Eternal Deception

by Jane Steen

  “Thank you for inviting me, Dr. Calderwood. Mrs. Calderwood.” I bowed and smiled in my turn, feeling as if I were an actor on a stage.

  “You are always a charming addition to our little dinners, Mrs. Lillington. Charming indeed.” Dr. Calderwood loomed over me in his friendliest fashion.

  “Is she not?” Judah agreed with an air of pleased ownership that gave rise to significant looks and nods of approval between the matrons. In Springwood, I was generally considered to have made quite a catch. “Mrs. Lillington has been telling me she’s so fond of Springwood that she would like to live there.”

  “Where do you reside now, Mrs. Lillington?” asked one of the newer guests innocently.

  I looked to Judah for rescue, but his mouth twitched—in amusement or annoyance, I wasn’t sure—and he stepped back, answering the summons of one of the nearby men. I would have to use my own wits to get out of the corner he’d painted me into.

  Fortunately, Dr. Calderwood showed a more than usual astuteness. “Dear Mrs. Durkin,” he purred, addressing the plump, fair young lady who had spoken, “your inquiry puts me in mind of a delightful surprise I have in store for Mrs. Lillington. She is, you must know, a close family friend of Mr. Martin Rutherford, the Chicago merchant.”

  Several people nodded with interest, as if they knew Martin’s name. All I felt was astonishment—what did Dr. Calderwood have to do with Martin?

  I found out quickly enough. Dr. Calderwood, drawing himself up to his full, impressive height, turned to me and bowed to indicate the news he was about to impart was of great significance to me. “Mr. Rutherford has written to me asking the favor of a suite of rooms at this seminary for a few weeks in the fall.”

  He gazed at the assembled company, assessing their reactions, which were gratifyingly gushing.

  His news certainly had an effect on me, if the swimming sensation in my head was anything to go by. I took a tiny sip of cordial to steady my nerves—instantly regretting it as the stuff tasted nasty—and turned to Dr. Calderwood to unburden myself of the question clawing at my mind.

  “Why on earth should Mar—Mr. Rutherford want to come and stay here?”

  To tell the truth, that wasn’t really the question I wanted answered. “And why didn’t Martin write to tell me he’s coming?” was the real puzzle that had somehow given rise to a dull ache in my neck and my left temple.

  Naturally, Dr. Calderwood answered the question I had actually asked. “Mr. Rutherford does not think his wife would be comfortable in a boardinghouse or such other lodging as might be available in the vicinity. Of course, when Mr. Addis has completed his hotel, Springwood will be amply supplied with the best of comforts. Alas, that happy day is not likely to occur before the spring.”

  “No more it isn’t,” interjected the tall, cadaverous gentleman who’d been standing by the fire hugging his whiskey glass and listening to Mr. Shemmeld’s bombast. “What with the consarned weather and those blamed railroads—I’m telling you, they put the price of freight up every day. If I weren’t a Christian man, I’d give that Cornelius Vanderbilt a few choice words to chew on, so help me I would.”

  There were general nods of agreement from the men, but then Mrs. Addis piped up. “Mrs. Rutherford is a grand heiress, and she certainly doesn’t belong in a boardinghouse. If only I’d known, I’d have offered her my best bedroom and the front parlor for her exclusive use.”

  She swept her long eyelashes down modestly, but not before I’d seen the gleam of ambition in her large hazel eyes. Mrs. Addis was a social climber if I ever saw one, and vain to boot. I knew at that moment that she would commission me to make a truly splendid evening gown before the Rutherfords’ visit. And then I found it strange to realize I was envisioning Martin—the friend of my childhood—through the eyes of those around me, as a rich, powerful stranger.

  “I’d still like to know the purpose of his visit,” said one of the teachers—Gurney, Gurtley?—with the tenacity on which his reputation among the students was founded. “Is Springwood to have a department store?”

  I noticed that Mr. and Mrs. Haywood, who owned the mercantile, looked alarmed at the prospect.

  Mrs. Calderwood smiled the smile of one about to impart knowledge to an eager audience. “Mr. Rutherford informs us that his business partner has a firm interest in opening several small stores on the frontier. He wishes to see the region for himself before he makes any decision.”

