Anna tried to concentrate. She was to pretend she didn’t know Nicolas or the children. “Yes. I understand.”
She looked at the door again and saw a man of medium height with sandy hair leaning against the doorjamb. Dressed impeccably in a white shirt and dark trousers, he had a buckskin jacket slung over his shoulder. Although he looked nothing like Nicolas, she knew, just by the way he held himself, that somehow he was related. When he caught her looking at him, his entire expression changed from overt scrutiny to condescension.
“So,” he said, crossing to the bed and laying his jacket over the back of a chair. “Our little guest is awake.” He gave Concetta a forced smile. “You were to tell us the moment it happened.”
Concetta stood up and put her fists on her ample hips. “I just find her trying to get but of bed. I have no time to holler at you.”
The man stood over Anna and smiled down at her. “Leave us, Concetta.”
Concetta’s glance caught Anna’s and she read the look clearly. “Si. I get her some soup.”
Anna gave the man an unsure smile. She noticed that although he returned her smile, his eyes were cold.
“Miss Anna Jenson.” He shook his finger at her. “You’ve had us in quite a state, you know.”
Anna swallowed. “Who … who are you?”
He sat down on the bed. “Marcus Gaspard. My father is … was the one who hired you.”
So. This was Nicolas’s brother. She felt no kinship with him. Her instincts told her to be wary. “Oh, yes.” Anna forced a small smile. “I … I’m anxious to meet him.”
Marcus lowered his eyes and ran his fingers through his sandy hair. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but he died four months ago.”
“What?” She was almost too weak to keep up her charade, but she couldn’t let Nicolas down. “But … how can that be?”
Marcus took her hands. “I know, it’s all very confusing to you. What you’ve been through has been terrible, I’m sure. Now, finding out that my father is dead …” He sighed.
Her mind was becoming sharper. “But he wrote me less than a month ago.”
He gave her a suspicious look. “That’s not possible. You’ve been missing for three months.”
Anna brought her hands up to her face. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t know where you’ve been for the past three months?”
She shook her head as tears streamed down her cheeks.
Marcus brought her roughened, reddened fingers to his lips and kissed them gently. “We will try to keep this quiet. No one has to know what you’ve been through.”
He sounded so sincere. She wondered what he knew. “What have I been through?”
“A great deal, it would seem. I don’t know where you’ve been, but someone had the common decency to drop you off at the doc’s after you … got rid of some savage’s unwanted brat.”
Anna felt immediate revulsion for the man. “I … I was carrying a child?”
Marcus laughed. “Not a child, my dear. You were carrying a nit that would undoubtedly have grown into a lazy, dirty louse.” A small, evil smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Believe me, you’re well rid of it.”
Fresh tears stung Anna’s eyes, hiding her anger. He had no way of knowing whose child she carried, yet naturally assumed she’d been forcibly raped by Indians.
“I don’t know what’s happened to me. I really don’t. I don’t …” she wailed softly.
Marcus sat back and watched her. When Concetta came back into the room with a tray, he slapped his thigh and stood up. “Eat something, my dear.” He appeared overly concerned. “And get some more rest. You’re safe now. We’ll take care of you.”
Anna continued to sob after Marcus left the room. Despite the richness of the room and the softness of the bed, she wanted more than anything to be back at the compound with Nicolas. And the children. And everything that had become home to her for the past three months.
She tried to push herself up in bed. A stinging pang burst in her groin. It diffused through her abdomen like tentacles of fire, a blazing memento of all that she’d so recently lost. She turned toward the wall, wanting desperately to sleep again, and awaken to find it had only been another nightmare.
“So,” Gretchen said, setting her crochet hook aside, “have you decided what you’re going to do?”
Anna glanced up briefly from the edge she was embroidering on the bodice of the cambric corset cover, then resumed her stitching. A week had passed since she’d found herself at the ranch, and she was just now beginning to feel better. Until today she hadn’t cared about anything.
When Anna didn’t respond to her question, Gretchen clucked her tongue impatiently. “Didn’t you hear me?”
