by Carole King
The seabed was rocky where she waded and she tested each foothold carefully. A particularly smooth, particularly mossy little rock was, however, the instrument of both her ultimate relief and her final, literal, downfall. She fell, splashing and laughing into the water. A gull screeched overhead. Several were routed, in fact, from their languid pursuit of little fishes, and Autumn’s horse lifted its head at her exclamation of surprise. Seeing that its mistress was still at hand, the pretty bay merely advanced a few steps and resumed chomping on the myriad foliage that wreathed the shoreline. Autumn seized the unexpected moment and lay full out in the undulating waters of the bay. She delighted in the happy accident and enjoyed to the fullest the sensual pleasures of the water’s ebb and flow.
She was hardly prepared, then, for the sight of several ladies, parasols spread, taking their leisure on a walk along the beach. Autumn did not know whether to attempt to hide herself (that would have been impossible, since the ladies were almost upon her and had surely already spotted her) or to brazen out the confrontation. She chose the latter course, and it was with some asperity that the ladies watched her. She rose, like a mythical water goddess from the depths of the brine, and waved cheerily, ignoring her dripping gown.
“How do, Autumn,” said one of the women stiffly.
“How do, Mrs. Pierce,” Autumn greeted her. “Mrs. Butler,” she added. “And Mrs. Harmon. Lovely day for a walk,” she observed as she squeezed out the hem of her dress.
“Or a swim?” remarked Mrs. Butler dryly as she stepped back, protecting her shoes from the dribbling effect of Autumn’s efforts.
“The swim was something of an accident,” Autumn explained. The ladies, social lionesses all, looked down from beneath their bonnet brims and did not smile. “I was actually only intending to wade,” she added lamely.
“Were you indeed,” stated Mrs. Pierce with a decided lack of amusement.
“One would do well,” said Mrs. Harmon, “to exercise more caution in one’s spare time activities. In any event, it has been my observation that servants have entirely too much spare time in the first place.” The ladies resumed their walk, whispering among themselves. Autumn had no doubt as to the subject of their conversation. And she knew it would be so for days. Cain would be furious. She sighed. As she retrieved her shoes and stockings, she realized at least some of the reason for the ladies’ vicissitude. In the water Autumn’s frock had become almost transparent. Her chemise and bloomers were completely visible beneath it, and beneath those, for she was wearing no corset, her “altogether” was very nearly exposed. If she had been the subject of controversy, she would surely now be the object of outright contempt. Worse than that, Cain would be forced to defend her—or maybe he would not defend her.
“Oh, Lord,” she ejaculated softly. Autumn could not bear yet another confrontation with Cain. Their battles had become almost more frequent than their peaceful times together. Perhaps, she reflected, it would be for the best if she gave up her bicycle, her breeches, and her trips to the circulating library. She sat down, shifting her weight in the sand, and drew on her stockings and shoes. Vanessa’s words came back to her:
“We give in and give in—and eventually we give up.”
The message gave her pause. The incident for which she would surely be censured had not been her fault. On the other hand, Cain had every right to expect her not to appear half-naked before a contingent of the town’s foremost ladies. As she rolled her stockings firmly around the constriction of her garters and folded the excess material securely underneath, she decided it was too bad she’d not been spotted by some of the women from her literary club. Such was the nature of those ladies, she reflected, that they might have chosen to join her—not denigrate her. But, in fact, Autumn had been seen by the standard bearers of Cape May morality. She thought, smiling broadly, it might be something of a lark to see how this little episode played itself out. Considering the well-oiled gossip mill in the city, Autumn might discover that she’d been spied stark naked, cavorting with the fishes for all the world to see. Her smile faded. She lay back on the sand, her hands pillowing her head. Eyes closed against the metallic glitter of the noontime sun she wondered at that rebellious part of her nature that would inspire such an irreverent thought. As Cain had so often reminded her—especially of late—the apple had not fallen far from the tree. The ‘tree’— Isabel and Emmett Thackeray in this case—was a wild and insubordinate one, whipping its branches, refusing to be pruned. How appalled Cain would be if he knew just how insubordinate the matriarchal branch of that tree had become.
