Jeremiah came in behind her and draped his overcoat on his left arm, apparently deciding he wouldn’t need it. “We’re just going next door,” he explained. Then he offered her his free arm, and she felt compelled to take it. Well, that wasn’t so bad; at least she’d walked with him this way before. And, as he’d said, they were only going one house over.
Even so, the air was chilly enough against her face, promising another hard frost that night. Without speaking, Jeremiah took her down the front path and over to the cleared dirt that passed for a sidewalk, and back up the walkway that led to his own front porch.
Like Emma’s house, his was a big wood-framed structure, not quite big enough to be called a mansion, but certainly imposing enough, with its multiple chimneys and overhanging gables. A lot of room for a man and his son, plus a couple of servants, but Danica knew practicality probably didn’t have a lot to do with the choices made in building the house. It had been designed to show off its owner’s wealth.
When they went inside, she saw that the décor wasn’t all that different from what she’d seen in Emma’s place. Maybe more burgundy and dark green than green and gold, but still, it had the same feel. Had she helped Jeremiah to decorate it? Danica wasn’t exactly sure of the timeline when it came to his two civilian wives. Obviously, Nizhoni was long gone before this house had been built, but maybe Mrs. Adams’ niece or the wife before her had a hand in its decoration.
“Let us go into the study,” Jeremiah said quietly. He led her from the foyer into a large room off to one side, where a fire crackled in the stone hearth. The stone looked local, but the carved mahogany mantel must have been shipped in from someplace back east.
And while the room appeared pleasant and welcoming enough, with the cheery fire and the shelves of books and the mess of papers on the desktop, Danica couldn’t help experiencing a chill as Jeremiah shut the double doors behind them.
“I fear that Jacob is overly inquisitive,” he said by way of explanation, no doubt noticing the nervous flicker of her eyes toward those closed doors. “He should be in bed by now, but his nanny has a tendency to doze off, and then he slips out of his room more often than not.”
This revelation didn’t particularly surprise her. Yes, Jacob was a very good student, but he also seemed to be ruled by his own whims, whims that didn’t always coincide with what was considered proper.
“Of course,” she murmured.
“Please, sit down,” Jeremiah said, gesturing toward a mahogany chair with a seat and back of striped silk. Its mate sat only a few feet away, a marble-topped table between them. On that table was a decanter of some dark liquid. Port, possibly.
Danica hoped he wouldn’t offer her any. Between the two glasses of wine she’d had with dinner and the whiskey sauce on the bread pudding, she already felt a little off.
But not so off that she didn’t really, really wish she could be just about anyplace other than here.
Then he did say, “A small glass of port?”
She shook her head at once. “No, thank you. I fear your sister’s whiskey sauce was stronger than I’d anticipated, and I haven’t much experience with drinking port.” After making that reply, she did settle herself in the chair he’d indicated, since remaining standing would have seemed rude.
Smiling, he took a seat as well. Danica noticed that he didn’t reach for the port himself, as if deciding to abstain since she wouldn’t be having any. What would be the demure thing to do here? Fold her hands in her lap and wait for him to speak, since he was the one who’d requested this meeting in the first place?
That sounded like the best plan.
So she folded her hands and look over at him with an expression of what she hoped was mildly interested anticipation.
He seemed to take that as his cue, because he said, “I do realize, Miss Prewitt, that my invitation must have seemed somewhat irregular to you.”
Danica lifted her shoulders. Yes, it was irregular, or at least by the mores of the current time period, but she wasn’t about to admit that. Hoping she sounded calm, she replied, “I can understand that some topics might be too sensitive to be discussed in front of the rest of your family.”
Her words seemed to relax Jeremiah. He leaned against the back of his seat, even as he nodded. “Thank you for understanding, Miss Prewitt.”
“Eliza,” Danica said then, although she wasn’t quite sure what had prompted her to make that particular offering. Noting his look of surprise, she added, “After all, if we are to have private discourse, then we might as well do so on a first-name basis, don’t you think?”
