* * * * *
"Mr. Jefferson's clerks have taken over the parlor," Beth informed Violet as soon as she came downstairs. "They've even built a fire."
"The poor things have to keep warm," Violet said. "He has them outside working in the bitter cold."
"There must be six or seven of them in there now, each with their own desk, working just like they were in a bank."
"How do you know that?"
"I can't help but see when they open the door, can I?"
"You aren't supposed to be in the hall."
Beth blushed.
"You've been peeping."
"Well, just a little," Beth admitted. "There's ever so many handsome young men in there. I feel faint just thinking about it."
"Don't. I can't handle all this by myself."
"Yes, you can. Nothing ever gets you upset."
"This has. I wish Miss Settle would answer me. I feel uncomfortable not knowing what she expects me to do about Mr. Randolph."
"He's a nice looking gentleman, isn't he?"
"Yes, but he's also a very demanding one. Now we'd better see about serving breakfast. The girls were up and about when I came down. I have to write Miss Settle about the lift. I shudder to think what might cross her mind if she sees it without having received some sort of warning."
Violet hadn't completed more than half her letter when a series of girlish squeals from the second floor caught her attention.
"Beth, see what's going on. If it's the twins, send them to me immediately."
Violet turned her attention back to her letter. But she had hardly collected her thoughts and decided on the next sentence when Beth rushed breathless into the room.
"It's him, ma'am. He's in the bathroom, and he's practically naked."
Chapter Five
Everything was in turmoil when Violet reached the second floor. The girls were jumping about, squealing, holding on to each other. A few seemed to be on the verge of fainting. Some were dressed, but most were still in their nightgowns, their feet bare, their hair falling about their shoulders in untidy tangles. On the whole, they were having a delightful time.
"What's this I hear about--"
"He's in there!" Betty Sue shrieked, pointing to the bathroom as she bounced up and down like a rubber ball. "I saw him. He doesn't have any clothes on."
"He does, too, you stupid girl," Aurelia contradicted, advancing on Betty Sue with an angry look.
Betty Sue retreated behind one of the bigger girls. "I saw him. He was naked."
Juliette closed in from the other side. Betty Sue shrieked. Her bobbed, blond hair flew from side to side as she tried to watch both girls.
"What in hell is wrong with you?" a deep, masculine voice demanded.
The girls froze, their shrieks cut off in mid-cry. Violet whirled around to find herself standing barely six inches from Jeff Randolph. He was naked from the waist up. She felt as though she'd be hit in the solar plexus. She could hardly breathe. She couldn't move. His rippling muscles were so close she could smell the mustiness that resulted from hard male exercise, see the sheen of perspiration that made his skin glisten in the light. His pulse throbbed in the veins of his neck. She could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. She could almost count the number of blond hairs nestled in the center of his chest.
She felt sure she was going to faint.
Betty Sue's shrieks -- the twins had finally gotten their hands on her -- plus the chorus of squeals erupting from every part of the hall pulled Violet back from the brink. The girls were her responsibility. She had to take charge of the situation.
"Please step back in the bathroom," she said to Jeff as calmly as she could. "I'll speak with you as soon as I can get everyone downstairs. Aurelia and Juliette, get your hands off Betty Sue this minute. Don't touch her again, or I'll have no choice but to recommend your dismissal."
"But she lied. She said Uncle Jeff was naked."
"I realize that, and I will speak to her. Right now, however, I want everyone except the twins downstairs this instant. Don't stand there staring at me. Move!"
The girls broke into suppressed giggles and hurried off downstairs where they could talk and exclaim without restraint.
"You, too, Essie."
"I told him he could come down here," Essie said, unwilling to leave. "I told him we had two bathrooms."
"What were you doing upstairs so early?"
"I wanted to ask him when Daddy was coming. He didn't smell good. You always tell us to take a bath when we smell bad."
Violet couldn't resist a glance in Jeff's direction. One glimpse of his stunned expression and she had to struggle to keep a straight face.
"Okay, Essie. You can go downstairs with the other girls."
"Why do Aurelia and Juliette get to stay?"
"They're his nieces. Besides, I don't trust them with Betty Sue just now."
"I don't like Betty Sue," Essie said. "She's not nice."
"Take Essie and go to your room," Violet told the twins. She didn't turn around until they had closed the door behind themselves. "Now," she said as she turned around.
Once again his nearness struck her like a physical force. She had no choice but to retreat if she was to have any coherent thoughts. She hoped she managed it without looking like she was running away.
She hadn't noticed his arm before. It had been taken off just above the elbow. In the intervening fourteen years, the redness had faded from the scar. Only the stump showed the smooth, shininess of scar tissue.
"What on earth possessed you to come down here?" she asked, redirecting her gaze from his arm to his face. She didn't want to pretend she hadn't noticed, but she didn't want him to think she showed more than ordinary interest.
Jeff's gaze met hers in the space between them, like two invisible duelists, swords ready, each waiting for the other to advance. His gaze was defiant, hers hesitant.
"I thought Essie explained it rather well," he said. "I needed a bath."
