Dragon Tamer

by Jane Bonander

  She stood and went to him, clasping his hands in hers. “Dante, they need help so badly. I know it probably sounds ungrateful, but…I want you to return the pianoforte and send the money to them. Would you do that? For me?” she added, hoping that her wishes carried some weight, despite the thoughtfulness of his gift.

  Dante’s expression was warm. “Ah, my dear wife.” He bent and kissed her cheek; she briefly rested against his chest. “I can’t do that.”

  Disappointed, she asked, “But why not?”

  “Because I have already done something for them that is quite generous, I believe.”

  He looked rather smug. “What?”

  “I sold the St. Louis and had the proceeds sent to them.”

  Eleanor’s heart swelled with love for him, and she wished she dared express it by telling him so. Instead, she threw her arms around him and hugged him. “Oh, Dante, you are truly a wonderful, generous man.”

  Behind them, Horace cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but Miss Lydia has just arrived.”

  Eleanor gave Dante a quick kiss on the mouth, then dashed to the door of the salon in time to see Lydia bounding into the entryway.

  “Aunt Ellie!” She ran into Eleanor’s arms and they held each other.

  “Oh, it’s so good to have you here, Lydia.”

  “Where’s the pirate?” she all but whispered.

  “Right behind you,” Dante answered.

  Lydia freed herself from Eleanor’s embrace and turned, her eyes bright with anticipation. “Did you know that a whale is an animal, and not a fish?”

  Dante attempted to hide a grin. “Did you know that a narwhal is a toothed whale with a long ivory tusk on the left side of its mouth that sticks out like a sword?”

  Lydia stepped close, hands on hips, and stared up at him. “Did you know that a giraffe’s tongue is a foot and a half long?”

  Eleanor watched the exchange, and when Dante threw his head back and laughed, she thought she might faint, she loved him so much.

  “All right, you two,” she scolded gently, “enough is enough. Save some of your brilliant repartee for later.”

  Lydia’s weekend stay turned into a lengthy one when they received word that Willa had come down with a fever and was unable to travel. After a week, when Calvin brought Willa home, Eleanor reluctantly agreed to send Lydia back as well, although she would have loved to have kept her niece with her.

  At dinner one evening, Dante asked, “What’s the latest on Willa’s condition?”

  Eleanor toyed with her poached salmon. She hadn’t felt well for days and food didn’t appeal to her at all. “She still isn’t well. The doctor is afraid whatever she had initially has gone into her lungs.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Dante reflected.

  “No. And they can’t seem to get her fever down to a manageable point, either.”

  “Lydia would be better off here, with you.”

  Eleanor gave him a wan smile. “I know. If something should happen…” She couldn’t finish the thought, much less the sentence.

  Dante finished both for her. “If something should happen to Willa, you’re not sure Calvin could raise Lydia.”

  She knew her expression was pained, but she looked at him anyway. “It’s an awful notion, for I’m not giving Calvin much credit, but…he’s never been strong, Dante, and Lydia needs so much interaction to keep her from being bored. And as she grows older, she will need a firm hand and discipline.”

  “He could remarry,” Dante reminded her.

  Eleanor’s stomach dropped. “I couldn’t bear to have another woman raise her, Dante, I just couldn’t.”

  He reached across and took her hand. “We’ll deal with whatever happens, and pray that Willa rallies.”

  She squeezed his fingers. “Thank you.”

  Later that evening, when Dante was still working in his library, Eleanor counted the weeks since her last menses. It had been just before her marriage. Suddenly, all of her tears, nausea, and discomfort made sense. She was pregnant with Dante’s child. The realization confounded her, for she could think of nothing more wonderful. Yet she knew that even having his baby couldn’t force him to love her. And if she could have only one thing, it would be his love.

  It had been a week since Calvin had brought Willa home and her condition hadn’t improved. Dante noticed that Eleanor was taking it hard. She moped about the house as if someone were already dead. Her appetite was next to nothing, and her mood swings often took him by surprise.

