Amber had had enough. “Will you tell me what is going on?” she cried, jerking her arm from his grasp. “And stop holding on to me. I can walk by myself.”
For an instant, she was sorry. If she had seen arrogance in his eyes before, it was nothing compared to the look of rage he gave her then.
“I endeavor to treat you like a lady, my little sister,” he said tightly, “but perhaps you are one of those women who prefers rough treatment? Soon, we shall find out.” There was a tight smile, and then he turned away.
Valdis continued up the stairs. At the landing, he led her down a wide hallway lined with ornate silver lanterns. Statues lined the walls. The floor was covered by a rich beige rug into which were woven designs of birds in every color imaginable. It was truly a beautiful house.
Valdis moved quickly down the hall, eyes straight ahead, chin slightly tilted, his face set. When they stopped at a door at the end of the hall, he knocked softly. Without waiting, he turned the thick black handle and pushed open the door, gesturing impatiently for Amber to follow him.
She found herself standing in a dimly lit entrance foyer and realized that her father and stepmother’s quarters took up the whole width of the massive house at that end. A lace curtain hanging in thick folds obscured whatever lay on the other side of the foyer.
Valdis swept the curtain aside and Amber followed him into the room, stunned by the lavish furnishings. The furniture was of a dark, heavy wood, ornately carved. There was a large desk against a wall, opposite the stone fireplace. In the middle of another wall, flanked by long, arched windows, was an enormous bed with a canopy of pink and red velvet fringed by gold satin.
Amber’s eyes went to the tiny woman who lay there. She seemed lost in the huge bed with its puffy, lacy pillows. She raised her head to stare at Amber, wide-eyed.
Moving forward on tiptoe—for the moment seemed to command reverence—Amber whispered, “Are you my stepmother?”
“Sí, this is your stepmother.” Valdis sighed impatiently. “We tried to persuade Amber to retire for the night, but she insisted on seeing her father. There was nothing to do but bring her to you.”
“As you should have.” Allegra Alezparito sat up, gathering a delicate crocheted bed jacket of soft pink over her shoulders. She beckoned to Amber. “Come here, my child. Sit down beside me. We must talk.”
“I am going to bed,” Valdis called over his shoulder as he left the room. “If everyone in this house and the entire valley wants to sit up all night, it is their privilege.”
The slam of the door told Amber that she and her stepmother were alone. She still had not made a move toward the bed and glanced around the large room, asking nervously, “Where is my father? Does he not sleep in here? Is he somewhere else?” Her eyes filled with tears as she stared beseechingly at the woman. “Please, won’t you tell me what is going on? I am so tired, and the way everyone is behaving is so frightening—”
“Come.” The older woman gestured again. “Come and sit down.”
Amber obeyed, dismayed to see that tears were slipping down her stepmother’s cheeks.
Amber sat down on the edge of the bed, and Allegra wrapped a cool hand around hers and squeezed softly. “It is terrible to have to tell you this, my child, when you were expecting a joyful reunion. Your father had been so looking forward to seeing you. It was all he talked about for the longest time.”
Amber shook her head wildly from side to side. Understanding was a cold snake wrapping itself around her heart. “You…you talk as though…” Her voice caught and she sobbed, “Dead! My father is dead!”
When Allegra did not reply, Amber knew the anguish of truth.
“No!” she screamed, leaping to her feet. “He can’t be dead. A cruel, cruel joke!” She backed away from the bed in horror, staring down at her stepmother as she continued to shake her head.
Allegra whispered, all in a rush, “Sí, it is true, Amber. He died two days ago. His heart, the doctor thinks. He is to be buried tomorrow. Please sit down. We must talk. We can comfort each other.”
For Amber, something snapped. “He’s downstairs, isn’t he?” she screamed, backing away. “Down there. In that room with the candles and all those people. That’s where my father is, isn’t he?”
She turned and fled, oblivious to Allegra’s pleas. She ran down the hall, down the stairs, stumbling, brushing by servants in the foyer, and flung herself against the parlor door. It swung open, and the man who had stepped out of the room before appeared once again. He stepped aside, stunned by her hysterical rush into the room.