Anna raised her eyebrows. That was as much response as she could give this woman who prattled on and on about anything and everything, saying nothing Anna wanted to hear.
“I said,” Gretchen repeated, “have you decided what you’re going to do?”
Anna shook her head. “Not really. I suppose I could stay and teach—”
Gretchen’s harsh laugh interrupted her. “Don’t be a fool. No one in this town will hire you to teach their white children, knowing you’ve been living with the Indians and doing … well, horrible Indian things.” She smoothed down the emerald-green watered silk skirt of her gown. “Even if they took you against your will, you’re still … well, soiled.”
Anna lowered her head and made a face. In an odd, perverted way, Gretchen was right. Shunning was the only reaction she would get from the townspeople, even if proof that she’d been with the Indians was never found. Just the possibility was enough to fan the flames of bigotry.
“Then I’ll probably go home to Oregon.”
“If only everyone hadn’t heard about your miscarriage …” Gretchen clucked her tongue again.
Anna gave her an angry glare. No doubt she was the one who’d spread the news.
“But, as it is, dear,” Gretchen said, a tight smile on her lips, “you can’t possibly stay here.”
Anna tried to concentrate on her stitching. What made Gretchen think she wanted to stay? She was anxious to leave. She had no choice. She only hoped she could abide her father’s gloating.
“Of course,” Gretchen said, breaking into Anna’s thoughts, “there is one way you could stay.”
Anna gave her a brief glance but resumed her stitching.
“I know someone who would forgive you and marry you in spite of what you’ve been through.”
Anna’s heart leaped. She swallowed hard. “I neither want nor need pity, Gretchen.”
“Don’t be silly. It wouldn’t be pity at all.”
Anna looked up and saw the smug smile on Gretchen’s face.
“By the way,” Gretchen said around her smile, “we’re having guests for dinner this evening.”
Anna settled back in her chair and took up her stitching again. “I’ll stay in my room. I won’t bother you.”
“Oh, no, you won’t. You need a little perking up. And,” she said with a sly smile, “my father is anxious to meet you.”
“Your … father?”
Gretchen nodded. “He owns the mercantile.” She let out a wistful sigh. “Poor Papa. He’s been so lonely since Mama died.” She gave Anna a generous smile. “He really needs someone to look after him. He’s quite wealthy, you know. He may be older,” she said, busying herself with her crochet hook, “but I would think any woman whose reputation is as battered as yours would find him a generous and loving companion.”
Anna’s needle stopped midair. Me? Me!? She looked at Gretchen and saw the knowing little smile on the woman’s face. Why, Gretchen thought to matchmake her to her father.
Suddenly, she couldn’t bear Gretchen’s company another minute. She had to get out of there. “Excuse me, Gretchen,” she said, standing up slowly. “I … I really would like to get some rest before dinner. Do you mind?”
Gretchen looked up at her, her expre
ssion innocent. “Can you make it alone, or should I call for help?”
Anna waved her off. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.” She picked up the soft, angora shawl off the chair and slipped it over her shoulders.
Once in her room, she collapsed on the bed. Being with Gretchen took a lot out of her.
“Señorita?”
Anna smiled as Concetta stepped into the room.
“You are sick?”
Anna shook her head. “Just tired. Come in,” she said. “Sit with me. Tell me something about Nicolas.”
Concetta closed the door and crossed to the bed. “Ah, my Nicky.” Her face softened. “I do love that stubborn boy.”
Anna smiled. “Has he always been stubborn?”
Concetta rolled her eyes. “Si, si. Even as a little boy he wouldn’t listen to Concetta. Always do what he wants, never what’s good for him.”
Anna sat up, thoughts of Nicolas warming her. “Tell me what he was like.”
Concetta’s eyes softened. “As a niño?” When Anna nodded, Concetta stood up. “How you feeling? Can you walk?”
“Of course,” Anna answered, getting up slowly off the bed.
“Come.”
She followed Concetta out into the empty hall, down to the far end to a door that Anna had noticed was always closed. Concetta pushed the door open and let Anna walk through ahead of her.