  That night, he went to sleep with Eleanor beside him, yet when he had awakened sometime past two in the morning, her side of the bed was cold and empty.

  He shrugged into a silk dressing robe, went down the stairs and heard the soft pianoforte music and sad, quiet singing coming from the salon. His bare feet were quiet as he crept to the door and listened.

  “‘But, apart, there standeth one

  Who would all this gladness shun;

  On her ear the laugh of glee

  Falls like bitter mockery.

  Mingled with the music’s tone,

  She can hear a childish moan…’”

  Something squeezed Dante’s heart. Stepping into the room, he said, “Eleanor?”

  She stopped immediately, then turned, her expression apologetic. “Did I wake you? I tried to be so quiet—”

  “Your music didn’t wake me. Your absence from my bed did.”

  She stood. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and led her from the salon, into the library, where embers still glowed in the fireplace. “I’m going to beef up the fire.”

  She sat in the deep chair, her feet curled under her. “You should go back to bed.”

  “Not without you.”

  Once the fire was crackling, he took her by the hands, lifted her from the chair, and settled her next to him on the rug in front of the fireplace.

  “Something’s terribly wrong, Ellie, and I don’t think it has anything to do with Willa.”

  She gave him a blinding smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Why would you say that?”

  His answering smile was sympathetic. “I may be a vain peacock, but I’m not dense, no matter what you think.”

  “I don’t think you’re dense, and you’re not as vain as I once thought.”

  He kissed her, drawing in the warmth from her mouth, the moistness she shared. When he was done, he gazed into her upturned face.

  Her skin was flawless, smooth, with a mere hint of pink beneath the surface. Her lips were perfectly shaped, her nose small, tilting slightly upward, giving her an almost hoydenlike appearance. Her eyes were closed, the thick dark lashes curling at the ends and crowding in the corners, as if there was not enough room for all of them. A maze of thin blue veins were delicately etched on her eyelids.

  She was truly an exquisite creature. “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Have I somehow made you unhappy?”

  She nestled into the curve of his arm. “No, it’s not you, Dante. You’ve been so good to me, and kind, and generous…”

  He drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “That song you were singing when I interrupted you. What was it?”

  “It’s actually from a poem by Julia Mills Dunn, called ‘The Bereaved Mother.’ I just sort of made up the tune to go with it.”

  It suddenly dawned on him. “You were thinking of the child you lost?”

  Her smile was brief, melancholy. “In a way. Even though I lost him before he was ready to be born, he still has a place in my heart forever.”

  Dante’s own heart was so full it nearly spilled over. Hugging her to him, he murmured. “You are a wonder, Ellie.”

  She sniffed and her shoulders began to shake.

  Bewildered, he turned her toward him. “You’re crying,” he said inanely.

  She shoved him away. “It’s nothing.”

  “Of course it’s not nothing. It’s something, and I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

&
nbsp; With a shake of her head, she dug into her wrapper and pulled out her handkerchief.

  “Ellie, tell me,” he ordered.

  Her shoulders sagged. “You want to know why I’m sobbing? You really want to know?”

  God, but women still baffled him sometimes. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  She turned and faced him and he realized that even when she was in tears she was beautiful.

  “I’m in love with you.” The words spilled out like an angry threat.

  Too stunned to respond, he merely sat there, his mouth open, and stared.

  She hiccoughed a laugh. “Isn’t that a joke? Me, the plain, peevish, argumentative, peahen, in love with the vain, handsome, womanizing, arrogant, peacock.”

  She pulled away from him, drew her knees to her chin and clutched them to her chest, her shoulders still shaking with tears.

  He didn’t know what to do. God, what could he say? Could he tell her he loved her, too? Could he do that, or would it just be words to console her? Maybe he did love her, he didn’t know.