A nod, and the beginnings of a smile around the corners of his mouth. Damn. If he wasn’t her great-great-etc.-granduncle…and if she’d never met Robert Rowe…Danica realized she might have harbored some impure thoughts about this man. Jeremiah said, “Well, thank you, Eliza. I do appreciate the gesture.” He paused for a few seconds, then went on, “Do you realize the risks you’re taking, associating with Mr. Rowe?”
So there it was. Clearly, Edmund had gone straight to his brother with that particular piece of intelligence, even though he couldn’t have seen her doing anything except having a private conversation in the aspen grove. Fighting the sudden dryness in her mouth, Danica said, “I wasn’t aware I was taking any risks at all. Our meeting was a chance one. I’d gone up there to gather leaves — ”
“For your garlands, yes,” Jeremiah broke in. “A useful excuse, I would imagine, for those times when you desired some privacy. But when I see a witch new to my territory associating with a warlock who has no affiliation with my clan, I have to wonder.”
It took a second or two for Jeremiah’s words to sink in. But then Danica blinked. “Warlock”? But Robert’s talent was to hide his witch nature from others of his kind. How could Jeremiah Wilcox have possibly detected his origins?
“You appear surprised,” Jeremiah said. “That is understandable. But you should know that I realized who Robert Rowe was as soon as he entered Flagstaff’s town limits.”
That revelation was so positively flummoxing that Danica could only stare at the Wilcox primus, unable to formulate a cogent reply. So if Jeremiah had known who Robert was all along….
Somehow managing to find her voice, she said, “I’m not quite sure what you mean.”
“Oh, yes, you do, even if you don’t wish to acknowledge the fact. Mr. Rowe came here from New England, and it did not take that much effort to put those pieces of the puzzle together.”
“But….” Danica let her words trail off. Could she challenge Jeremiah by revealing that she knew the particulars of Robert’s gift, that his gift should have camouflaged his true nature from Jeremiah Wilcox and anyone of witch-blood in his immediate vicinity? Letting slip that particular fact would probably make matters worse.
Another one of those half-smiles. “Eliza, as primus, I have many gifts, chief of which is the ability to detect interlopers in my territory, even if otherwise their natures should have been hidden to me. Mr. Rowe has the unmistakable scent about him of those holier-than-thou witches back in New England. Granted, he is too young to have been one of the gang who actually drove my family from our home territory, but I knew upon first meeting him that he was connected to them somehow.”
“So…why didn’t you do anything about it?”
“To what end? You know as well as I do, Eliza, that to initiate any kind of open conflict with others of witch-blood is to attract the scrutiny of outsiders. We clans may have our differences, but we all adhere to one code, a code which dictates that our survival is contingent on remaining hidden, on making sure that those who don’t possess magical powers are never able to discover our true selves.”
Recalling what Robert had told her about the Wilcoxes on that particular subject, Danica said, “So why the displays in Connecticut? If you knew doing so would attract the scrutiny of outsiders — ”
Jeremiah lifted a hand, and she subsided. Tone heavy, he said, “I see that Robert has told you so
mething of the reasons for our being here. Yes, there was some…experimentation…occurring. But I will also assert that it would not have attracted the attention of those without magical powers, since we took care to hold our ‘experiments’ in the remote woods where no one could observe us. The reactions of the Winfield elders, and those in the greater New England area, were certainly not proportionate to our crime, if you could even call it that.”
For a few seconds, Danica said nothing. What Jeremiah had just told her didn’t seem to jibe with Robert’s explanations of the events that had driven the Wilcox clan from Connecticut. Which was the truth — Robert’s story, or Jeremiah’s?
As with most conundrums like this, she guessed the truth lay somewhere in the middle. Also, Robert had taken the Wilcox attack on the Winfield elders more personally than he otherwise might, since his grandfather had been among those injured. Not to excuse what Jeremiah had done, but Robert couldn’t exactly be called impartial here, either.
