be sure her hat was secure.

  Let him try to stop me.

  “Did you just say something?” Myra raised her voice over the crunch and clatter of carriage wheels against the oyster-shell drive.

  “I don’t think so.” At least Kate hoped not.

  “Wouldn’t y’ know it? It looks about to rain.” Myra stared at the sky.

  The carriage turned onto an allee, an arcade of ancient live oaks flanking a narrow lane that led to the wide front gallery of the mansion at Belle Fleuve. Kate had instructed the driver to pull up near the garçonnière next door.

  As the carriage rolled past the main house, Kate slid a finger beneath her spectacles and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. It never failed to upset her — the terrible condition of this once impeccable, glorious house.

  The first time she’d witnessed the toll the war had taken on Belle Fleuve had been four years earlier. She had just returned to New Orleans from an extended stay abroad and settled into her mother’s townhouse. She then went directly to Belle Fleuve. Her Irish temper had flared the moment she saw the odious notice nailed to the front door: Auction Due to Failure to Pay Back Taxes.

  Kate had ripped down the offending poster and immediately returned to the city. She’d marched into the tax office and used funds from her inheritance to pay the back taxes on Belle Fleuve, but with the stipulation that she remain anonymous. On the very day she ripped up the foreclosure notice, she had vowed to see the place restored to its former glory.

  The passage of time had only added to the decay. Even more windows were broken. Finely carved woodwork was rotted. Gallery railings were splintered and missing. Inside, shredded wall coverings and crumbling stucco exposed interior walls constructed of Spanish moss and sand — bousillage entre poteaux, as the French called them.

  Her vision was needed now more than ever.

  When the carriage suddenly stopped Kate forgot all about the state of the house. Colin was home. How would he receive her? She’d grown up since they’d seen each other last. In a moment or two she would be looking into his eyes again, hearing his voice. Her gloved hand trembled. Kate tightened it around the plans, then tried to relax.

  Myra touched the sleeve of Kate’s short-waisted violet cloak as they waited for the driver to open the door.

  “You know there’s no shame in turnin’ back,” Myra whispered.

  “Everything is going to be fine. You’ll see.” Kate smiled at her longtime travel companion and friend. There was no room for fear or doubt here. “I’m not one to back down. Don’t you worry. Everything will soon be right as rain.”

  The minute she mentioned the word rain, huge drops began to spatter against the roof of the carriage and the air filled with the scent of damp earth. Kate glanced up at the low, angry clouds. The sky was about to open up.

  The driver hopped down, pulled his collar up around his ears, and looked put out as he opened the door. He stepped aside so Kate could exit. She pressed the roll of drawings against her bodice, hunched her shoulders around them protectively, and ran for the door of the garçonnière.

  Halfway there she noticed another vehicle on the drive. A scuffed, covered buggy was parked beneath a tree not far away. A Negro driver with his hat pulled low was perched on the high-sprung seat. He watched Kate’s progress in silence.

  Hugging the plans, pressing close to the door of the garçonnière, Kate reached for the weathered brass knocker. Before she could grab the ring, the door flew open. Kate stared at a tall, redheaded woman who was apparently just as shocked to see Kate standing there as Kate was to see her. The woman stepped out and slammed the door behind her.

  Standing toe to toe with the stranger, Kate inhaled an overpowering scent of cheap perfume. The woman’s hair was a garish shade of henna, her cheeks dusted with bright-pink rouge, her lips carmine. Dark kohl outlined her small, close-set eyes. A slim, painted brow slowly arched above her left eye as she studied Kate. Then a slow smirk curled her upper lip.

  “Good luck with that one, honey.” The frowzy redhead indicated the door behind her with a toss of her hennaed head. She looked Kate over from head to toe and barked a harsh laugh. “He’ll chew you up and spit you out in no time.”

  With that, the fancy piece stepped around Kate and ran for the safety of the buggy. The woman scrambled aboard and the vehicle started down the drive. Refusing to let the odious creature shake her confidence, Kate wiped raindrops off the lenses of her spectacles with a gloved finger and raised her hand to knock again. When there was no answer, she twisted the knob and cracked open the door.

  “Colin?” Kate held her breath in anticipation. Inside her gloves, her palms were damp.

  When there was no answer, she pushed the door open another fraction of an inch.

  “I said get out!” The hoarse shout was followed by a deep growl. Something heavy slammed into the door, crashed against the floor, and shattered.

  Kate stood tall and quickly thrust the door open. Broken pieces of a ceramic vase crunched beneath her sturdy traveling boots as she stepped inside. Across the room, a tall, lean man, fully clothed but barefooted, was stretched out across a narrow bed. His thick, wavy, black hair reached past his shoulders. The lower half of his face was hidden beneath a heavy beard and moustache.