  “Eleanor, I—”

  “Oh, don’t you dare,” she shot back viciously. “Don’t you dare placate me with empty platitudes, Dante Templeton.” She stood quickly, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I’m going back to bed. Alone.” She ran from the room, leaving him to stare blankly into the fire.

  He didn’t sleep the rest of the night. When he finally looked at the clock, it was almost six. Shortly after that, Horace stepped into the room, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, Horace?”

  Horace’s gaze circled the room, then returned to Dante. “You are scheduled to go to New York today, sir.”

  With a nod, Dante answered, “I know. Is my bag packed?”

  “Everything is ready, of course.”

  “Is Mrs. Templeton still asleep?”

  “I tried not to wake her, sir. She has seemed quite exhausted lately, and not herself, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” Dante responded wryly. “You will keep an eye on her while I’m gone?” Two weeks was going to seem like two months, but perhaps this separation was a good thing. Damned if he knew how to approach her, now that he knew her feelings. It confused everything.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Maybe young Lydia could come and stay a few days,” he suggested.

  “I will recommend it, sir.”

  “And see that my wife doesn’t walk to and from the orphanage, Horace. If she’s tired, that will only make her more so.”

  “I will do my best, sir.” He paused a moment, then said, “You have only an hour before you must be at the train station.”

  Dante was both reluctant and relieved to be going away for two weeks. He needed time to think.

  Twenty-four

  Eleanor was glad Dante was gone. At least, that’s what she told herself, for otherwise she would have had to face him so soon after making such an utter fool of herself.

  That, however, wasn’t her biggest concern. It wouldn’t be long before she would begin to show. It would be different if he had avoided her, but that hadn’t happened. He was as lusty a lover as he’d always been.

  She worried about his reaction to the pregnancy. In his mind, would he feel he had a right to return to his mistress? Even though she tried not to think about it, the abhorrent thought occasionally slid into her mind.

  But she also remembered something he had said once before, that oftentimes a husband finds his pregnant wife even more beautiful. But surely that was other men. Men who had married their wives, knowing they were beautiful in the first place. Not men like Dante, who could have married any beautiful woman in the world, but married her to rescue her from a scandal that he’d helped create.

  She had blurted out her love for him because she could keep it bottled up no longer. She hadn’t expected him to say he loved her, too, but she wanted it.

  Oh, yes, she was no different than any woman on God’s earth. She wanted a husband who loved her with such depth, he would do everything in his power to protect her. She wanted a husband who couldn’t abide being away from her, but when he was, he thought of no one but her. She wanted a husband who couldn’t keep his hands to himself when they were together. She wanted a husband who hungered for her, not just with lust, but with a love that spanned the endless bridge of time.

  She wanted a miracle.

  “Aunt Ellie? When will Uncle Dante come home?”

  Eleanor glanced at the library door. Lydia had arrived shortly after Dante had left, and had been referring to Dante as “uncle” ever since. “Probably not for another week, dear. Come in and sit with me.”

  Lydia squeezed into the chair with Eleanor. “Papa said he’d stop by tonight and let me know how Mama is.”

  Although Lydia’s presence made Eleanor’s loneliness for Dante bearable, she worried constantly about her niece should Willa not survive, and Willa wasn’t doing well.

  The last time she saw Calvin, he had looked haggard and thin, barely hanging on to his own health and sanity when he told her that the doctors held out little hope that Willa would recover.

  “Your papa has a lot to deal with now, doesn’t he?”

  Lydia toyed with the rose colored sash on her pink silk dress. “Papa isn’t very strong, you know.”

  Eleanor hugged her niece. “Your papa will do all he can, sweetheart.”

  “I don’t know what he’ll do if Mama dies.” Lydia’s voice was calm, but Eleanor noted an undercurrent of concern. “Even before Mama got sick, he often didn’t know I was around.”