“Perhaps not,” she said, knowing she’d paused too long to answer. “I wasn’t there, so I find it difficult to comment one way or another. But Mr. Wilcox — ”
“Jeremiah.”
She took in a breath. “Very well…Jeremiah. I understand that you are a trustee for the school here, but I was not informed that such a position gave you the right to make inquiries about my private life, even if that might involve interactions with a warlock from a clan you have no reason to think kindly of.”
A long silence followed that remark. Jeremiah watched her carefully, the firelight reflecting in the depths of those dark, dark eyes. At last he said, voice quiet, “Do you truly believe it’s because I’m a trustee that I have these concerns?”
Damn. Damn. There it was, the issue she’d been trying to dance around almost the entire time she’d been here. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she began, but he shook his head.
“I think you do, Eliza. And to see you sharing company with a man like Robert Rowe — ”
“Oh, because you’re the far superior option?” she retorted, feeling wounded on Robert’s behalf. Realizing how awful her rejoinder had sounded, she hurried on, “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. But surely I’ve done nothing to give you the impression that I was interested, have I?”
“No,” he said, that one word sounding as heavy as lead. Right then, he looked more weary than upset. “Do you want to know the truth, Eliza? When you came to Flagstaff, and I saw that you were witch-kind, too, I thought you must be a gift from God. I did not dare become interested in another woman who wasn’t one of us, not after what happened with Miss Baker and Miss Terrell. But perhaps another witch….”
“Because things went so well with Nizhoni?” Danica snapped. Yes, what the curse had done to him was terrible, but those innocent women had suffered far worse fates, through no fault of their own, except having the bad luck to marry Jeremiah Wilcox.
At once his dark brows drew together, and his fingers tightened on the knees of his black woolen trousers. “How do you know about that?”
Oh, crap. Come to think of it, no one had said much of anything about Jeremiah’s Navajo “wife.” Did the good people of Flagstaff think it better to ignore his bad taste in consorting with a Native American woman? Danica didn’t know for sure, but she did know she had to do her best to fix this.
“I — people talk, you know,” she said lamely. “Perhaps a few did try to warn me.”
“Robert Rowe among them?” Jeremiah asked, a certain glitter in his eyes that she didn’t like very much.
“What difference does it make? All I can say is that is doesn’t seem very…fair…for you to take such risks, when you know what the probable outcome will be.”
For a long moment, he didn’t reply. The fire crackled away in the background, sounding far too cheery, considering the palpable tension in the room. Then he pushed himself up out of his chair, the movement so sudden that Danica couldn’t keep herself from startling.
“Fair?” he said, voice hard. “Is it fair to expect my boy to live without a mother? Certainly he is an innocent, even if my late wife thought I was not.”
Anguish thrummed in every syllable. Maybe it wasn’t wise, but Danica couldn’t keep herself from standing as well, and then went to him so she could place a hand on his arm.
“No, it’s not fair,” she said quietly. “Perhaps you won’t believe me, but I do feel for your son, for your situation. But….” Stopping then, she made herself look up into his face, to register the disappointment there. His pain hurt her more than she’d imagined, seeing it so close. But even if she hadn’t been his relative, she knew she couldn’t do anything to change the way things were. His story would have to play out, so the future could remain unchanged. She gave his arm the faintest squeeze, then let go. “But I can’t be what you need me to be.”
Jeremiah gave a nod so faint that she might not have even noticed it if she hadn’t been watching him closely. “I understand.”
Stepping away, she murmured, “I’ll just let myself out.”
Before he could say anything else, she moved quickly toward the double doors to the study, then opened the right-hand one and stepped into the foyer. Her cloak and hat still waited for her at the hall tree, and she put them on in some haste, getting the hat crooked. Like that should matter. As she made her way to the front door, the faintest creak from the staircase made her pause and look back.