  He bore little resemblance to the young man with the ready smile and deep laugh, the man who never would have wallowed in such a state of dishevelment. His once-bright eyes were glassy, his full lips hidden behind his shaggy beard. Kate’s fantasy was shattered in that very instant. A bittersweet ache filled her soul. The Colin Delany she knew was gone and in his place was this broken, angry remnant of a man.

  Paralyzed with shock, Kate stared at him. The task she’d set for herself was too great. No doubt she could save the house, but Colin? Was he beyond redemption?

  With one leg stiffly extended, he stretched as far as he could but his hand fell just shy of an oil lamp on the bedside table. No doubt if he reached it, he had every intention of hurling it at her. Not exactly the welcome she had imagined.

  “Colin, stop!”

  At the sound of his name, he drew back and his head whipped around. He skewed her with a cold, fathomless stare. Dark shadows stained the skin beneath his deep-set black eyes. The slightest movement caused him to wince in pain. His dark eyes bored into hers, and then when he finally realized she was not the woman who had just left, something between a rusty laugh and a snarl escaped him.

  “You’re not my type either,” he rasped. “So get.”

  Shielding the architectura
l plans, Kate stepped closer to the bed. Determined to give him a piece of her mind, she was careful to remain out of reach. Her heart faltered when she noticed a cane propped against a bedside table littered with a tray of uneaten food and a half-empty brown bottle of laudanum.

  The pieces fell into place. What he must have suffered suddenly came clear.

  Her heart ached for him, for the past. This time she barely whispered, “Colin, it’s me. Kate. Katie Keene.”

  Katie Keene.

  Colin stared through a laudanum-induced haze at the bespectacled young woman clutching a roll of paper. Was he hallucinating or was she real?

  She was a far cry from the wench who had brazenly shown up earlier willing to do anything for a price. This one was no bigger than a minute and modestly turned out in an expensive traveling ensemble.

  Her initial shock had faded. Now she appeared to be carefully studying him from behind her spectacles, her features shaded by the brim of a small hat jauntily poised atop thick hair of rich, dark brown.

  His gaze swept from the lace around her high collar to the toes of her rain-spattered boots before returning to her face. Behind small wire glasses, her intense blue-eyed gaze never wavered. Something about her silent perusal forced him to search through long-forgotten memories. He knew this young woman but he had no idea how.

  Katie Keene. Suddenly he was assailed with painful flashes of recollection, memories of giggles and crinolines, hoop skirts with cascades of ruffles, pleas for his time and attention. He pictured his sister, Amelie, and remembered.

  Katie Keene. His little sister’s best friend.

  His eyes narrowed. Colin tried intimidation with a cold stare. She had nerves of steel, he’d grant her that. She hadn’t budged an inch, nor did she appear to be frightened of him. Clutching that long roll of papers, she was dug in; Katie Keene wasn’t going anywhere.

  Or so she thought, but he didn’t care who she was.

  No, the truth was he cared too much because she had known him before. He wanted no witness to what he had become. She was too painful a reminder of a life that vanished long ago.

  He wanted her out. “Leave, Katie Keene, and don’t come back.”

  She lifted her stubborn chin.

  “It’s Kate now, and I’ll not go until I’ve had my say.”

  “Nothing you have to say interests me.”

  “Oh, I think it might.” She dared to take a step closer.

  He made another attempt to grab the lamp until searing hot pain shot from his ruined ankle to his groin. He turned a groan into a growl, hoping to frighten her away.

  “Oh, Colin—” Concern stained her blue eyes. She took another step forward.

  He held up his hand. “Stop right there. Don’t you dare come any closer.”

  Thankfully, she halted.

  “I want you out.” He didn’t need her help or her pity. He needed her gone.

  For a second he thought she was going to comply. Instead she glanced around and walked over to a wooden chair beside a drop-leaf table. She pulled the chair to the center of the room, stopping just out of his reach.

  Late summer rain spattered hard against the windowpane behind him. This dismal day was proving to be even more tedious than all the other miserable days he had suffered of late. Kate Keene was apparently determined to make this one the very worst.

  As she perched on the edge of the caned chair, she carefully positioned the long, rolled pages of newsprint on her knees. Then, acting as if he hadn’t just bellowed at her to leave, she took a deep breath and started talking.

  “The minute I heard you were home I came to help.”

  “I don’t need or want help. Yours or anyone else’s.”

  “You may not want my help but it appears you need it. And Belle Fleuve needs me. The place is in total ruin, and I can assure you that I’m just the one to manage the restoration. Thanks to your father’s inspiration, I’ve spent years educating myself and am now an architect. I don’t pretend to be as talented as he was, but I know Patrick Delany would have wanted someone who truly cares about the house to bring it back to its former glory. I spent part of the war in Boston and afterward I went to Ireland where I studied …”

  In seconds she had worked up a full head of steam, unaware that he was in excruciating pain. He didn’t care who or what inspired her any more than he cared about restoring the house to its former glory. The place was in complete shambles, just like the entire South. So was he, for that matter.

