by Jane Toombs
"Is good to see you," he told her. "You want me to bring suitcases?"
"Oh, yes, thank you, Jose." She handed him the car keys. " How are you?"
"Good. I tell the horses you come home. They miss you."
"I learned to ride on the p-pony," Johanna said. "So I can go with you when you ride."
Samara felt a catch in her throat. Johanna had always been afraid of horses--the pony included. How hard it must have been for her to put aside her fear. She tousled the girl's fine, pale hair. "Good for you. I'll enjoy having you ride along with me."
"I'm k-kind of slow."
"I don't mind." As she spoke, Samara had a swift vision of Sergei, years before, galloping away from her, calling back taunts about her being a slowpoke.
Hearing someone call her name, she turned, saw Vera on the steps and hurried to greet her with a hug.
"You look wonderful, "Vera exclaimed. "Your father is out in the grove inspecting some new trees. We weren't sure you'd be here before dinner."
"Have I time for a swim?"
Vera glanced at her watch. "I don't know why not. I'd join you but I have to finish my calls. I'm in the middle of this project--"
"Vaccinations again?" Samara asked, smiling. Vera was always caught up in some scheme top upgrade the health of the valley children.
"No, this is political. I'm upset about the refugees from Europe--especially the Jews. Nobody in Washington seems to take their plight seriously. You'd think after that disgraceful episode of the St. Louis last year when all those Jewish refugees were sent back from Havana to certain death in Germany because we wouldn't let their ship land here--"
Samara held up her hand. "Don't tell me any more till after my swim."
She hurried to her room and came out with a white terrycloth robe over a black one-piece swimsuit. She opened the door into the passageway separating the pool from the house and hurried through it. Dropping her robe when she reached the pool, she dived into the water, rose to the surface and found herself face to face with a total stranger. Startled, she grabbed for the side of the pool and hung on.
The man shook water from his face and smiled. He was extraordinarily handsome with bright blue eyes and short-cropped blond hair. His white teeth shone to advantage against his tanned skin.
"I'm Mark Schroeder," he said, speaking with a slight accent. "You must be Samara. For a week Johanna has talked of nothing except your arrival."
Samara pulled herself up to sit on the side of the pool and he joined her, sitting close enough so she was aware of him, but not so close she was uncomfortable. "I didn't expect to find anyone swimming," she said, feeling slightly breathless at his nearness. She wondered what he was doing at here.
"Johanna and I swim every afternoon. She's becoming quite good. Today she insisted on waiting for you so I'm alone." His devastating smile flashed again. "I was alone. This is much better."
She felt his eyes on her and brought her head up to look directly at him. It took effort. This was one of the times she'd rather hide behind the curtain of her hair as she used to do when she was younger. Meeting his bright blue gaze, she caught her breath.
Admiration and a hint of something else, was evident in his eyes. Desire? She'd dreamed of an interesting man looking at her like that, and here at Hallow House, unexpectedly, was this handsome stranger. Why hadn't Vera told her about him?
"You swim with Johanna?" she said.
"I instruct her in athletics as well as speech and reading. A strong body is fully as important as a well-informed mind."
"Yes," she breathed, flicking a glance at his well-muscled torso. "You must be Johanna's tutor then. I thought Mr. Grosbeck--?"
"Will felt he wasn't qualified to handle the speech problem. He knew I'd had extra work in speech therapy, so he recommended me. Your parents have found me satisfactory." Besides the barely discernible accent, he spoke more formally than she was used to.
"I'm interested in speech problems," she told him. "Perhaps I can learn from you."
He inclines his head. "It would be a pleasure to teach you--anything."
Samara's heart beat faster at what she saw in his eyes. He looked to be in his late twenties, maybe even thirty. She'd never seen such a handsome man.
"Johanna told me you were pretty," Mark said, "but she didn't tell how beautiful you really are."
His lips were very close to hers. If she leaned toward him...
Johanna and the twins erupted through the door and rushed toward the pool. Samara stood up, her face flushing. What was she thinking of. She'd been like one bewitched.
