Running Wild

by Denise Eagan

  He pushed dishes out of the way and started to slide his hand across the table, as if to reach for hers. Then he seemed to think better of it, and pulled it back again. Willing her mind away from the mounting panic, she focused on that hand. The broad, dark stretch of it, the light coating of black hair, his long fingers and neatly trimmed nails. His palms were calloused, she knew, even after the weeks’ respite from ranching. Strong, capable hands.

  “I’m sorry,” Nicholas said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’ll be O.K. We need to figure it out, that’s all.”

  She raised her head to catch his eyes, cool blue wisdom. The rushing in her ears subsided. “I—I suppose so.”

  “No supposin’. It’s sure.”

  “All right.”

  “Good.” He straightened.

  “It’s only that—well you understand this means he followed me. He was—he was on the train with us. And he is here, also, in Saratoga Springs.” Romeo had meant what he’d written when he’d sent the Bible . . . and the letters that followed. She took in a deep breath. “He’s watching me, isn’t he? He might even be in this very dining room and I would never know.”

  The waiter arrived with two bowls on a tray. He laid the soup on the table, refilled the glasses, and then glided away. Nicholas lifted his spoon and leaned forward to look at the soup with a frown. “I said steak and potatoes, not soup. It’s green.”

  The muscles in her neck were so tight it hurt. Yet it took only a moment of Nicholas’s rapidly moving mind to ease the tension. “It’s cream of asparagus. Soup with dinner aids the digestion.”

  “Asparagus, huh? Well if that don’t beat the Dutch. Can’t understand why everybody in the East wants to make vegetables into soup.” He took a sip, squinted his eyes and nodded. “You’re right, it’s good.”

  She chuckled as she started to eat. “Why, of course it is, Nicholas. This is, after all, Saratoga Springs. The town caters to the very rich and their finicky tastes.” A second spoonful of soup and her stomach leapt with joy. Nicholas had been correct. She was famished. She took another spoonful and swallowed the soup along with fear, at least momentarily.

  He shrugged. “Just because they’ve got money doesn’t mean they’ve got taste,” he said after several more spoonfuls.

  Star reached the bottom of her bowl far more quickly than good manners would dictate, but Nicholas wouldn’t care. She sat back. “My father would very much agree with you.”

  He grinned. “Yeah. Kind of a snob, your pa,” he said finishing his soup.

  Star laughed as he sat back. “That, sir, is an understatement! Oh Nicholas, you do make me laugh! Although you must own that Father likes you well enough. Snob though he is, he’s generally a fine judge of character.”

  “Or easily bamboozled by a sly ol’ cowpoke like me,” he said. Before she could comment, he added abruptly. “Now listen, we’ve got to get back to Romeo.”

  Her heart jerked. Oh, thank God she saw the waiter approaching. “Perhaps later. Here comes the fish dish.”

  “Fish too? But all I—”

  The waiter took the bowls away and laid covers in front of them. With it came another bottle of wine—a Riesling this time. Nicholas scowled, then shrugged and went through the ritual again. The waiter left. “You ordered the wines?” he asked as they started eating.

  “I did. One must have the correct wine for each course.”

  He shook his head, his face creased with the merry confusion that so tickled her funny bone. “I’d have figured one wine is enough for the whole blamed meal. I’ll give you credit though—you chose good ones.”

  She smiled. “Why thank you. It’s gratifying to know I’ve performed well in what is usually a man’s domain.”

  He shrugged. “Good enough for me, anyhow, but I don’t know much about wine.”

  “You know, I’m going to ignore that comment,” she replied in a light voice, “and choose instead to believe that you are a regular connoisseur.”

  “O.K., then I’ll confess to a lie. I’m an A number one wine expert.”

  “My pride thanks you!”

  “It’s welcome. So back to Romeo. Been studying on him, and I’ll admit he worries me mightily.”

  “Mightily?” she repeated, her stomach tightening. “Why, I’ll own that this last act is rather . . . distressing but I think not so much as ‘mightily’.”

