Violet

by Greenwood, Leigh

  He didn't want to hear about her girls or her family. But surely she could talk about something else. Oh well, it didn't much matter. If she proved to be a bore, he'd never invite her again, no matter how much food Tyler sent.

  Okay, he'd invite her up. He'd be doing her a favor to give her an hour away from the girls. She didn't like him any more than he liked her, but he doubted she would turn him down.

  Or would she? That woman had enough brass to do anything, especially if it would irritate him. And it would irritate him to have his invitation refused. He knew why his pride was so fragile, but knowing didn't erase its fragility. He didn't accept refusal from a woman anymore easily than failure in business.

  He knew how to handle that. There wasn't a woman made who could get around Jeff Randolph, and that included Violet Goodwin.

  * * * * *

  "They're all correct," Violet said, handing the paper back to Essie. "How did you do it? You've always had so much trouble with math."

  "The man helped me."

  Violet had not gone upstairs all day. Jeff Randolph hadn't come down, but she was constantly being reminded of his presence. His helping Essie was just one instance.

  "Mr. Randolph, Essie. If you are going to keep visiting him, you've got to learn his name."

  "He said he didn't care."

  "Maybe not, but you should always learn a person's name. It's a sign of courtesy. Do you understand all of that?" Violet said, indicating the perfect math assignment.

  "Un huh. Mr. Randolph made me do all the problems myself. He said I should never depend on anybody else to do things for me. He said sooner or later they wouldn't come through for me. Then I'd be in a pickle."

  Violet wished Mr. Randolph would keep his philosophy to himself. Essie had enough trouble dealing with being separated from her father.

  "Explain it to me."

  It took Violet only a few minutes to realize Essie really did understand the lesson. She wondered what it was about Essie that caused him to be so kind. He didn't treat his own nieces half as well.

  "I'm proud of you," Violet said when the child had finished explaining the assignment. "I hope you will do this well in the future."

  "Mr. Randolph said if I didn't understand anything, I was to ask him and he'd explain it to me."

  Violet wondered if Mr. Randolph had given any thought to what would happen to Essie when he left. He didn't seem to understand you couldn't take up a child one day and disappear a few days later without hurting that child very deeply. It was possible that being alone, he needed Essie as much as she needed him. But he would have to understand he was better able to cope with the loss of a friend than she was.

  But Violet wondered if that was true. He might be just as desperate for someone to reach out to him as Essie was to believe her father loved her.

  "That's Beth calling everybody to dinner," Violet said, getting up from her chair. "You'd better hurry, or the other girls will eat everything up from you."

  "Not anymore," Essie said, grinning. "Aurelia and Juliette said they'd save me a place between them."

  If Mr. Randolph had gotten his nieces to take Essie under their wings, he had done her a good turn after all. No one but Betty Sue wanted to take on the Randolph twins. Even without an uncle like Mr. Randolph, they could hold their own.

  Violet stood, unable to decide whether to eat with the girls or take her dinner to her room. She didn't want to do either. She was unusually restless. She would have given a month's wages to be able to leave the building for a few minutes.

  She sighed. She was just as much a prisoner as Mr. Randolph, only she'd been here for ten days while he'd been here for just one. She wondered how he'd bear it for four more days.

  Don't be a fool. Four days is nothing compared to being a prisoner for two years.

  The tales she had heard about the suffering in prisons were enough to turn her stomach. She couldn't imagine how anyone with a serious wound survived. Nor how any woman could have refused to nurse a wounded man, Confederate or Yankee. No wonder Jeff Randolph was angry at the world, and at Yankees in particular.

  She had less reason, and she was just as angry at the South.

  Juliette came tumbling down the stairs. She skidded to a halt at the sight of Violet.

  "Uncle Jeff says you're to have your dinner with him," she said. "He said eating dinner with the enemy can't be worse than with sixteen chattering females."

  "And he promises to keep his shirt on," Aurelia added with a mischievous grin.

  "Juliette, tell him I appreciate his invitation, but I will eat with the sixteen chattering females."

  "He won't like it," Aurelia warned as Juliette took the stairs two at a time.

  "I didn't expect he would. Now you'd better get to the table. Essie is depending on you."

  "If that miserable Betty Sue so much as says a word--"

  "I'm sure she won't, but try not to antagonize her. She isn't any better than you in knowing when to sit down and be quiet."

  "Randolphs never sit down and be quiet," Aurelia announced. "We always stand up to be counted."

  "That might be fine for little boys, but little girls ought to--"

  "Papa says girls ought to have just as much guts as boys."

  "What does your mother say?" Violet asked, certain George Randolph must have phrased his advice a little differently.

  "Mama says if there weren't any women around, men would be animals. She says Randolph men would be the worst of all."

  "I'd like to meet your mama. She sounds like quite a woman."

  "Uncle Madison says Mama's a tartar. I don't know what that means, but it makes Aunt Fern laugh."

  Juliette came tumbling down the steps. Despite her best efforts, Violet had not been able to teach the Randolph twins how to walk. Their world moved at a gallop.