On her way to change for dinner, Samara heard the radio, so she knew her father must be in the library and detoured there. She found him sitting by the radio, listening to the news. His face lit up when he saw her and he switched off the radio, rose and hugged her.
"I didn't mean to interrupt," she said.
"I'd rather see you any day. Even damp from swimming."
"I hate to listen to the news," she told him, curling up on the leather couch. "All that talk about Hitler and Mussolini."
Her father nodded, resettling himself in his lounge chair. "It's good to have you home for the summer. Tell me how things are going at Stanford."
Samara leaned forward. "First I need to talk to you about Sal Guerra. I saw him on the road when I was coming home so I gave him a lift. He needs a job." She went on to explain the circumstances.
After she finished her father didn't respond for a few moments. Finally he asked, "Are you involved with Sal in any way?"
Samara frowned. "Involved?"
Her father waved his hand. "All right, I can see by your face you're not. Yes, I'll find something for Sal. I remember him as a conscientious youngster and he was good with horses."
"He used to ride with me when I was little. When Sergei--" she broke off, regretting she'd mentioned her twins name. Though she averted her gaze from her father's face, she'd already seen it grow bleak.
"Vera tells me you want to teach," he said after a moment.
"Yes. I'd like to take another year to specialize in speech therapy. I'm really interested in that."
"You ought to talk to Mark Schroeder, that's his field."
"I know. And he's good! Look how much Johanna's improved."
"Wait a minute, I didn't even know you'd met the man," Her father smiled at her. "I was way off base, I see, in suspecting you might be interested in Sal. Or should I say--off the mark?"
Samara groaned. "Oh, Daddy, that's really corny."
"Mark's a young man who's had his share of problems. Most of his relatives are still in Nazi Germany. He managed to get out of the country only to face prejudice here with this current phobia about fifth columnists, spies and saboteurs. I hope we don't soon get so hysterical that everyone with a German name will automatically be considered a Nazi."
"You mean people have actually accused Mark?"
Her father nodded. "I know you're bored with the news, Samara, but you do realize we'll be in it sooner or later, don't you? There's no way to stay out of a war like this."
She raised her eyebrows. Her history prof at Stanford had assured the class the United States would never fight in a European war again.
"Who knows what might happen if war comes?" Her father looked around the walnut-paneled library. "I don't want anything to change; I want Hallow House to stay exactly as it is. I love this place--the land, the house. It's mine. Someday it will be yours and then you'll understand."
She stared at him, wondering why he didn't realize she could never love this house or the land. She did love the people in the house, they were what brought her home. If they weren't here, Hallow House could never be home.
Without thinking, she said, "Aunt Adele once told me there was a curse involving the house and us. I don't know exactly what she meant."
All too clearly she recalled the old woman closing her eyes and leaning back in her rocking chair, intoning:
"By the gate the two wolves lie
Of c
hildren two, the one must die.
God hears not the prayers you send
Death and destruction mark the end.."
Sergei, his face alight with excitement, had demanded, "What does it mean that one must die? Will it be me or Samara because we're twins?"
Sergei had been the one who died. The bright faces of her her-sisters, Naomi and Katrina flashed into her mind and she shook her head to dislodge Aunt Adele's words.
"Adele had read those old journals too often," her father said. "I should have burned them all. I don't believe in curses. The Gregorys have been unlucky, I'll admit. If Vera hadn't been brave enough to risk marrying me, I don't know where I'd have found the courage to go on. But a curse? Nonsense." Though he smiled, she thought the smile was sad. "Shouldn't you be changing for dinner?" he added.
In her room, Samara brushed her damp hair until it hung in even ringlets to her shoulders, then reviewed her summer clothes. In the end she close a dress with a white pleated skirt and a yellow top decorated with white piping. She hadn't worn it since last summer but the dress fit her well, making the most of her slim curves. She slipped her feet into white sandals, then sat before the mirror of her vanity to apply orange lipstick and a dash of powder.