  “And he brings his wife?” Mrs. Durkin’s rounded, fair-skinned cheeks dimpled. “They must be a devoted couple.”

  “She’s quite the society belle,” one of the men said. “An heiress, with diamonds as big as goose eggs.” He patted Mrs. Durkin’s hand, from which I deduced that he was Mr. Durkin. “But we’ll meet her right enough,” he said reassuringly. “They’ll never lack for a good dinner while they’re here.”

  Naturally, this remark caused the ladies in the party to burst forth with reasons why they, rather than anyone else, should host such dinners. That left me rather out of the conversation. Judah had drifted away to talk to Mr. Shemmeld, so I had nothing to do but fret over Martin’s visit.

  I hadn’t mentioned Judah in any of the letters I’d written to Martin. Partly because I was still not as entirely persuaded as Judah seemed to be that our futures lay together and partly, if I were to be honest, out of spite. If I did decide to wed, I wanted to spring the fact upon Martin in much the same way he’d sprung his marriage on me and see how he liked it.

  I wanted to see him, of course. In fact, even so many months away from his visit, the notion sent a strange, buzzing sensation through my limbs of excitement mixed with apprehension. And yet I couldn’t help feeling that Martin would try to interfere, somehow, in whatever plans I had elaborated by the fall. If he considered himself the closest thing I had to a brother, would he not want to have a say in my future? Add to this his role as the caretaker of my fortune and he would have a reason, if not a right, to try to dictate to me. And I didn’t want anyone to dictate to me—especially not Martin Rutherford.

  “Deep in thought?” A hand touched my elbow as Judah’s musical tenor sounded in my ear.

  I turned to him, smiling, not wishing to share those particular thoughts with him. “I was wondering how I should welcome Mr. and Mrs. Rutherford.”

  Judah shrugged. “Just be yourself. This is quite a coup for Mrs. Calderwood, isn’t it?” He lowered his voice. “I’m sure she’ll make the most of the opportunity.”

  I nodded, but the image Judah’s words had conjured up troubled me. Would the Calderwoods pump Martin for a monetary gift or, worse, show him and his glittering wife off like a circus exhibit? I fervently hoped that they wouldn’t be vulgar enough to do either, but I definitely had my qualms.

  Heads turned as a small, silvery bell sounded, and Andrew, by far the seminary’s best-looking servant, announced in a ringing voice that dinner was served.

  I glanced at Judah from under my lashes and saw my thoughts reflected in his eyes. “Well,” he said quietly, “at least they didn’t dress him in livery like an English footman.”

  “Whatever will they come up with next?” I hissed as I took Judah’s arm and ensured that my train hadn’t snagged on anything. “If you become the head of the seminary, will you inaugurate an annual ball? Perhaps you could have the chapel cleared of its pews for the occasion; the floor is excellent.”

  I felt his body jerk in an effort to contain his mirth, and he pressed my arm tightly into his side with his elbow. The shared joke elated me, and for a moment I felt that Judah and I truly did belong together. Why should I worry about Martin?

  26

  Proposal

  “Hoorah for the Fourth of July!” Sarah ran ahead along the trail, her boots raising the dust.

  “Hurry up, Momma,” she called, turning back to me. “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”

  “Tess can’t walk that fast,” I called to her. “Come back and hold my hand.”

  Sarah groaned in frustrat
ion but complied, seizing my hand and Tess’s so she could exert forward momentum on her sluggish elders. She’d be quite exhausted by sundown, and I fervently hoped we could find her a ride in a returning cart.

  “I’m—so—hungry,” Sarah moaned, letting go of my hand to clutch dramatically at her stomach.

  “You should have eaten more at breakfast,” I admonished in my best maternal tone. I nevertheless fished a small twist of paper out of my reticule. “Here—I’d been saving this for later, but I don’t suppose it’ll spoil your appetite.”

  Sarah whooped with joy and stuck the piece of rock candy in her mouth, once more running ahead of us in a half jig, half skip.