Isabel had made up her mind to flout convention, and Autumn wondered if she truly disagreed with that decision. Surely it was an extraordinary one. Surely it would cause a great deal of angst. But was it not also true that Isabel’s decision had not been made lightly? According to Vanessa, it had been the subject of much discussion. It must be, Autumn determined, that her mother felt the positive aspects of such an apparently incautious move outweighed the negative ones. She opened her eyes in abrupt comprehension and winced against the brilliant sunshine. Sitting up, she realized how extraordinary a woman Isabel Thackeray really was. She was willing to risk incarceration and public alienation for the sake of her independence. If the truth be told, Isabel was something of a Victoria Woodhull—a woman of strength and decision who rooted out society’s absurdities and held them up for scrutiny. She was one of those pilgrim builders of Autumn’s own description, determined to help create a perfect world. It was necessary for Isabel to take a public stand. How otherwise was she to get the public’s attention?
Autumn stood, empowered by the revelation, and brushed at her drying frock. She was about to mount her horse, when a hail from far down the beach caught her attention. Peering into the shimmering distance, she noted that Robert Moffat was striding toward her. Autumn waved a greeting, delighted to encounter him.
“Robert!” she called, advancing down the beach to him.
“How are you, little one?” he called. They met and embraced, his bulky hug enfolding her.
“I am fine. But I know I am not the one in whom you are truly interested,” she told him, laughing.
“Do not be so sure, Autumn. I have missed you over these past weeks almost as much as I have pined for Vanessa.” He paused, and his face became serious. “How is she?”
“She is well, Robert,” Autumn returned, her tone matching his. “She is . . . physically . . . very well, in fact.”
“Your answer implies a further observation. Does she pine for me, too?”
“Always.” Reaching up she placed a hand on his great stooping shoulder. “Please do not despair, Robert. I have been inspired by a very special woman of my acquaintance. Your life and Vanessa’s life are about to change. Will you make me a promise?” she asked. He regarded her uncertainly. “Whatever happens, and I mean that most sincerely, will you trust me?”
“I trust your motives, little one,” he assured her, “but I must question your intent. And I must warn you not to put yourself in harm’s way.”
“You mean in Cain’s way.”
“Aye, little one. He is a good man, but in this instance not a clement one. There will be no charity in his heart for you if you attempt to defy him in this matter.” Autumn averted her eyes.
“You must leave this to my discretion, Robert,” she said with determination. “In the meantime, be of good heart.”
“I shall try, Autumn,” he assured her. He helped her onto her mount, and she looked down on him for a long moment. At last, persuaded of his confidence in her, she turned her horse and headed for Byron Hall. She had ridden only a few yards when she spotted Cain coming toward her on Castillo. As he approached at a gallop, she realized that he must have seen her with Robert Moffat, and her heart quickened in her breast. His facial expression confirmed what she had perceived. The lines in his gleaming countenance were hard and his eyes issued a terrible challenge. She looked back over her shoulder to see Robert standing firmly to
face what he surely knew would be a confrontation. She hastily advanced, placing herself and her mount in the path of Cain’s onslaught. He merely jerked the reins, spurring Castillo around her and continuing at a pounding gallop.
“No, Cain!” she screamed.
Drawing back his rein before the lighthouse keeper, he allowed the horse to rear and claw the air violently. Robert looked up, stepping back to make room for the animal’s wild prancing. It stirred sand and water into a devil-like display. Autumn’s hand flew to her mouth. But she took no time to reflect. She spurred her own mount and flew wildly down the beach to Robert’s assistance.
“You will leave my family alone, Moffat!” Cain was exhorting the man. His thundering rage rose above the low thunder of the ocean. “If I see you speaking to a member of my household again, I shall kill you.” With the words, Cain wheeled his mount and rode off. Autumn careened to a halt.