  What he did want was for her to leave him to his misery. Pain weakened his resolve to end his dependence. He was in dire need of a hefty dose of laudanum and her blathering on about living in Ireland and studying architecture on her own only made things worse.

  “Miss Keene, I have no intention of restoring this place.” Not even if I had the money. Not even then.

  His words shocked her into silence — but unfortunately only for a moment.

  “Of course you are going to restore Belle Fleuve. You must.”

  “Why?” He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

  Taken aback, she blinked her magnified owl eyes.

  “Why? Because it’s your home. Because it’s … historic and magnificent. I mean, it was magnificent and it can be again. I have designs that will make it so.” She shrugged. “I’ll admit I’ve made a few changes and additions, but I assure you they will not ruin the integrity of the original colonial design. The adjustments I’ve made take into account the needs of not only the home’s occupants, but the staff.”

  Staff? His meager savings was almost gone. He had nothing left to spend on anything but food and payment to the former slave who cooked for him in exchange for lodging for her and her husband.

  Kate Keene began to untie the thin black ribbon wound around the drawings.

  “Don’t bother, Miss Keene.” He willed her to listen. “I have no intention of living in that house ever again. I’d be rid of it in a heartbeat if I could find someone to take it off my hands. If I hadn’t enlisted in the army after the war and exchanged a gray uniform for Union blue, I’d have lost possession of this land years ago.”

  She opened her mouth and surprised him by snapping it shut again. Her cheeks were on fire.

  He was elated to see her apparently struggling for words, but she didn’t struggle long enough.

  “You can’t be serious about selling.”

  His unkempt appearance, his surly attitude, his rudeness, even the threat of flying missiles had not stunned Kate Keene as deeply as the declaration that he couldn’t care less and wanted to be rid of Belle Fleuve.

  “This is your home, Colin, your heritage. Your ancestors are buried here.”

  “I look forward to the day it’s no longer mine,” he reiterated. “I have no use for this place anymore. It’s not worth the paper the deed is written on.”

  As far as he was concerned, the grand, pillared mansion was nothing but a tomb that housed memories of halcyon days faded to a cloudy dream. His father and mother had passed on years ago, victims of the war.

  “What about Amelie? What if she comes back looking for you?”

  Would he ever lay eyes on his sister again? He had no notion of her whereabouts or if she was even still alive.

  “There’s no need for you to live like this.” She waved her hand indicating the interior of his small dwelling. “You could move into the house if we make a few basic repairs.”

  “I have no desire to move back in there.” He doubted he could travel the length of the narrow walk that connected the garçonnière to the mansion even if he wanted to face the memories locked inside those walls. His gaze slipped to the laudanum bottle and then back to meet hers.

  Kate Keene’s sharp eyes became calculating.

  “I’m tired, Miss Keene. Please do me a favor and leave.”

  She formed her words slowly, as if choosing them very carefully.

  “Even if I wanted to, Colin, I owe it to Amelie and your parents to not leave you in this state.
Obviously, you need far more help than I ever imagined. I feel it’s my Christian duty to stay on.”

  Astounded, he forgot his injury and was forced to clamp his jaw against a shout of pain when he tried to sit up. He closed his eyes and waited for the intense throbbing that snaked from his shattered ankle all the way up his leg to recede. Finally, he managed a shuddering breath.

  “Stay on? There is no way in h—”

  She cut him off with a quick wave of her gloved hand. “There is no need to be vulgar. I can see that you are in no mood to discuss this today. Perhaps in the morning you’ll be more receptive.”

  “In the morning?” He couldn’t believe her audacity.

  Miss Keene rose very slowly, taking great care in handling her plans. Then she made a show of shaking out her skirt before she returned the chair to its original location. Moving back to the center of the room, she paused, her long-lashed lids fluttering behind her spectacles.

  Then Miss Katherine Keene smiled a very slow, extremely irritating smile.

  Either he had gone completely mad or she was insane.

  “Please try to understand. There’s no way I’m leaving you like this, Colin.” Her words were laced with Southern syrup and a hint of something more. “I’ll send my companion back to town for our things and find some way to make myself comfortable for the night. We’ll have the house livable in no time. You’ll see. You simply can’t stay holed up out here like this.” She gazed around at the dingy paint and cracked plaster walls and shook her head. “It’s depressing. No wonder you feel so terrible.”

  Colin shoved the fingers of both hands through his hair, held his head, and gritted his teeth.

  He pinned her with a hard, cold stare. “You are not wanted or needed here. Turn yourself around, go back to New Orleans, and don’t come back.”

  Kate walked slowly to the door, crunching across the broken vase as if it weren’t there. Before she reached for the knob, she carefully turned to face him again. Her tone was laced with softness, but there was no denying her determination.