  “You’ll spoil her.” Judah materialized at my side, as always giving the impression that he didn’t walk like ordinary mortals but simply bethought himself from place to place.

  “She’s been running in circles all morning,” I said defensively. “And I don’t think she’ll ever get fat.”

  I smiled at Sarah’s tightly braided red curls—she was small, slim, and dainty like my mother, where I had been all arms and legs and knobby joints. Finely put together, she never slouched or slumped but held her head erect like a dancer and strode along straight-backed, her feet making a precise line of footprints in the dust.

  “Even so, you must be careful not to overindulge her. I’ve noticed she speaks to you much too freely; children should be seen and not heard.” Judah said this with his usual charming smile, but Tess shot him a reproachful glance.

  “Sarah is a good little girl,” she said. She thought for a moment and then added, “Most of the time.”

  Judah affected not to hear her. Not for the first time, I felt a pang of dismay that relations between my suitor and my best friend were so lacking in warmth. Judah tended to act as if Tess were not there; Tess responded with sullen, unhappy looks when Judah was present.

  I shot Tess a glance to express my sympathy with her feelings and an apology for Judah’s lack of warmth. She returned my look with a small smile, flicked her gaze at Judah—who evidently had no intention of leaving my side—and bustled ahead to catch up with Sarah. Judah slowed his pace a little, forcing me to follow suit.

  Far behind us, I could hear the soft Southern drawl of the servants, interspersed with laughter. Up ahead, a dark mass indicated the main group of students and faculty who had stayed on over summer rather than undertake the journey home. It was a Sunday, and the Calderwoods were with them, so the students were in a relatively subdued mood.

  I yawned, and Judah laughed.

  “Is the exertion of walking too much for you, Nell?” He proffered his arm, and I took it; he felt cool and dry to the touch, as if the heat of the day did not affect him. I was conscious of the fact that I was perspiring freely, my chemise damp underneath my corset.

  “I think it’s the Sabbath rest that did me in,” I admitted. “I have no gift for being idle on purpose, and there were two hours of Bible study besides.”

  “When we—well, soon enough we can study together. I look forward to directing your efforts.” Judah gave me a sideways glance, his mouth twitching. “I hear you make little progress in memorizing verses; we’ll have to change all that.”

  I kept my face as still as possible against the temptation to show how little I relished memorizing verses. I simply wasn’t good at it, and even the prospect of Judah as my teacher didn’t charm me.

  But Judah seemed to have other things on his mind. “Once the meal is over, Nell, might we not take a little stroll? Just the two of us?”

  I looked at him, torn between heart-skipping excitement and alarm. Since the dinner at which Dr. Calderwood had announced Martin’s visit, Judah’s attentions to me had redoubled. Had he chosen this evening to make sure of me? I had felt such a moment approaching, stealthily, as if it were a stalking lion and I were its prey. And I still wasn’t sure what my answer would be.

  When I had lived in Illinois, I had thought the sunsets beautiful. But they were mere daubs of color compared to the Kansas sky, and tonight’s was especially striking. A deep fuchsia, haloed in gold, blazed behind the silhouettes of a sparse growth of trees. Above it, a strip of deep blue sky made a vivid contrast to the orange-lit ribbons of cloud that moved slowly across the firmament.

  Mesmerized by the ever-changing vista of salmon, gold, and carnelian, I took a deep breath of the evening air, laden with the scents of dried grass and sunflowers. A few blocks away—Springfield was quite a town now—I could hear the band striking up the sentimental notes of “Beautiful Dreamer.” Soon they would launch into livelier tunes, and there would be square dancing for the younger couples, at which point the seminary contingent would be obliged to return home. Dancing—particularly on the Sabbath—was still a point where seminary and town divided.

  I could only half suppress my sigh, and Judah, of course, noticed—as he always did.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I was thinking how long it’s been since I danced,” I admitted. “Five years, at least.”

  I felt my face grow hot, remembering in whose arms I had so blithely skipped and hopped to the music. It had been at the start of my cousins’ visit, and the flirtation between me and my cousin Jack had barely begun.