The others seated around the parlor rose to their feet, gasping as Amber came to a standstill at the side of the casket. The mahogany casket sat on a bier, flanked at each end by burning white tapers. She looked through her tears at the ghastly white body inside, the head on a satin pillow. Her hands began to twitch wildly and her throat convulsed with gulping sobs. Her whole being wrenched with spasms of grief deeper than anything she had felt in her nineteen years.
She took a step forward and forced her trembling hand to touch the cold fingers clasped on his chest. She recoiled at the touch, but forced herself to reach out again.
Her father’s eyes were closed, and she felt her knees buckle. She clutched the edge of the coffin for support, aware only of a determination not to give way. She had to be strong. Had to be. Now she was all alone. Perhaps, she thought wildly, perhaps she had always been alone.
She leaned forward to press her lips against his. It was as though she had kissed a marble statue.
It was her hello to her father…and her goodbye.
Chapter Two
Amber lay on her side, staring into the shadows. Someone, she could not remember who, had told her this was her room. Hers? Nothing in this house was hers.
Absently, she studied the petite carved cherrywood desk and the large, ornate walnut cabinet where someone had hung her clothes. Her empty trunk sat in one corner next to a three-paneled dressing screen with a peacock embroidered on it. Thick draperies of wine velvet blocked the light at the double glass doors. She supposed there was a balcony beyond the doors. But she cared not at all. What mattered? She was suspended in a huge cobweb, and could move neither forward nor backward. She lacked the will even to try.
It had been Valdis who dragged her from her father’s coffin that night, lifting her in his arms despite her sobbing protests. He had brought her here. Valdis had shown no emotion, no compassion that night or during the funeral the next day.
How long ago had that been? She had only fuzzy recollections of a young Mexican girl bringing trays of food and urging her to eat. Amber hadn’t eaten, but she slept almost continually, glad for the reprieve.
But now she was awake—wide awake—and no matter how hard she tried, sleep was not going to take her away again.
She rolled onto her back and stared up at the white lace canopy. A satin comforter covered her, and she shoved it away, impatient at the sight of the gown she had been wearing for no telling how long. She could not even remember changing from the dress she had worn to the funeral.
The funeral. A lump rose in her throat as she remembered how she had stared down in horror at the raw, gaping hole in the ground—that terrible gate to eternity. Her eyes had moved to the wooden casket which contained not only her father, but the dreams of what might have been between them, and her future. All of these were lowered into the eager earth.
The sound of the door opening startled her, and she sank back on the pillows, clutching the comforter to her neck. She watched silently as a young girl crossed the room, carrying a tray, and set it down on the table beside the bed.
“Ah, you are awake! Good.” The girl hurried to open the draperies, and Amber blinked at the sunshine spilling into the room.
“How do you feel? You have slept so long and eaten nothing. You must be very weak.”
Amber looked up into the round, dark eyes in the pretty Mexican face. It was, she realized gratefully, a sign of caring. W
ith a shy smile, she answered, “Yes, I do feel weak…and very hungry But how long have I slept? And who are you?”
“My name is Dolita.” The girl smiled, reaching to plump the pillows. Then she settled the tray across Amber’s lap. “You have slept for almost four days and nights.”
Amber gasped. “No wonder I’m starving.” She looked down at the platter of eggs and the large fried steak, and her stomach rumbled eagerly. There were large, crisp brown rolls dripping butter, and a bowl of orange slices.
The girl turned away. “I am going to bring hot water for your tub. You will want to bathe and dress. Perhaps you would like a walk in the garden later, for some fresh air.”
“Wait, don’t go yet,” Amber called so sharply that Dolita turned to stare. Forcing herself to sound calm, she said, “Tell me, please. How is Allegra? Do you think I could speak with her today?”
Dolita shrugged. “I do not know. I hear other servants talking, and they say she, too, remains in her bed and eats little. But maybe Señor Valdis has told her to stay in her room. He has been very angry lately.”