  "Uncle Jeff says if you don't come up, he's going to come down. He says I'm to tell you he can't remember what he did with his shirt."

  "That's blackmail," Violet said before she realized she had spoken out loud.

  "He said I was to tell you that, too."

  * * * * *

  Each step she took caused Violet's breath to come a little faster. She couldn't decide if that came from being out of shape -- Jeff's words still rang in her mind -- from fear, or from excitement. She told herself she had no business going anywhere near him. She told herself she was merely going to get a few things straight. She told herself he really wouldn't come downstairs without his shirt.

  But she knew he would.

  It was about time somebody taught him he couldn't force other people to fall in with his wishes whether they wanted or not. It was time he learned the loss of his arm didn't entitle him to permanent indulgence.

  When she reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the hall, she stopped dead in her tracks. He had set up a table in the middle of the hall and covered it with things she hadn't seen in years -- two silver candelabra with blazing candles, crystal wine glasses, a bottle of wine, a silver chafing dish, and much more. He came from his room bearing another dish.

  "My brother sent all this over from his hotel," Jeff said by way of explanation. "He's an outstanding cook. It would be a shame to waste it."

  He seemed a little nervous, like he still expected her to refuse. She had intended to do just that, but she felt her resolve melt faster than butter on a hot corn cake. She was touched he had gone to so much trouble. It had to be for her. He would never have done it for himself alone.

  "All that came up your lift?" she asked, as she slowly approached the table, her eyes still wide in wonder.

  "Every bit."

  "I'm surprised you haven't escaped down it."

  "Fear of being arrested," Jeff said, a hint of a smile in his eyes. "Very embarrassing for a man in my position. Besides, once I got things set up, it's not bad. With no interruptions, I've gotten twice as much work done."

  Violet allowed him to hold her chair, every word of her intended reproof utterly forgott
en. The harsh, uncompromising lines of the bare walls retreated beyond the aura of candlelight leaving Violet at the center of an isle of enchantment. The Wolfe School, Miss Settle, the girls -- everything else seemed to fade into insignificance as Jeff Randolph loomed even larger.

  Always incredibly handsome, he could do full justice to any woman's image of Prince Charming. He had put on a fresh shirt and changed his coat. He had also combed his hair. She cautioned herself not to read anything into this invitation other than loneliness or impersonal courtesy, but she was helpless to halt the flutter what invaded her stomach, taking up what threatened to be long-term residence.

  It had been many years since she had been alone with a man who aroused a more tender emotion in her than wondering how long before she could bring the evening to an end. Being alone with Jeff gave rise to thoughts her ruthless common sense told her were as dangerous as they were foolish.

  But she didn't feel like herself. Such thoughts might not be silly for the woman she felt like tonight.

  Jeff opened a bottle of wine. Violet put her hand over her glass. She noticed the Waterford crystal goblet next to his place contained milk.

  "Why aren't you having any?" she asked.

  "Drink ruined Pa. Madison drinks brandy occasionally, but the rest of us won't touch anything."

  "I'll have milk, too," she said. She didn't know why she said that. She hadn't had milk with a meal since she was a child.

  "Are you sure? It's an excellent wine. Tyler sent it especially for you."

  "My father drank himself to death," she told him. "I could never touch wine after that."

  For a brief moment she felt a kinship with him, as though something in each of them touched. Then it was gone -- as ephemeral as his smile.

  Violet accepted something from every dish, but she was more concerned with Jeff than with food. She didn't understand him. He smiled as he served her plate, but his conversation was limited to describing the contents of the dish and asking how much she wanted. She couldn't figure out whether he was too unused to company to be able to carry on an ordinary conversation or whether he simply had nothing to say to her.

  She soon decided it was the latter. He served himself and began to eat. As she sat there, watching him in silence, the magical mood began to fade. She felt like they were two people occupying the same room, but separated by an invisible barrier.

  The milk was cold, the food hot and excellent. "I've never tasted such wonderful food," she said, hoping praise for his brother's cooking might encourage him to talk.

  "Umm."

  She was used to conversation at dinner. Jeff seemed to be determined to avoid it. She felt the chill of disappointment settle around her. Blurred images of the rough construction work of the attic were visible. The last spark of excitement cooled, the last flutter trembled and was still. Jeff was still handsome, but the magic was gone. She had been invited to dinner, and if she didn't start eating, the food would be cold.

  She noticed the monogram on the napkins. The Windsor Hotel. The finest and most luxurious hotel in Denver. It had opened during the summer and been full ever since.

  "So your brother is one of the cooks at the Windsor Hotel."

  "Yes." More than a nod.

  "I've heard it's the most expensive hotel in Denver."

  "It is. My brother owns it."

  "Your brother owns the Windsor Hotel?"

  "Half of it. His wife owns the other half."

  Violet wasn't hungry anymore. She was clearly out of her depth. She didn't know what the twins' father did, nor their Uncle Madison, but she knew they were rich. Apparently all the Randolphs were.

  She wondered what it would feel like to be able to buy whatever she wanted without thinking of the cost. Even when her father was well and working, she had always had to budget carefully. It was hard not to be a little jealous of so much wealth.