  I had felt a sense of exhilaration that my handsome, grown-up cousin had been so willing to stand up with me. I had reveled in the envious glances of my friends and the crestfallen looks of two brothers from Libertyville who had been plaguing me with their gauche attentions.

  I felt Judah’s cool finger against my glowing cheek, and an interested look came into his eyes, as if he were storing away a valuable piece of information for later use. But all he said was, “Dancing is foolish.”

  We had reached a pretty spot on the southwestern edge of the town where the creek ran through a grove of tall cottonwoods. The brush had been cleared to give no encouragement to the mosquitoes, and a bench had been placed on a low rise that commanded a view of the water—when there was water. Behind us, the homes of Springwood’s wealthier citizens looked far more solid and prosperous than they had three years before. Their yards were more carefully tended, and there were fewer unbuilt gaps between them.

  Judah handed me to the bench, and I arranged my skirts, my palms damp. The band’s music drifted by us in eddies, competing with the hum and buzz of the night’s insects. The “Blue Danube,” I thought. A waltz. I had always liked the waltz.

  “A perfect night,” Judah said softly. “And no better time for what I wish to ask you, Nell.” He glanced back at the houses, and I looked over my shoulder too, seeing the blaze of red and orange reflected in their windowpanes. “All the town is waiting for news of our betrothal—shall we give it to them tonight?”

  Judah had his back to the sunset so that his eyes were in shadow, the red-gold light limning his short, glossy curls and picking out the slope of his cheek under the high cheekbones. He had taken off his gloves, and his fingers grasped my lace-gloved hand with untroubled confidence.

  “Do you hesitate to say yes, Nell?”

  We retained the same position for several minutes before Judah spoke because I did, indeed, hesitate to say yes. That small word would give me an unassailable position in Springwood’s society. It would give Sarah a name for which nobody could reproach her. It would fix my life in those rhythms to which I was already well accustomed and which I did not find oppressive.

  To refuse Judah, on the other hand, would be to throw myself farther into uncertainty—would I not have to make plans to go elsewhere?

  “Nell.” Judah’s voice was soft, insistent. “Will you not honor me with your hand? You know we should be together.” He leaned toward me and kissed me on the lips, his touch lingering just long enough to cause the heat to rise again to my face. Untouched by another man since my brief but ruinous flirtation with Jack, I yet understood the promise inherent in that kiss, and I couldn’t hide from myself that I wanted what he promised me. And yet . . .

  “I want to say yes.” I
was short of breath—it was hard to think with Judah so close to me. “But I’m not—not ready, I suppose.”

  The fears inside me suddenly released themselves in a torrent of words. “I never wanted to marry, Judah. That’s why I wouldn’t name Sarah’s father after—after I made my mistake. And now I don’t just have myself to consider; there’s Sarah and Tess as well. I don’t know if I’d just be marrying you to give Sarah a name, and how would it be fair to any of us if that were the case? That’s not a good reason to marry.”

  “There are far worse reasons.” Judah kissed me again, a little harder, but still allowing me to draw back if I wished. The problem was, I didn’t know what I wished. I had the oddest feeling that the love I felt for Judah should be overwhelming, but the only overwhelming love I’d ever experienced was for Sarah. Why couldn’t I see the right course I should tread, easy and clear as following a well-walked trail?

  “I can’t wait forever, Nell.” Judah turned my left hand over and pulled up the edge of my lace glove, kissing the inside of my wrist. My arm tingled as my heartbeat increased, and a tiny smile came to the lips that touched my flesh, as if Judah felt it. Yet at the same time, I was conscious of the wedding band I wore, the one Hiram had given me, the one that, to me, symbolized my commitment to Sarah. I would have to take it off to accept Judah’s ring.

  “Six months.” My wildly floundering senses threw out words that escaped my mouth before I could stop them. “Give me six months; give me until New Year’s Day, and I’ll not fail to give you an answer, I promise. Give me time, Judah, please.” The last sentence came out in a hoarse whisper; Judah was kissing my wrist again.

  “Six months, then.” Judah pushed the loop of lace back over the tiny pearl button that had slipped out of its fastening. “We will announce our engagement on New Year’s Day.”