“Valdis?” Amber made no effort to hide her indignation. “What right does he have to give his mother orders?”
Dolita backed away, eyes wide with fear. “Forgive me. I speak out of my place, señorita, and if the señor hears that servants are gossiping, his punishment is severe. Do not repeat what I have said, please.”
“No, no, I will be careful,” Amber assured her, startled by the girl’s panic. “Please, Dolita. I want us to be friends. No one else in this house has been so kind to me,” she added. “I won’t repeat anything you tell me, I promise. Just please tell me what is going on around here? Why does Valdis think he can order everyone around now that my father is dead?”
Dolita tiptoed back to the side of the bed, clutching her hands in front of her, and whispered, “I cannot say very much, señorita. Please understand. But I will give you some advice. You would do well never to cross Señor Valdis, for he has a violent temper. Know your place, as I know mine…as Señora Allegra knows hers. Señorita Maretta seems to be the only one who isn’t afraid. Everyone else obeys him—always. You must do the same.”
Amber set aside the tray, threw back the covers, and leaped to her feet. “Now that my father is dead, I have no reason to stay. So I don’t care what Valdis wants.”
Dolita shook her head. “I do not think the señor intends for you to leave soon. He has ordered a dressmaker from the village to come here and fit you for gowns.”
Amber was aghast. “I have my own clothes!” she cried. “If there was one thing my grandmother did well, it was sew. She made me many lovely clothes.”
“Señor Valdis is very particular about how the Alezparito women dress. He insists they always wear the latest fashions from Spain and Paris, and the dressmaker is constantly making new gowns. I overheard him say that your costume for the funeral was…out of date. Forgive me.”
Amber sank back onto the bed, astonished. “I wore a dark blue dress and coat. They are old, but—”
“Please, I tell you only what I hear,” Dolita repeated nervously. “Understand that the señor controls everything here. His word is law.”
“Maybe since my father died he controls Allegra and Maretta, but he’d better not order me around.”
“Oh, no, señorita.” Dolita’s eyes grew more fearful. “The señor has always been master here. Your father, Señor Lyman, always knew it was unwise to cross him.”
Amber looked away. So. Her father had been intimidated. Then her first impression of her stepbrother had been correct. He was arrogant—and probably mean, as well. The sooner she left Mexico, the better off she would be. Going back to the small town in Louisiana did not appeal, but she had to leave here. Perhaps she could find a new town, a new home.
She decided to finish eating, take a bath, then dress and pay a call on her stepmother. She would gather what information she could about her father, having nothing left but other people’s memories. Then she would make arrangements to leave as quickly as possible.
Amber bathed quickly, then dressed in the gingham dress that had always been a favorite. It had a high neck, with soft ruffles around her chin, and the sleeves were short and puffy. She tied the long sash in a big bow behind her, liking the way the skirt fell in gentle folds, with a wide ruffle dusting the floor. Brushing her long hair, she used a bow of matching fabric to tie it back from her face and, with a twirl in front of the long, gold-edged mirror on the wall, decided she looked fine.
Turning to Dolita, who had been silently standing by, ready to assist, Amber asked, “Would you show me to the señora’s room? This is such a big house and I don’t know where I am.”
Dolita shook her head firmly. “I cannot. The señor has not said you could leave your room. If I show you the way to the señora’s, then he will be angry.”
Amber sighed. “Really, Dolita! I can’t imagine any human being provoking such fear. And he is not going to tell me when I can leave my room. Now, all you have to do is point me in the right direction. I won’t say you helped me. If you don’t tell me where my stepmother is, then I’m just going to have to wander around on my own, because I intend to see Allegra today!”
Dolita nodded reluctantly. “Very well. Perhaps it is best you lock horns with Señor Valdis. Then you will listen to me. When you go out this door, turn to your right and go straight down the hall. The señora’s door is in the middle, at the end of the hall. Her quarters occupy one end of the upper floor.”
“And where are Valdis’s rooms? I don’t want to go knocking on his door by mistake.”