"But to come down half naked."
"I meant to be back upstairs before the girls woke up. This is the only shirt I have until my clerk brings me some fresh clothes."
"You could have stayed upstairs until he returned. You could have sent for me. You could have done several things instead of sending half my girls into hysterics."
"Nothing's wrong with them. They're enjoying themselves."
"I realize that. However, you have gotten some of them overly excited, especially Betty Sue."
"The exaggerating little heifer?"
"I must insist that you moderate your language."
"Would you prefer lying little bitch?"
Violet took a deep breath and started to count to ten. She only made it to four. "No, I would not! I would prefer you go back to your room and not leave it until the quarantine is over."
"I can't do that. While I take my bath, you can think about your second favorite wish."
"After the disturbance you're caused, you can't still mean to take a bath."
"I still smell bad."
Violet couldn't deny the man the right to be clean any more than she could deny him the use of the bathroom for other purposes. Good Lord, she hadn't thought about that!
"But those are the girls' bathtubs." It sounded stupid, but it was the only thing she could think of to say.
"Do you have any other bathtubs?"
"No."
"Do you use them?"
"Of course. I live here."
"So do I. I don't think I'll leave any nasty male germs, but I promise to wash the tub very carefully."
He was teasing her again, enjoying her agitation
"Don't be ridiculous."
"My feeling exactly," he said, more seriously. "Do you have towels, or am I expected to run up and down the halls until I'm dry?"
Violet wondered why she'd thought he could be reasonable about anything. She marched over to a cabinet, extracted two towels, and thrust them at him.
"Do you think this w
ill be enough?"
"I'll call you if I need more."
"I won't hear you. I'll be downstairs."
"You'd better stay. I might really come out naked this time."
Violet made herself pause before she spoke. He was just baiting her. "I'm sure you didn't mean to upset the girls," Violet said. "But as you can see, they're extremely impressionable."
"I would have said foolish. No man would act that way if he met a woman coming out of the bath."
"No woman would come out of the bath half naked."
Devilment danced in his eyes again. "Some I know would come out without a stitch."
Violet was sure she turned the color of her name. "Perhaps I should have said lady."
He grinned at her. "I think I'll take my bath before I scandalize anyone else. Can you hold the girls at bay, or should I lock myself in?"
"I would appreciate it if you'd return to the upper floor as soon as possible. Should you need anything . . . " She didn't finish her sentence. Just thinking of possible requests caused heat to rise in her face again.
"Would you come rushing to my aid? No? Maybe if you closed your eyes first."
Violet made herself turn away. She couldn't trust herself to be with him for even one more minute. She didn't understand what his teasing was doing to her control, but she knew she was on the verge of losing it completely.
* * * * *
"Betty Sue said that to be mean," Aurelia said the moment Violet stepped into the room.
"She's always doing something like that," Juliette said.
"She said my daddy would never come," Essie added. "She said he was nothing but a grubby old trapper with the good luck to stumble over some gold when he was setting a beaver trap. He's not, Miss Goodwin. My daddy goes to an office every day just like that man."
"Mr. Randolph," Violet said.
"And he said my father was going to come see me. Betty Sue was wrong, the mean old goat."
"Listen, girls, Mr. Randolph is going to be here for several more days. We can't have this happening every time he wants to use the bathroom. You've got to help me."
"How?"
She wished she knew. She didn't think he would cooperate with them any more than with her. "I would like one of you to keep an eye on him. Let me know when he means to come downstairs. Above all, don't pay any attention to anything Betty Sue or the other girls might say. Right now they're too excited to think before they speak."
"Miss Goodwin."
The plaintive call drew Violet into the hall. One of the older girls waited at the top of the stairs, her inquisitive gaze sweeping the hall for the whereabouts of Mr. Randolph.
"I thought I made it clear I didn't want any of you girls back up here until I told you."
"It's a note from Miss Settle. Beth said you would want to see it right away."
"Thank you, Corinne. Now go straight back downstairs. Tell Beth to bring any additional message herself."
"Yes, Miss Goodwin."
Violet watched until the girl headed down the steps. Then rather than go back into the room, she opened the letter in the hall where she was alone. The note was brief and to the point.
Pardon the tardiness of my answer, but your message literally took my breath away. I cannot imagine how such an extraordinary circumstance as Mr. Jefferson Randolph being quarantined in our school could have come about.
How could you have allowed such a thing happen?
Do everything in your power to see he's comfortable. Allow him unlimited use of the building and the staff. Do not exclude yourself.
Encourage the girls to remark upon this as little as possible.
Eleanor Settle
Violet felt herself bristle at the note. Not only did Miss Settle hold her personally responsible for the situation, she clearly expected Violet to handle it so there would be no repercussions. To Miss Settle and the school of course.
Allow him unlimited use of the building and the staff.
There wasn't much likelihood she could deny him the use of the building even if she had wanted. He was a man who was used to having things his own way. As for the girls not remarking on his presence, his parading about half naked had taken care of that. They would talk of little else for months.
Do not exclude yourself.