  “Well you go and be distressed. Me, I’m mightily worried. What troubles me most is that he’s gone from letter writing to destruction, just out of the blue. Think maybe you did something to set him off?”

  And with that anger—clear, cleansing anger—erupted and swept away her fear. “Do something?” she snapped. “This is my fault, then?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said, coolly as if she hadn’t just blasted him with the hot wind of her temper. “You’re the victim, that’s plain enough.” He took a bite of fish and his face glowed for a spell as he reveled in culinary ecstasy. “Man alive, but this is good. You know how to order French food, ma’am, and that’s a fact.”

  She would not allow flattery to quiet her wrath. Especially since that wrath was all that held panic at bay. “You implied that I did something to cause this. I have not. Why, would you be so kind as to tell me, why do men always blame women for an assault upon her person when in all other matters he demands control? When it comes to sexual matters men claim to be constitutionally unable to resist a pretty face, and thus relinquishes all responsibility for an assault. Only in cases of rape do men assign women power, which is most certainly one of the areas that we cannot possibly be equal, lacking physical strength as we are. It is infuriating!” she spat out.

  His eyes narrowed as he finished his fish. He sat back. “I didn’t say that. I don’t think that. And this isn’t rape.”

  “And yet you’ve blamed me in the same manner, which is beyond comprehension since I have no notion who this man is. How could I possibly ‘ask for’ him to sneak into my trunk and—” She stopped, realizing that she’d raised her voice, drawing the attention of the occupants of the nearest table. Clenching her teeth, she finished in a lower voice, “Do that.”

  He twirled his wine glass, his countenance calm and unlined as he studied her with deeply penetrating eyes. “Not intentionally, sure,” he said in measured tones. “But that makes it worse. This is a physical threat and we have no notion of what triggered it—” He paused as if struggling for the right words. “You’re wrong, I don’t blame you, but maybe you’d do best to lie low for a while. Cancel your speech tomorrow, at least.”

  She started. He wanted her to quit? The thought pulled at her neck and shoulders and formed a lump in her throat. She’d believed that, like her father and brother, Nicholas understood.

  But how could he when she’d not told him? She had not, in fact, talked to anyone about Minnie outside of her family and Ambrose. Years later the memory still had the power to sear her heart and scrape her nerves raw—pain and weakness she wished to expose to no one.

  “I will not succumb to bullying.” She took a sip of wine. Tangy and light, it coated her tongue, then her throat and stomach, where it calmed the churning.

  He frowned. “This is beyond bullying. He’s destroyed your clothes. He might go after you next.”

  With a pair of sheers? A shiver coursed over her nerves and made her stomach jump. “He won’t. He loves me,” she said as much to convince herself as to convince Nicholas.

  “A man who honestly loves you would never frighten you.”

  “He did it ‘for my own good.’ He’ll stop when he fully comprehends the hopelessness of his quest.”

  Nicholas stared hard at her, deep lines forming around his eyes. “I’m not sure about that. Listen, I reckon you’re an ace of a speaker—”

  “I’m not. I only agreed to do the speech because of the honor of being chosen.”

  Before Nicholas could respond, the waiter appeared with their entrée and a bottle of hearty burgundy. A few minutes later, the wine was pour
ed and the empty plates cleared. Star cut into her steak.

  “That man,” Nicholas growled as he started to eat, “has the worst way of interrupting.”

  She swallowed a bite. “It’s his job. Try those potatoes. They aren’t quite as good as Delmonico’s famous recipe, but fairly close. Which reminds me, while we are in Newport we must arrange for a visit to New York. I suspect Melinda would be exceedingly disappointed if you didn’t dine at Delmonico’s at least once.”

  “I don’t care about that right now. We were talking about your speech.”

  “Why, on that we’ve nothing more to discuss. My mind is set.”

  A muscled jumped in his cheek. “Then I’ll unset it. Romeo obviously has a screw loose. You don’t know what he’ll do if you go on.”

  “I do know that abiding by his wishes will only encourage him to continue such treatment. Soon you’ll be asking me to forfeit my writing as well.”