Jacob Wilcox stood there, watching her with somber dark eyes. God, he hadn’t heard that whole exchange, had he?
“Jacob — ” she began, but he turned and ran up the stairs, bare feet pattering over the wooden boards.
The world seemed to blur before her eyes. Danica blinked back her tears as best she could. After all, she couldn’t fix this. She didn’t seem able to fix anything.
Then she opened the door and bolted out into the night, not caring if anyone should see her running like a madwoman away from Jeremiah Wilcox’s house.
Let them think what they wanted.
18
Was there ever such a long, dreadful Thursday? Danica wasn’t sure; she just knew that every minute felt like an hour, and every hour a whole day. Sleep had eluded her for half the night, it seemed, and even when she did manage to fall into a fitful doze, she was haunted by nightmares of being chased, or worse, being trapped in a dark room with no windows and no doors, where she beat on the walls and screamed until her voice failed her, but no one ever came to answer her cries for help.
Even judicious use of her lip and cheek stain only barely kept her looking like death warmed over the next morning. Luckily, Clara was chattering away about the piece of land Elias had just bought, and the house he planned to build on it — the intimation being he would propose in the very near future — and so she didn’t seem to notice anything wrong with her housemate. Mrs. Wilson’s eyes were far more sharp, and narrowed as they took in Danica’s appearance, but she didn’t say anything, only set a cup of coffee in front of her before going back to the stove to dish up some eggs and bacon.
The coffee helped a little, at least enough to give Danica the energy to gather up the basket with her lunch and the students’ graded compositions, then head out the door. Her destination wasn’t the school, however; instead, she walked as calmly as she could to the Hotel San Francisco and went straight to the front desk.
At that hour of the morning, none of the hotel’s guests seemed to be up and about yet. Maybe they had all had a gaudy night at the saloon next door. Even the man standing at the desk blinked bleary eyes at her. He looked like he could have used a cup of Mrs. Wilson’s coffee.
The evening before, Danica had written Robert a note, then folded it into a very small square and secured it with a blob of wax. Maybe it was crazy, contacting him this way, but she was feeling desperate. Her rejection of Jeremiah the night before might have been enough to keep the Wilcox brothers out of her business…maybe not. She had no idea whether he would even have confided in them. All she did know was th
at she had to let Robert understand what was going on.
Dear Robert, I fear I might have angered Mr. Jeremiah Wilcox last night, but it couldn’t be helped. They know something of what has been going on between the two of us…or at the very least they suspect it…and I’m not sure what we should do next. Please come by the school tomorrow at four. I’ll pretend to be staying late and grading papers, as usual.
~Eliza
Should she have signed her name? At this point, the cat seemed to be pretty much out of the bag, so Danica supposed it really didn’t matter one way or another.
Especially now, when she was being so bold as to walk into the lobby of the Hotel San Francisco, completely unescorted.
Coolly, hoping it would seem as if what she was doing wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, she told the front desk clerk as she handed over the note, “Could you please make sure this gets to Mr. Rowe?”
The man blinked at her, then nodded. “Sure thing, Miss Prewitt.”
Of course he would know her name. So much for hoping for anonymity.
“Thank you,” she replied, forcing herself to smile. “Much obliged to you.”
The man smiled at her in return, but there was something all too knowing in his expression, as if he knew the folded piece of paper must contain something a little more intimate than a mere thank-you. At any rate, she couldn’t allow herself to stop and worry about it, since she had to get to the school and open the classroom. By that point it was nearly a quarter to eight.
And then what seemed like an eternity of spelling words and geography and history, although after lunch Danica’s energy seemed to desert her almost entirely, and she assigned a composition about Halloween, asking her students to write about their favorite part of the holiday. That got them scratching away — obviously, even kids in 1884 loved Halloween — and it allowed her to more or less collapse at her desk and watch them write.
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