“Go after him, girl!” shouted Robert. “Tell him the encounter was all my fault. That you didn’t know who I was. Go, little one!” Autumn did so immediately. Her mind numbed, she pounded down the beach in a frenzy of determination. Desperately, she rode into the stable yard and scrambled from her horse. She ran to Cain, reaching out for him, but he threw her off.
“How dare you speak to that man!” he erupted as he continued to lead Castillo to his stall.
“But I didn’t know who he was, Cain,” Autumn cried frantically as she followed him. “He was only an old man on the beach!” Cain hesitated. “We made pleasantries about the day, that was all. Believe me,” she pleaded through gulping sobs. Cain stopped and regarded her sharply.
“He did not speak of this family? Of this household?”
“No,” Autumn lied, hating herself. The burden of that lie deepened her terror. Cain was watching her with a fierce regard. “He said he kept the light. Oh, Cain,” she whispered through distorting tears, “you cannot kill a man for that.”
“Not for that, Autumn,” returned Cain harshly. “Not for that.” Autumn was seized with a horrible premonition. She saw Cain’s avenging form before her, bathed in an angry flare of light. And she knew suddenly that he would leave her. Her heart constricted, and a dizzying convulsion of breath left her lungs.
As consciousness left her, words floated in the air. “I didn’t know him. I didn’t know him. I didn’t know him.” The sky spun, the treetops whirled, and the world ended.
And Cain was there, very suddenly, holding her, his strength flowing through her. She lifted shaky fingertips to her forehead. She felt cold and hot at once. “What happened?” she murmured.
Cain held her in the cradle of his arms and watched her awakening. His eyes were moist with fear and worry. “Are you alright, love?” he asked softly.
“Did I faint?” she asked.
“You did,” he told her. He had called for a cold cloth and patted her face gently with it, so very gently.
“What’s happened t’ the little miss?” inquired a condoling stableman. There were several men about, shuffling nervously near the fallen Autumn.
“She’s alright, ain’t she, doc?” Autumn recognized the gruff gentleman who had stabled her horse, and attempted a smile.
“She is alright,” Cain assured them all, “but I think it best if I get her into the examining room.” He lifted her into his arms. “See to the horses,” he said, and carried her into the house. For long moments, Cain examined Autumn, listening to her heart and taking the measure of her pulse over and over. She lay silently as he did so. At last, turning from her, he plunged his hands into a bowl of water and splashed his face and hair. He paused a long time over the bowl. “What can I say, love?” he asked her. There was a husky regret in his tone. He looked at her then, and Autumn could not tell if the rivulets that ran down his tanned cheeks were made of water or tears. He came to her quickly and lifted her into his embrace. Autumn yielded, accepting gratefully the harbor of his love.
“Cain,” she said softly, “I was so frightened.”
“I know,” he returned. “And I am so sorry. It is not enough for me to say that, but I do say it.” He looked down on her for several moments. “Oh, love,” he assured her with a deepening sorrow, “I would not hurt you for all the world.”
“Nor I you, Cain.” Autumn held to him vehemently, vowing to keep her word even as she realized what she was compelled to do.
Chapter 21
An angry sunset had brought merciful coolness to Cape May, New Jersey. The air was dried of the day’s humidity by flying night breezes. In the agitated darkness, two horses whickered nervously as they were tethered to a light wagon.
“This is ludicrous,” commented a star-brushed form in the stable yard outside Byron Hall. “Why in the name of heaven aren’t we taking the coach?”
“Because it might be recognized by certain of the town’s gossips, and you would not want them to know you were attending a literary meeting. Now get in, Vanessa.” Autumn’s tone was decisive and not to be disputed. She held the reins firmly. “Come on then,” she ordered tensely. With some indecision, the other woman finally climbed aboard the rickety wagon, her weight causing the old boards, unused and dried out, to creak with what seemed inordinate resonance.
“Autumn,” said Vanessa, “you have nagged and railed until I am a rag of compliance, but I am repeating to you that I have no interest in attending your literary meeting. Worthy though the club may be, I have not been out in Cape May society in years. I am not anxious to socialize with the same people who have ignored me and probably tittered about me behind my back.”