  “It’s a good idea, at least until we bag him.”

  “Damn it, Nicholas,” she said, slamming down her fork. “I have never before backed down to intimidation, nor will I now, in Saratoga Springs of all places.”

  He peered at her for a spell. “What’s so special about Saratoga?”

  Star stared back, marking the cool resolve of his countenance. He refused to yield, to either rudeness or anger. Could she blame him? If the situation were reversed, she’d be as stubborn. “A friend of mine died here,” she said, lowering her voice, “and I must speak for her memory as well as for the commitment I made.”

  His face softened and his forehead wrinkled in concern. “I’m sorry. Was she a reformer?”

  Shaking her head, Star toyed with her food, while battling to keep the door shut on the pain she’d locked up years earlier. “No, nothing like that. Minnie came here six years ago to escape her husband.” She paused as tears prickled her eyes. “In the end, she decided that death was her only true escape.”

  Nicholas sucked in his breath. He leaned forward, the frown melting from his face. “Star. . . I’m sorry.”

  The sound of her name on his lips, the sympathy in his voice, broke through the last of her defenses. Memory flooded her brain and tears spilled over her lids. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. “So you see,” she said, discreetly dabbing her eyes, “you see why I must do this.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head adamantly. “It’s a tragedy, sure—”

  “Not merely a tragedy,” she whispered. “It’s my fault!”

  He started. “How’s it your fault?”

  Oh no, she could not tell him, not here, not now. She would most certainly succumb to weeping. She could not bear to look like a weak, silly spectacle of a woman, not even to a few people. “I cannot—Nicholas. . .” She took a shaky breath. “This is not the place for such a conversation.”

  “Oh,” he said glancing around. “Sure. Maybe we’d better just eat now. We can talk later.”

  “I shall go on tomorrow at all events,” she objected halfheartedly, torn between the wish to keep her guilt to herself and the need for him to understand.

  He cut into his steak. “Reckon I have to hear the whole story before I make that kind of concession.”

  “I don’t require your agreement,” she replied lifting her chin.

  He glanced up at her, his eyes sparkling with a hint of amusement. “No ma’am, you don’t. But maybe you’ll oblige my male sensibilities by pretending you do.”

  “I’m not particularly adept at pretense.”

  He chuckled. “You’re so good at pretense, Star Montgomery, that you could’ve been another Bernhardt.”

  Regardless of his merriment, concern drew lines around his eyes. He wasn’t attempting to exert his will over her; he truly believed her to be in danger. It touched her heart and quieted her frustration. “Well then, if you insist, we’ll take a stroll through Congress Park after dinner. There are several areas where we may be private.”

  ***

  Gaslights interrupted the darkness every few feet as Nick and Star strolled along a park path. Sweeping green lawns filled the space between paths, decorated with fountains, gazebos and a small pond with a grandstand in the middle. The color still unsettled Nick. He wasn’t used to so much green in the summer, leastways not outside of the mountains.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” Star ventured.

  “Not worth that much. Just thinkin’ about how it’s so green out here in the summer. Back home, this time of year it’s starting to brown up.”

  “Ah. And it’s drier, I hear. Does this bother you?”

  “The green is pretty, but the stickiness is hard to get used to.”

  “I’m not sure one ever does become accustomed to it. New Yorkers summer in Newport for that reason, for the cool ocean breezes.”

  “New Yorkers . . . not Bostonians? That’s where you Montgomerys go.”

  “Bostonians mostly summer in Manchester or Nahant. We, however, have owned the property in Newport for decades, and have other New York connections as well. Port’s wife is from New York.” For a time she chatted on about those connections. It was mostly gibberish to Nick, but he listened and asked a question now and again to put her at her ease. By and by, they found a deserted, gas lit bench to settle on. Their conversation trailed off. The chirping of crickets filled the lengthening silence, while Nick racked his brain for a way to start a conversation that neither one of them wanted to have.