Violet wouldn't allow her mind to carry that thought to its logical conclusion. Besides, if Mr. Randolph continued the way he had begun, he'd be lucky if she didn't murder him in his bed.
She looked at the closed bathroom door. She doubted Miss Settle had this in mind, either, but she decided against telling the headmistress just how fully Mr. Randolph had availed himself of their hospitality.
The bathroom door opened, and Jeff Randolph stepped out half dressed. He didn't pause to see if there were any girls about. Violet decided he had been alone so long he was out of the habit of thinking of other people. That was sad. He was a prickly man, but surely some female could see past his arm and bad temper to the good that must be there if she would only take the trouble to look. Essie had in less than a day.
He looked delicious, all flushed and warm from the heat of the bath, his wet hair slicked into place. The thin sheen of moisture simply accentuated the muscular definition of his body. She barely noticed his arm. How could she when the rest of him was so perfect. She was appalled she was so affected by the sheer physical presence of the man. She had always assumed a man's mind and heart would be the only part of him that was of any real importance. After all, the body was merely a vessel.
Only Mr. Randolph's vessel was so splendid she found it nearly impossible to remember the contents were badly spoiled.
"You can tell the girls to come out of hiding," Jeff called. He paused, then came toward her, some of the mockery fading from his eyes. "I expected you to run hide your head under a pillow. Aren't all women from Massachusetts horrified by the sight of a man's body?"
"What do you know about Massachusetts or its women?"
All signs of amusement faded from his eyes to be replaced by a hardness that was chilling. "I was a Confederate prisoner there for two years. The women in the nearby town refused to nurse our wounded."
"I can't believe that," Violet exclaimed. "Nobody could be that cruel."
Violet saw savage emotion unleashed in his eyes. "War is a cruel thing. It does strange things to people, even women." He turned and went up the stairs.
Another reason to hate Yankee women. She seemed to have a knack for uncovering them. She wondered if he'd ever forgive those women or stop assuming she was like them. She wanted to prove she wasn't, but she didn't know how.
* * * * *
Jeff balled up the note and tossed it out the window. His brothers could never mind their business, and Tyler was no exception. Instead of the simple dinner Jeff requested, Tyler had sent a banquet and suggested Jeff invite the school mistress to share it with him.
Maybe it will improve the family image in her eyes.
Tyler had never cared about the family's image. He was just trying to annoy Jeff, and he had succeeded.
Fern says you've been a bastard. Nothing unusual there, but for the sake of the twins -- and the rest of us if Rose goes on the warpath -- at least pretend to be a gentleman.
Tyler couldn't understand what it was like to have the very sound of Miss Goodwin's voice resurrect those two agonizing years in prison as if they had been yesterday. He tried not to take his anger out on her. If he looked into her eyes, if she smiled, he could control his temper. But when she spoke, the accent reminded him of the women who turned their backs on him. It was all he could do to keep the anger from exploding.
Fifteen years had not dulled the memory of the cold and the wet, the moans and screams of those dying around him, the smell of putrefied flesh, the sight of bodies being carried out stiff and cold to shallow, communal graves. Nor had he forgotten the pain in the arm that was no longer there. He, too, had wanted to die. But he wanted to live even more, to prove he was stronger, that they couldn't kill hi
s spirit like they had tried to kill his body.
Hatred had kept him alive through two bitterly cold winters. He no longer needed his hatred, but sometimes it came back anyway. It irritated him that Tyler would try to force him to be civil to Violet. He tried not to blame her; she was merely the spark that ignited the gunpowder of his stored anger.
Jeff found a reasonably steady table made of solid oak in one of the storerooms. It was amazingly heavy. He was glad Violet wasn't around to see him struggle to pull it out of the store room, set it upright, and open the leaves. Even spreading a tablecloth or lighting candles was awkward for him.
He pulled up a chair and began transferring the food from the lift to the table. It was absurd to send this much food even for two people. Knowing Tyler, he had sent at least five courses.
With everything served on crystal, silver, and fine china, the table looked like something out of the hotel dining room. Probably Miss Goodwin hadn't sat down to anything like this since she left Massachusetts. She certainly wouldn't while she was housemother to sixteen little girls. She was more likely to get soggy vegetables, overcooked meat, and indigestion.
He looked at the table covered with food. He could never eat it all himself. And he had been rather hard on her. She had failed to tell him about the quarantine, but she had been left alone to take care of sixteen girls. It was a wonder she hadn't lost her mind.
She'd never once lost her temper with him even though he had done all he could to provoke her. It wouldn't hurt him to be nice to her just this once. It was time he showed her he could control his temper.
Still, he balked at the idea of inviting her to share his dinner. They were going to be thrown together a lot over the next few days. He didn't want to encourage any degree of familiarity. That sort of thing invariable lead to expectations. And women's expectations always centered around marriage.
But to be fair, she hadn't shown any signs of being willing to accept his advances had he been interested in making any. He looked at the table once again. He felt foolish sitting down alone, selfish keeping such a meal to himself. Maybe she wouldn't be so bad to talk to for an hour or so.
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