  "Eat up," Jeff said.

  "I'm full."

  "You can't be. There's dessert."

  "Maybe we could send it down to the girls. They never get anything like this."

  "There's not enough for sixteen. Besides, kids that age don't appreciate the taste of food. They just want lots of it."

  Now that it was too late, he wanted to talk. Then again, maybe this was all a mis-perception on her part. Jeff had never pretended this invitation was anything more than courtesy. Thinking it might be had been her mistake. It was time she put aside fantasy. She was too old for it anyway.

  "You obviously haven't been around girls very much. They may not be as concerned with taste as adults, but I constantly have to encourage them to eat more."

  "Why?"

  "Fear of being fat. They're already worried about finding a husband?"

  "Good God! They're just children."

  "Every woman, regardless of age or fortune, learns very early catching a husband is her primary task."

  "Did you learn that lesson?"

  Violet felt heat flame in her face. "Yes, but I chose to do other things."

  "What?"

  "Take care of my brother and father."

  "Do you have anyone to take care of now?"

  "No."

  "Then why aren't you married? You're pretty enough."

  Chapter Six

  Was Violet desperate enough for Jeff's attention to answer a question a gentleman wouldn't put to a lady? But then he didn't think a Yankee was a lady. She imagined it would be useless to try to convince him otherwise.

  "Don't tell me no one asked you," Jeff said. "I won't believe you."

  She had always avoided answering questions about herself. Most people were polite enough not to ask. It was really no one's business but her own. Obviously Jeff Randolph didn't subscribe to that belief.

  "Why not?" she asked.

  "I just said. You're pretty."

  "Is that all you expect of a wife, to be pretty?"

  "I don't have a wife."

  "If you did, if you were going to choose one tomorrow."

  "No."

  "What else would you look for?"

  Jeff put down his fork. He didn't appear to want to answer her. But if he was going to ask her personal questions, she had the right to do the same thing. Besides, the longer she kept him talking, the longer she could put off answering.

  Jeff refilled his milk glass.

  "She'd have to be kind and gentle, soft-spoken, caring. She'd be able to manage the household. Above all, she would be a lady."

  He didn't want much. If women made similar demands of men, there wouldn't be a dozen marriages a year in the whole country.

  "Have you found such a woman in Denver?"

  "I haven't looked."

  "Why?"

  "When I choose a wife, she will be a true daughter of the South."

  "Aren't there any southern daughters out here?" She hoped she didn't sound too sarcastic, but he was being absurd.

  "I would never choose a woman who had come to Colorado. I'll wait until I return to Virginia."

  He was serious! He really believed leaving the South could change a woman's nature. She wondered if he had considered what fifteen years away from Virginia might have done to him. Of course he hadn't. Men never did. They assumed they were exactly what they wanted to be.

  "Are you saying a good Southern woman doesn't transplant?"

  "If you want to put it that way. My mother went to Texas. She couldn't endure it. She died within two years."

  "Texas is part of the South."

  "The true south is Virginia and Carolina. Maybe parts of Georgia."

  He sounded like he could do with a geography lesson. And a history lesson as well. "Where were you born?"

  "Virginia."

  "Why did you leave?"

  "You're full of questions. And you still haven't answered mine."

  "I don't really know you. I don't feel I can discuss my reasons for not marrying with a virtual stranger."

  He regarded her for a moment over his glass. Violet could never remember being st
udied over milk. It somehow made the entire situation ludicrous.

  "You won't get around me by clever answers. But I will tell you my father was a cruel, drunken bastard. After he killed his best friend, our neighbors decided they didn't want him around any more. They agreed to pay his debts if he'd move to Texas."

  She didn't know what to say to that. It must have been hard to be exiled from the home he loved. Locking himself up with his work twenty-four hours a day must be even more trying. Maybe that's why he was willing to talk about himself tonight.

  "How did you end up in Denver?" she asked.

  "By degrees. When our ranch made a little money, we had to invest it. First it was Chicago. Now it's Denver. We could end up in San Francisco."

  "Where do you want to go?"

  "I don't care as long as I make money."

  "But you must have a lot by now. I don't mean to be nosy, but the twins said you owned the bank."

  "The family owns the bank."

  Along with cattle ranches and the Windsor Hotel.

  "Are you going to start another bank in San Francisco?"

  "I doubt it. I don't care much about banking."

  "But--"

  "It's the way I make money."

  "Why do you need so much?"

  "So we can go back to Virginia."

  "You mean the whole family?"

  "Yes."

  So that was his reason for working around the clock. "But why do you want to go back?"

  He looked at her like she was simple minded.

  "You're president of a bank. One of your brothers is an important businessman, one owns the most successful hotel in Denver, others have ranches. Each has carved out a life for himself. Why would they want to uproot their families to go back to Virginia?"

  He leaned forward, his eyes glowing ardently. "Do you plan to stay in Denver?"

  "No."

  "Where do you want to go when you leave here?"

  "Back home. I have something I want to do."

  "Couldn't you do it somewhere else?"

  "I expect so."

  "But you're going back home."

  "Yes."

  "Because it's home."