  “And so you wish to know about Minnie—Minerva Kingston Burke, Bella’s sister,” Star said abruptly. “I met her twelve years ago at school, when she was assigned as my roommate. We took an immediate liking to each other and for two years were thick as thieves. We did everything together, both at school and on holidays, which we always spent together, at each other homes or in Newport, or here in Saratoga. Minnie had a wicked sense of humor. We could laugh over the most mundane of things.”

  She paused a moment, lost in recollection. Nick waited, trying to picture a younger Star, lighthearted and innocent, instead of restless and impassioned by her cause. “Our third summer break, however, I spent in Europe with the Hathaways and my mother’s family. While I was away, Minnie met Horatio Burke, whom, she raved, was charming, wealthy and handsome—every girl’s dream. Before I even returned, he’d proposed. Her parents refused him at first, insisting that she was too young to form such an attachment and sent her back to school. I knew, however, as soon as I saw her, that it was useless. She couldn’t concentrate on her studies or anything else. At length her parents gave up and agreed to a June wedding.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “I’ll own to an initial unease with Horatio. He was her senior by fifteen years and seemed—possessive. Even then I had little true interest in matrimony, however, so I dismissed it as my own prejudice.” She sighed. “I was a fool.”

  “You were young,” Nick interjected.

  “I was a fool. In the autumn I returned to school, and Minnie started her new life as wife and, within a year, as a mother. At first we wrote regularly, but her correspondence quickly waned. She never invited me to visit, and on those few occasions when mutual acquaintances brought us together, she was distant, scarcely leaving Horatio’s side.” Star shook her head staring at her hands. “I ought to have seen it,” she said in a low voice, “but I was angry, feeling abandoned and jealous.”

  “You’re not responsible for your friend’s life, Star.”

  She turned to him. Her face was unusually lined, her eyes glazed over. “Am I not? Does the Bible not say that we should treat others as we would like to be treated?”

  “You were treating her as you thought she wanted. You let her go.”

  She shrugged and looked off into the night. “It was easier than prying, at any rate. At length I finished my studies, joined the movement, and made my debut in Society. I ‘took’ immediately in both very different venues. It was—” She paused, frowning. “Difficult to juggle them. I became absorbed with my status. I barely gave Minnie a thought until, o
ne day, I received word that she was staying at the Tremont. I was delighted—until I visited her hotel room and saw her.” Star took a deep breath. “All the make-up in the world could not cover her bruised face, and the rest of her person was in even worse condition.” Another breath as tears burned her eyes.

  “It is not, as I’ve since learned, so unusual a story. At first Horatio behaved as an adoring, attentive husband, who lovingly offered her “hints” on proper behavior. In time, the attentiveness transformed into . . . into oppression, and the hints became punishment. He refused her visits to family and friends, demanding that she divide her time between only him and their two children. When she did not perform her duties, he hit her. When she objected, he beat her. One day she fought back, and he beat her senseless. When she awoke, she boarded the next train and came to me, because after her parents’ objections to the marriage, she was too humiliated to return to them.”

  “Star,” Nicholas breathed. He reached for her hand, but she moved it away.

  “We consulted with several reformers who knew the law better than we did. Unlike Massachusetts, New York only grants divorce in cases of adultery. Horatio’s treatment, however, justified separation from bed and board. Minnie only wanted access to her children, though, and so, with much persuasion, she contacted her parents. Naturally, they agreed to provide money and influence in her petition—the Kingston name is well known in New York. Thus armed, Minnie returned to New York. I expected next to hear about the beginning of her new life without Horatio.”

  “I was wrong. Although they disliked Horatio, her parents believed that a wife belongs with her husband and encouraged reconciliation. They contacted Horatio, and he came to her, overcome with remorse and begging forgiveness on bended knee. He visited daily, bringing flowers, gifts, and poetry. She fell in love all over again. Ignoring her attorney’s advice, and mine, she returned to him. Her next letters extolled Horatio’s transformation and perfection as a husband. Soon she was joyfully expecting another child. I believed her. And him.” Because, a voice said in the back of Star’s mind, you wished for no further disruption to your life.