  “He always had a lot on his mind, dear. He’s a busy man.” Eleanor didn’t like defending him, because she knew Lydia was right.

  “I know Mama wasn’t always nice to him, but that’s just the way she was. She wasn’t always nice to me, either, but I loved her anyway because she’s my mama.”

  “I know, dear. Mothers have that effect on us. They are women with faults and failings like everyone else, but they are our mothers, therefore they are most special.”

  “Mama was special to me,” Lydia replied.

  Eleanor found it odd that Lydia spoke of her mother in the past tense, but she didn’t want to give the child false hope, either. “Whatever happens, Lydia, we will deal with it together.”

  Lydia sniffled and snuggled closer. “I love you, Aunt Ellie.”

  Eleanor kissed the top of Lydia’s head, trying to fight her own tears. “And I love you back, sweet girl.”

  They were quiet a long, comfortable moment, then Lydia asked, “What’s it like being married to Uncle Dante?”

  Eleanor thought a moment. “Being married to a man who is usually home is quite different than being married to a whaling man.”

  “You mean like Uncle Amos, and your papa, Grandpa Simmons.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But, I mean, what’s he like to live with? Do you have great discussions?”

  “Yes, sometimes we can talk on a subject for hours,” Eleanor admitted, for it was true. One night while on Nahant, they had discussed the virtues, which were few, and vices, which were many, of slavery, long into the wee hours of the morning. “He’s very well read, which is something I didn’t realize when I first met him.”

  Lydia nodded, content. “The last time I was here, he told me that when you first met him, you didn’t like him very much.”

  That was an understatement! “True. I didn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I thought he was arrogant, vain, and shallow,” Eleanor answered. “And mule-headed.”

  “Mule-headed?”

  With a nod, Eleanor explained, “I found him very resistant to my intelligence. He seemed to be of the notion that smart women were nothing but a nuisance.”

  Lydia grinned, as if they shared a secret. “He changed his mind, though, right?”

  Eleanor returned the private smile. “At times.”

  “D
o you tell each other secrets?”

  Eleanor frowned. “A few, but not everything, not yet.”

  “When I marry, I will tell my husband everything,” Lydia vowed. “Don’t you think Uncle Dante is handsome, Aunt Ellie?”

  “Yes, I can’t argue that.” She wished he weren’t. In her mind, that was his greatest flaw.

  “And he has gentle eyes, don’t you think?”

  Eleanor gave that a thought. “I think when he looks at something beautiful and worthwhile, like you, he sees that which makes his eyes gentle.”

  “And when he looks at you,” Lydia added, her voice filled with hope.

  Eleanor didn’t dispute her niece, she just said nothing.

  “I’ve seen the tattoos on his arms,” Lydia announced, making a face. “They’re ugly.”

  “Perhaps one day he’ll let you see the dragon on his chest,” Eleanor suggested.

  Lydia shuddered. “It might scare me. Did it scare you when you first saw it?”

  Eleanor thought of their first meeting, remembering how repulsed she’d been—not necessarily with the tattoo, but with the man. “In a way, it frightened me.”

  “Why did he have so many tattoos put on him?”

  “Well, sometimes men do strange things to themselves when they’re young,” she answered, reluctant to explain about his scars.

  “Do you sleep in the same bed?”

  Eleanor was taken aback. “Now, whatever makes you ask that sort of question, young lady?”

  “Well, when I get married, I will sleep in the same bed as my husband. Mama and Papa don’t, and I think it’s dumb. Mama’s feet always get cold, and Butterfly is forever replacing the bed warmer in Mama’s bed before she gets into it at night. I figure,” she went on, turning toward Eleanor, “that if you have a husband, you can put your cold feet on him and warm yourself up.”

  Eleanor actually laughed out loud. Whatever she had thought Lydia was going to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

  Lydia changed the subject effortlessly. “Horace said he would bring us tea and biscuits.”

  “I think Horace is smitten with you,” Eleanor teased.