The room was sparsely decorated, the spartan Shaker bed covered with a soft fur blanket. The wardrobe was plain, but the wood was a rich mahogany, and there was a single straight-back chair sitting in the corner.
Anna walked to the shaving stand that stood against the wall across from the bed. She touched the swivel mirror, then ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the stand. When Concetta joined her, she gave the housekeeper a sad smile.
“It’s so bare.” It was hard to keep the tears from her voice.
“Si Every fine piece of furniture his papa put in here for his comfort, Nick dragged back out into the hallway.” Concetta shook her head and sighed. “ ’Round and ’round they went in the beginning. The papa wanted him to have thick mattress and lots of rich bedding, the niño ignored the bed and slept on the floor.”
In her mind, Anna saw Nicolas as a child, wrapped in a blanket and curled up on the. floor. An ache settled around her heart. She had pity for Nicolas, the boy, but she missed Nicolas, the man.
Concetta opened the wardrobe and straightened the clothing. “I remember when he came,” she said on a wistful sigh. “Poor niño, all dirty and skinny like a wet wildcat cub pulled through a knothole. Tsk. I think to myself, ‘Concetta, you take this orphan in and give him some tortillas and beans. Then you scrub him till his skin all pink and shiny.’ ” She muttered something in Spanish Anna didn’t understand.
“And did you?” Anna stood up and walked to the window.
“You think he let me touch him? No. Then I see his side. Aaiee! The dirt had dried in the wound and kept the blood from leaving his skinny body. And his face was so dirty, I no did see the sore on his face for dos days!” She shook two plump fingers in Anna’s face.
“Did he and his father get along well?”
Concetta frowned. “In the beginning? No. Maybe,” she said, closing one eye as she contemplated, “maybe it took two, three months. Then,” she said, smiling, “then he became like the papa’s shadow. Only when the papa hired a maestra did Nick quit following him everywhere. Then,” she added, her eyes filled with memories, “he, Yakub and the maestro, do everything together.”
“Jacob?” Anna asked, pronouncing it correctly.
Concetta nodded. “Nicky’s other half brother. Yakub’s mama die. Then,” she said, her eyes hardening, “the papa married the cold, bloodless lady who gave him Marcus.”
She smoothed the blanket over Nicolas’s spare bed. “Marcus changed everything. Marcus was, how you say, sneaky.”
Anna gave her a wry smile. “Well, that much hasn’t changed, has it?”
Concetta snorted. “Nicky still a good boy. He always quiet, but he was good. He no get moody and angry until that girl Sarabeth drive a spike through his heart.”
Anna’s stomach dropped. “Sarabeth?”
“Si, ” Concetta spat, making an indelicate gesture with her fingers. “She supposed to be engaged to marry Nicky. But what does she do? She sleep with other men. Puta! When Nicky find out, she laughs at him. Tells him no white girl wants to marry half-breeds.”
Anna pressed her fingers to her lips, suddenly beginning to understand Nicolas and why he’d treated her the way he had.
“She say to him,” Concetta continued, “that it’s only a game white girls like to play. Pah! I’m glad Nicky find out she was no good for him, but he so unhappy all the time.”
She pulled Anna over to the bed and gently pushed her down. “Sky tells me he is more angry at you than any woman since Sarabeth.”
Anna hung her head and stared at her hands. “I think he hates me.”
Concetta got up and waddled to the door. “At first Nicky always hates everything he loves.”
When Anna looked up, Concetta was gone. She moved off the bed slowly, looked around the room one more time, then left, closing the door behind her.
When she got to her own room, she lay down on the bed, determined to rest before the grueling evening ahead with Gretchen’s guests. But Concetta’s words kept her awake. At first Nicky always hates everything he loves. Anna shook her head. That was wishful thinking. True, the last time she and Nicolas had been together, everything was wonderful, but she was through daydreaming about happy endings.
Chapter Sixteen
“Ach, fraulein.” Dolf Mueller pulled Anna’s arm through his and patted her hand. “I’m so happy you take this little walk mit me.”
Anna stifled the urge to drag her arm away as they made their way down the path to the garden. Her spirits had sunk to an all-time low when Gretchen’s father had arrived earlier, insisting they “get to know each other better.”
Drawing in a resigned breath, she looked around at the vibrant splashes of lavender and pink flowers that were so carefully planted on either side of the path. It really would be a lovely setting—with the right partner, she thought wistfully.
“You are so quiet. Tell Dolf what you’re thinking.” He squeezed her arm, hauling her closer.
Anna deftly extricated herself. “I was thinking how beautiful the garden is.” She stopped at a rosebush and touched the soft, velvety petals of a bloodred flower.
Dolf stood close beside her and gave her an intimate smile. “Gardens are made for people who vant to get to know each other better.”
Anna politely returned his smile, but hoped it wasn’t as sick as the feeling in her chest. Gretchen had been right. The man was courting her. She cursed herself for being talked into wearing a gown with this Iowa neckline. It was one of several Gretchen had lent her.
An uncomfortable silence lay between them as Dolf simply stared at her and smiled that secret, lascivious smile. Anna nervously straightened the ecru Limerick lace that trimmed her wide sleeve and wished to heaven the bodice of her dress had been up around her neck instead of where it was. This was no time to show cleavage.
“I could make you sehr happy, fraulein.” Dolf’s eyes were shiny and his face was dotted with perspiration.
The sick feeling in Anna’s chest grew, and her gaze fluttered to the ground. “Please, Mr. Mueller, I—”
“Dolf,” he said, squeezing her bare shoulders. “You must remember to call me Dolf.” He pulled her toward a white gazebo. “You should sit. You must be tired.”
After what I’ve been through, she finished silently. Every sentence Gretchen had spoken the past week ended with such a phrase. If they only knew …
She stepped into the gazebo and sat down on the bench. Dolf sat across from her. Her gaze fell on his corpulent stomach, which was encased tightly behind a vest. The lower end of it pushed out and hung over his trousers. He sat with his knees spread wide, giving Anna
another view she could have done without.
Dolf leaned toward her, his elbows on his ample thighs. “Now I know you probably need some time. I’m a patient man—”
“Dolf,” she interrupted, trying to keep her voice from wobbling, “I … I’m flattered that you … that you’re so willing to … to see me, in spite of … what everyone is saying about me.”
Dolf grinned, showing Anna his large, horselike tobacco-stained teeth. “Nonsense, fraulein.” He crossed the small space and squeezed his bulk next to her on the bench. “I find you very attractive.”
Anna swallowed hard and moved away, only to find him plastered against her side again. “Please, Dolf, I don’t think we should—”
“Come now, mein schatz, ” he said, his voice guttural as he tried to kiss her neck.
“No!” She pushed at him, unable to budge his heavy body. Suddenly his hands were everywhere, groping her breasts and her waist, sliding down over her hips. She struggled against him, turning her face away as she pushed at his shoulders. “Stop, please!”
“But why?” he wheezed. “I’m a white man. Not one of those savitches.”
“Well, well. What d’we have here?”
Anna was quickly released. She looked up and saw a tall, black-haired man standing in front of them.
“Jake Gaspard, you drunken bastard.” Dolf pulled out his handkerchief and blotted his dripping brow. “Go mind your own business.”
The man appeared to weave just slightly as he ignored Dolf and smiled at Anna. “An’ you, fair damsel,” he said, slurring slightly, “must be the famous schoolmistress.” He got down on one knee, took Anna’s hand and kissed it fervently.
Anna pulled her hand from his and put it in her lap. It wasn’t that she found his touch repulsive, she was just confused by his display of familiarity.
“Leave us, Jake, or I’ll sic the dogs on you.”
Jake stood up and gripped a gazebo pillar for support. He lazily lifted his full, black eyebrows and looked back at Anna. “Schoolmarm, ma’am,” he said, “you want me to leave you alone with Merchant Herr Mueller?”
Secrets of a Midnight Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book One Page 25