The image looking back at her was okay--but beautiful? How could she tell?
She walked down the hall toward the stairs, self-consciously erect. Would she meet Mark coming from his room in the opposite wing? Intent on the thought of Mark, she almost didn't notice Uncle Vince at the head of the stairs.
"Wow," he said, "can this gorgeous vision be the same Samara Gregory I saw not six months ago in saddle shoes and a sweater three sizes too big for her?"
"Hi, Uncle Vince," she said, her gaze straying to the corridor when she heard a door open.
Vincent followed her gaze as Mark stepped into the hall. Samara couldn't seem to look away from him, even though she knew her uncle must be watching her. When she faced Uncle Vince again, he was frowning.
"I should have guessed," he said. "You've dressed up for Mark Schroeder, haven't you?" She'd never heard his voice so grim.
Chapter 23
At the head of the stairs, Samara turned away from her Uncle Vincent, upset both by the fact he'd guessed she was attempting to impress Mark and by his obvious disapproval. Was business was it of his? She hurried downstairs ahead of both men.
At dinner, she noticed Geneva was not serving, instead, a new young woman, darkly pretty, brought the food in from the kitchen.
"Thank you, Rosita," she heard Vera say. "You're doing very well." After she left the room, Vera added, "She's new, this is her first position and she's afraid she won't do the right thing."
"Where's Geneva?" Samara asked.
"Didn't I write you? She got married. Her husband is a widower with three children. We went to their wedding in Tulare."
"Have there been any other changes?"
"You and Mark have met, I understand. Irma and Blanche are still with us. And Jose."
"Me, too." As she spoke, Frances smiled at Samara from across the table. "I've become a regular fixture in the Gregory menage. I tried to leave once or twice, but--"
"Don't even think of leaving," Vera said. "Those twins would have me round the bend in a week."
"The twins look more alike every time I come home," Samara said.
"We tried to dress them differently." Vera sighed. "Katrina took it in stride but Naomi threw tantrums every time."
"Naomi is the leader," Mark put in. "She's always the first to try everything I ask, even though she's not any more capable than Katrina." He smiled. "I find it a pleasure to work with the Gregory children."
"You've been most patient," Vera said. "Especially with Johanna."
"Her speech has improved remarkably," Samara said, glancing at Mark for the first time. She didn't want Uncle Vince to catch her staring again
Her uncle, though, seemed to be concentrating on Marie. Every time Samara came home, she could see that Marie's appearance had deteriorated more. She used to be pretty in her long flowing gowns with perfect makeup and her hair always styled. Now she looked old and unkempt.
On the other hand, Vera still had her same fresh prettiness. Seeing how fondly her father looked at Vera, Samara wondered if maybe being loved had something to do with a woman's attractiveness.
After dinner, Samara slipped outside into the soft warmth of the June evening. The heavy sweetness of late-blooming orange blossoms drifted from the citrus groves. One of Jose's dogs barked at what was probably an unseen rabbit and then was still. Quiet enveloped her and she breathed n the peacefulness of the valley with the scent of the blossoms. Behind her a breeze rustled through the pines. It was impossible to think of curses or wars. Even Sergei's memory was dim and far away.
"Lovely." Mark Schroeder's voice came from her left.
She turned to face him. Somehow she'd known he'd come to her. "This is a beautiful spot."
"I didn't mean the countryside," he said. "Though it does somewhat remind me of my boyhood home near the Hartz Mountains, this valley is different from anything in Germany. The similarity is in the serenity."
Had he meant to say she was lovely? Flustered, she sought safety by asking, "Do you miss Germany very much?"
"America is my home now. But I sometimes long for what I knew as a child. Don't you?"
Before she thought, Samara blurted, "No!"
Turning from him, she walked away. How could he understand about her mother, about Sergei and the horror of that night she'd ridden into the storm with baby Johanna? How could he understand how she'd been humiliated and terrorized by the person she loved best on earth?
"I'm sorry if I caused you distress." