Silken Dreams

by Bingham, Lisa

  “I need to see Ethan McGuire.”

  “He’s not being allowed any visitors.”

  “It’s important that I see him.”

  “Not important enough.”

  “Jacob would let me see him.”

  “No, Miss Lettie. He wouldn’t.”

  Lettie tried to keep her voice calm, but a small measure of her desperation seeped through. “You’ve got to let me in, Rusty.”

  “No, Miss Lettie, I don’t.”

  Lettie resisted the urge to stamp her foot in frustration, whirling instead to glare out the window. A few clumps of men still stared at the jailhouse with hollow eyes, or argued and gestured toward each other in evident fury.

  Lettie wrapped her arms around her waist in an effort to still the panic that welled within her. But she kept butting head-on with the certainty that something was brewing in Madison. Something more than a simple arrest and trial. Somehow, she knew other forces were at work. Forces that wouldn’t rest until Ethan McGuire was dead.

  Turning, she tried again. “Rusty, you don’t understand. I have to see him.” Her voice grew husky, and she cleared her throat, despising the telltale weakness. “I have to see him, talk to him. Please.”

  Rusty shifted his weight and glanced down at his hands. At the first sign that she might be making headway, Lettie pushed her pride aside and begged, “Please, please let me in.”

  Once again, Rusty straightened. “No.”

  “If you don’t, I’ll tell Jacob about that night you fell asleep on duty. Or the time you came in out of the rain and—”

  “Aw, Lettie, you know I can’t let you in. You know what your brother would do to me.”

  “He’ll never know.”

  Rusty clenched his jaw and stared at a point beyond her shoulder. “No.”

  Lettie closed her eyes and allowed the mask of control she’d worn up to date to fall. “They’re going to kill him, Rusty. Please…” Her voice cracked.

  “Lettie?”

  “Lettie!”

  The Beasleys burst through the jailhouse door, but Lettie ignored them. “You have to let me in, Rusty. I love that man in there, and I couldn’t bear it if time were to slip away without my being with him any minute possible.”

  “Aw, Lettie,” Rusty moaned.

  Alma and Amelia Beasley bustled up beside her, taking her by the arms as if Lettie were going to faint and needed their support. “Rusty Janson, what in the world are you thinking of, being this heartless to a woman in her condition? Can’t you see she’s—”

  “In the family way,” Amelia whispered.

  Both Lettie and Rusty glanced at the women in surprise, but Alma plunged on. “The last thing she needs right now is a shock. Landsakes! Haven’t you got the brains God gave a piss ant?”

  Rusty’s eyes darted from Lettie’s face, to her stomach, to her face, then a point above her shoulder.

  “I—I didn’t know.”

  “Well of course you didn’t. You’re only a man.”

  “But I—”

  “A heartless man, keeping this girl away from—well, I can’t even say it. It’s simply too cruel.”

  “Too, too cruel,” Amelia echoed.

  “Never in all my born days have I seen anyone so wicked.”

  “And heartless!”

  “I said that, Amelia.”

  “It deserves saying again.”

  “How true.” Alma threw a fulminating glare in his direction. “This girl carries that man’s child, Rusty. Don’t you think a man deserves to know about a thing like that before he’s taken away?”

  “You… you…” Amelia balled her hands into fists, unable to come up with a suitable insult. “You man!”

  Alma’s head bobbed in a fierce nod of approval.

  Rusty swallowed nervously. “But if someone should see—”

  “No one will see. Landsakes, this is a jailhouse, not a hotel. Surely you can keep any unwanted intruders away.”

  “But Jacob—”

  “You leave Jacob to us.”

  “Yes, to us.”

  “We’ll see he stays put right where he is.”

  “Yes, we’ll see.”

  “Well…”

  “You just keep everyone out and give these youngsters some privacy.”

  “Privacy.”

  “No one needs to come in, except for the clergy.”

  “Clergy!” Rusty shouted. “What in the hell for?”

  “We’ve got to give that child a legal name! Even if its father is a criminal—not that I’m saying he is.”

  Rusty finally threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine. Fine! Have one of them soi-rees up there, for all I care. Just keep it quiet so’s Jacob doesn’t find out.”

  Spinning on his toes, Rusty stamped toward the door that led up to the cells. Lettie threw a thankful glance at the sisters and followed him with shaking limbs.

  “We’ll be up in a few minutes with the preacher, Lettie.”

  “Don’t you worry!”

  “You’ve got a visitor, McGuire.” With a gesture of his hand, Rusty motioned for Lettie to step inside the cell block.

  Lettie moved into the stone antechamber, surprised by the fact that it was smaller than she’d imagined, but pleasantly cool.

  “Hello, Ethan.”

  At the soft sound of her voice, Ethan lifted the arm that had lain across his eyes.

  “Lettie?” he breathed in disbelief.

  “Ten minutes. Then if the preacher isn’t here, I’m sending you home,” Rusty muttered, then backed from the room and slammed the main door shut behind him.

  Both Lettie and Ethan remained rooted where they were until the shuffle of Rusty’s feet had disappeared down the stone steps and the ground floor door had been shut.

  Ethan rose from the bunk and moved slowly toward his cell door, his eyes trained hungrily upon her face. “I didn’t think they would let you in here.”

  “The Beasleys are very resourceful.”

  An awkward silence settled between them for only a minute. Then Lettie rushed toward him, thrusting her arms through the iron bars and framing his face in her hands so that she could reassure herself that Ethan was real and unharmed. “I was so scared,” she whispered.

  Ethan’s hand slipped through the slats to wrap around her waist, pulling her as close as the bars allowed.

  “Why did you drug me that way?” she asked, her voice filled with the panic she’d felt those first few moments after she’d struggled to consciousness.

  “I had to.”

  “Am I that horrible to make love to?”

  “No! But I knew you’d try to follow me to the bank.”

  “I wouldn’t have done any such thing!”

  “You would.”

  She rubbed her thumbs across the contours of his jaw; the stubble of a beard rasped against her skin, and she frowned at the remnants of smoke and grime. Her brow creased in concern when she found several shallow cuts still caked with dried blood and dirt. “Yes, you’re right. I would have come with you.”

  “You’re too impulsive.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re too impetuous.”

  She nodded.

  “But…” His hand lifted and slipped through a higher bar so that his thumb could lightly skim across her cheek. His expression became sad and just a little wistful. “But, even though I shouldn’t be telling you at a time like this, I love you, Lettie Grey.”

  A slow burning warmth began in her chest and radiated outward. Lettie tipped his head down with her hands so that she could look deep into his eyes.

  “I’ll never tire of hearing you say that.”

  His lips twitched in a self-conscious smile. “I love you.”

  Lettie wrapped her arms more tightly around his neck and pulled him close. “Why?”

  “Because you’re you, Lettie Grey.” He drew back, and his expression became at once serious and tender. “Letitia Grey, will you marry me?”

  Lettie drew back ever so sl
ightly and lifted her fingers to her lips in an attempt to still the shakiness of her smile. But despite her efforts to appear calm, her eyes sparkled with joyful tears. “I would be honored,” she replied with warm sincerity.

  The thump of Rusty’s boots on the steps warned them of his approach.

  “You’re sure, Lettie,” Ethan asked quickly. “Nothing has really been solved, you know. I’m still up to my ass in alligators.”

  “We’ll see it through.”

  “I want you to stay in Chicago with my mother during all of this mess. She’ll want to meet you—and your mother. Promise me you’ll go there.”

  “I promise. I’d love to meet her.”

  “Promise me you’ll live with all the advantages my family can give you. I ignored the money my mother set aside for my use, but that doesn’t mean you have to.”

  “Ethan, you’ll be there with me,” she insisted.

  But the silence that settled between them was filled with the tacit haze of their own desperation.

  The second door rasped open.

  “Promise me, Lettie,” Ethan said quickly, his grip tightening.

  “I promise.”

  Rusty stepped into the room and glared in their direction. A moment later, the Beasleys rushed past him, carrying a huge parcel wrapped in brown paper and a basket covered with a gingham cloth.

  “Pastor Phillips will be here in five minutes, Rusty.”

  Rusty only glared at them. “I still don’t know about this. You’re going to get us all into a hell—heck of a lot of trouble.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Jacob’s going to come.”

  “Oh, he’s not going to come,” Amelia blurted.

  Alma pinched her sister in warning, shot her a desperate look, and offered Rusty a quick smile. “What Amelia means is that we just saw Jacob, and he’s all… tied up with affairs in town.”

  “Yes, all tied up.”

  “He told us to tell you that he won’t be back until late.”

  “Very, very late.”

  Rusty eyed them in suspicion. “You’d better hope so.”

  “Oh, we’re sure about that.”

  “Absolutely positive.”

  Rusty’s gaze slipped to the paraphernalia the Beasleys held in their hands. “What the hell—heck is all that?”

  “Supplies.”

  “There’s to be a wedding, you know.”

  Rusty growled.

  “If you would be so kind as to open the cells for us—”

  “What?”

  “—we have a few things to prepare,” Alma continued as if he had not spoken.

  “Shee-it! Why don’t I just escort the man all pretty like down to the church?”

  “No, that would be asking too much of you.”

  “Far too much.”

  Rusty turned to stab an incriminating finger in Lettie’s direction. “You go downstairs.”

  “Well of course she will,” Alma retorted.

  “It’s bad luck to see the groom before the wedding,” Amelia added.

  Muttering softly to himself, Rusty grasped Lettie’s arm and dragged her toward the outer door. “After you,” he stated sarcastically.

  But the Beasleys paid no heed to his mood. Alma hurried to hand Lettie the brown paper parcel and whispered, “Go on and change into this. I’m sorry it’s not a real wedding gown, but it was the best I could do in a pinch.”

  Rusty swore. “Miss Beasley!”

  “Move along, Rusty.”

  Picking up her skirts, Lettie preceded the harried deputy. Then, left alone in the office, Lettie took a deep, calming breath, set the cumbersome packages on the desk, and untied the string. A soft gasp of delight escaped from her lips when she found a store-bought dress and a set of delicate unmentionables lying within a bed of tissue paper.

  Quickly scooping the package into her arms, Lettie hurried into the back storage room and closed the door. In a moment, she had stripped off her own clothes and reached for those in the package.

  On top of the pile lay a delicate batiste camisole trimmed with insertion and a matching pair of underdrawers. Sliding them over her limbs, Lettie delighted in the texture and fresh scents of the undergarments. It had been so long since she’d had any new clothes. Especially new undergarments.

  Breathing deeply in anticipation, she pulled aside the next layer of tissue to uncover a delicate corset made of grosgrain ribbons and lace. The kind worn only to bed … or on a wedding night.

  Slipping it around her torso, she quickly cinched the garment around her ribs, tightening the laces as much as they would allow. Then she slipped on a dimity-flounced petticoat with an attached bustle and buttoned the foundation garment around her waist.

  Unsure of what the Beasleys had chosen as a gown, yet knowing it would become her wedding dress, Lettie drew aside that last layer of tissue and gasped. Lettie had seen the gown before in Mrs. Goddard’s dress-shop window, and she had never hoped to own something so beautiful herself.

  Lifting it free from its wrapping, Lettie first donned the gray cashmere skirt and buttoned it around her waist. The front tablier of the skirt was formed by tiers of puffed and gathered fabric, falling to a gathered ruffle along the bottom and decorated with a knee sash that swooped in a graceful arc, knotting in the center of the skirt. The back portion had been draped and tucked with yards of cashmere that fell into a demi-train in the back.

  After fluffing the skirt to see that it lay properly over the bustled petticoat, Lettie slipped into the hip-length bodice of garnet velvet, fastening the hooks that edged the mock vest of smocked gray cashmere from neck to hip. Her hands trembled as she smoothed the full-cut bodice over her bust and hips, then reached to hook a matching cashmere capelet over her shoulders.

  For a moment, Lettie stood trembling in her unaccustomed finery, blinking back a slight sheen of tears. There would be no family at her wedding, no guests, no flowers, no music. Instead, it would be a rushed affair that would appear unseemly to even her most liberal neighbors and friends.

  And yet… there could be no choice. Lettie loved Ethan McGuire with all her heart. She wanted his name. She wanted his love. She wanted…

  Him.

  A soft knock interrupted her thoughts, and she opened the door to find Alma Beasley waiting for her.

  “It fits!” Alma breathed in solemn pleasure. “I thought you’d be delicate enough to wear it—though why Mrs. Goddard makes all of her models in such an ungodly size, I’ll never know,” she added, in an attempt at lightness. But her humor seemed flat in the tension settling around them.

  “Thank you, Miss Beasley. I don’t think you know how much this means to me. I love Ethan so much. I—”

  Alma Beasley reached out to squeeze Lettie’s hand, and, for a moment, something vulnerable and aching lingered in her own eyes. “I know, Lettie. I know.”

  “You’ve been so kind to me. And to Ethan.”

  “A kindness you richly deserve.” Alma reached out to cup Lettie’s cheek with a soft, wrinkled hand. “You don’t know what a joy you’ve been to Amelia and me. We’ve watched you grow from a child into a woman.” Her voice grew whisper soft. “And we’ve seen our own youth in your eyes. My, what wonderful memories you’ve brought back to us.” Her lips wobbled slightly, and she tried to force a smile. “You’re a good daughter, Lettie. And a fine sister to Jacob. But just keep in mind that there comes a time when a young girl has to break free from the ties that bind her. Then it’s time to be a woman. Time to fly from the nest and find your own little niche in the world.”

  Alma took her hand and patted it gently. “But now’s not the time for such speeches. We’ve got a wedding to attend.” She drew away, and Lettie followed, trying to accustom herself to the weight of the train behind her and the added boning in the bodice of the gown.

  “Here’s your bouquet,” Alma murmured, handing her a nosegay of yellow summer roses that had been inserted into the center of a lacy handkerchief and tied with ribbons. “And y
our veil.” She took a square of tulle that she’d obviously obtained from the dressmaker and tenderly draped it over Lettie’s head. “Ready?”

  Lettie nodded, tamping down her own nerves and her regrets that her marriage had to be so rushed and secret. “Yes. I’m ready.”

  “Good.”

  Taking her hand, Alma led her toward the door and helped her up the steps. Lettie carefully held her skirts and stepped through the top door, then looked up. A tightness gripped her throat when she saw that the Beasleys had taken a few minutes to decorate the iron bars of the jail cells with pink and white ribbons and yellow roses.

  Her smile wobbled a little, and a tightness gripped her throat at the thoughtful gesture. But her pleasure was overshadowed by a much warmer emotion when she looked beyond them to find Ethan waiting beside Pastor Phillips. Though Ethan wore the same soot-stained clothing, he was freshly scrubbed and shaved, and his hair had been neatly combed back from his face.

  “If you’ll step this way, Miss Grey,” the pastor intoned. Although he obviously felt pleased about saving her soul from eternal damnation, his eyes flicked to her stomach and he frowned disapprovingly.

  But Lettie only had eyes for Ethan. Offering him a shaky smile, she took his side, then reached out to take his hand. Only then did she feel the irons encircling his wrists. Glancing up, she realized that, although he was free from his cell, he was shackled nonetheless.

  “Let’s get on with this,” Rusty blurted.

  “Yes, of course.” Pastor Phillips slipped his spectacles around his ears, then folded his hands around his prayerbook and eyed Ethan and Lettie with serious regard.

  “The prospect of matrimony is not one to be entered into lightly.…”

  As the pastor continued, Lettie glanced up at Ethan and soon found herself lost in the watchful, tender emotions she saw shining from his eyes. In all of her imaginings, in all of her fantasies, she had never dreamed that love could truly be like this. She never dreamed that it could be filled with such a measure of passion and pleasure… and pain. And yet, though she knew the future was far from settled between them, she also knew that she would have no regrets, regardless of what might happen.