“These are not the same people,” Autumn returned shortly, as she pulled herself up next to Vanessa.
“And why is the meeting being held so late? If my memory serves, you leave the house directly after dinner when you attend one of these meetings.” Without answering, Autumn made sure that Vanessa was securely seated. “Cain’s father always admonished that too much night air was bad for a lady’s health.”
“Cain’s father isn’t here,” said Autumn fixedly. She clicked her tongue, snapped the reins, and led the horses from the yard at a cautious gait. And she attempted to ignore Vanessa’s ongoing battery of questions.
Cain, having no afternoon appointments, had left the house after lunch to ride out to his tenant farms. He would not be back until late the next day. His absence had given Autumn the opportunity to carry out her plan. She’d taken pains to find a rarely used wagon at the back of the stables and dust it of cobwebs and accumulated leaves. She’d found a few spiders, too, and relocated them to other climes. She had discovered some abandoned tack and chosen her horses carefully. Selecting two aging, strong, but no longer producing brood mares from the far pasture, she observed that they would not be missed. As they were no longer useful, no one would question their absence. Autumn reflected as she led them in after dark that the two old girls, gentle and sassy, would serve a new and even more elevated purpose now that they were no longer doggedly propagating the proud Byron line. She had spent the rest of the day, as Vanessa had pointed out, nagging, badgering, and finally hounding that lady to acquiescence.
Vanessa watched the night pass by through the veiling that fluttered from the brim of her pretty bonnet and reflected on the fevered events of the last few hours. Autumn had supervised her preparations as scrupulously as if she’d been dressing her for a ball at the White House. It was unlike the girl to be quite so aggressive. But Vanessa reasoned this small concession might just begin to heal the little rift that had developed between them over her failure to convince Isabel to marry Alistair MacKenzie. Though Autumn had apologized for her harsh words, Vanessa had no desire to be on less than affectionate terms with her. They’d shared so much. If it pleased Autumn that she attend a meeting of the literary club—dressed to the nines, in a rackety old vehicle, in the dead of night—then attend a meeting she would. Still, Vanessa reflected, her thoughts drifting as the cart wobbled and bumped along, she would much rather be home reading the words of the sisters Br
ontë than spending the evening talking about them. The wagon kept up a steady, if pitching, momentum as it entered the city. Vanessa watched in some bemusement as Annie Fitzpatrick’s house came into view and as quickly disappeared.
“Aren’t we stopping at Annie’s house?” she asked.
“No,” came the tense response.
“But I thought the meetings were usually held there.”
“They usually are.” A silence settled on the two women. Autumn glanced briefly at Vanessa. The next few moments would either destroy their relationship or cement it. Autumn prayed, naturally, for the latter. “We’re going somewhere else,” she ventured. The glowing lamplit city drifted past them into darkness. The road before them became narrower and lit only by the lanterns that swung at the sides of the cart and the stars. Her heart hammering against the wall of her chest, Autumn turned the horses onto a graveled path. They came to a sudden lurching halt on a spit of land beneath the Cape May light. It rose, conic, majestic, illuminating at its topmost acclivity the star-encrusted blackness of the night. Vanessa looked up, horrified.
“Autumn,” she said on a breath, “how could you.”
“Go to him,” that one pleaded. “I beg you.”
Vanessa averted her eyes. A small silence followed. At last she said, “I can’t.”
“Yes you can.” Autumn bounded from the wagon and ran to the side where Vanessa sat rigidly.
“I shall never, ever forgive you for this, Autumn.”
“Yes you will. You will forgive me, Vanessa, if you will only see him—once.”
“Dammit,” Vanessa said, her words clenched, her tone desperate, “do you want to see the man dead?”
“He’s dead now!” Vanessa looked down at her incredulously. “And so are you,” Autumn continued with an intensity that startled the older woman. “You both go about making believe you’re alive, you mimic the motions of living, but you are not living. You are merely existing.”