“He has the entire third floor. A suite of six rooms.”
Amber felt resentment flaring. So Valdis had a whole floor! Why did he have better quarters than his mother had? What kind of power allowed him to rule his own mother?
She left her room and hurried down the hall, anxious to speak with Allegra. Standing outside the huge arched door, Amber took a deep breath and hesitated a moment before knocking. She waited, but there was no response. She knocked again, louder, looking nervously over her shoulder. She knew the time of reckoning with Valdis would come, but she did not want it to be just then.
She turned the handle and pushed the door open. Stepping into the dimly lit foyer, she called softly, “Allegra? It’s Amber. May I speak with you, please?”
There was a faint rustling beyond the foyer, and Amber walked softly into the bedroom. It was very dark. She could just barely see the bed, and she called once more, “Allegra? Were you sleeping? I’m sorry to barge in like this, but I must speak with you.”
The voice that answered was tired, old…and defeated. “I am awake, Amber, but you must not stay here. Valdis would not like it. Return to your room, please.”
Amber bristled, making her way purposefully to the bed. “I am not going to return to my room, and I don’t care whether Valdis likes it. I wasn’t going to bring this up, because you and I don’t know each other yet and I know you don’t want to discuss this with me, but just why is everyone around here scared to death of your son?”
Allegra huddled even deeper into the pillows. Amber sat down on the side of the bed. “You are right,” her stepmother whispered. “I do not wish to discuss this.”
“All right.” Amber shook her head. “I don’t plan to be here very long, anyway. But I want to ask you about my father before I go. Please tell me about him.”
“I do not know what you are asking me,” the frightened woman said.
“I hadn’t seen him in so very long. Now it’s as though a stranger was buried. Tell me about him,” Amber implored. “How did he live his last years? Was he happy? Did he miss me? Anything you can tell me, I will cherish. And I want to know…about his death.” Her voice caught on a sob. She struggled for composure, and continued, “Had he been ill?”
Some of the tension seemed to leave Allegra. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, her eyes boring steadily into Amber’s. Then, suddenly, she a
sked Amber to open the draperies. “I would like to see my beloved’s daughter, see whether his light shines in her eyes…”
Delighted, Amber hurried to the window, fumbling until she found the thick-braided cord and gave it a yank. The midday sun spilled into the large room. Turning, she saw her stepmother clearly for the first time.
She found herself looking at what had once probably been the most beautiful woman in all of Mexico. The black hair no longer gleamed, but hung limp and streaked with gray. The brown eyes were dull and sunken. But the remnants were enough to tell the story. This had been a great beauty.
Allegra Alezparito pushed back the thick quilt and moved stiffly to a sitting position. She was very thin, besides being so pale.
Allegra stared at Amber, lips parted, brows raised. “Why you are even lovelier than Lyman said you were,” she cried, tiny hands fluttering to her throat. “Your hair! The color of silver. And your eyes…oh, dear God, yes, blue, like his. And an exquisite body. Oh, to be young and as beautiful as you, Amber Forrest!” Allegra shook her head from side to side, blinking back tears. “You have the whole world before you, just as your father would have wanted.”
With a sob, Amber rushed to the bed, dropping to her knees before her stepmother. “Please tell me why he died,” she pleaded, assailed again by grief. “Please tell me anything about him. He must have loved you very much.”
Allegra stroked the silver hair for a moment, then beckoned her to sit beside her on the bed. “I will tell you all I can,” she said quietly. “The doctor said that Lyman probably never knew he had a bad heart. He died”—she hesitated briefly, then continued, her voice dropping—“in his sleep. There was no pain, no suffering. If it had to be, it was best that way.”
Allegra saw Amber’s hands trembling and clasped them in her own as she said, “And, yes, he did love me, Amber, just as he loved you. He was looking forward so happily to your coming here to live. I will admit that I had my doubts about your being happy here, on the ranch. It must be so different from anything you have known before. But your father wanted you here. And now you must think of this as your home.”
Golden Roses Page 2
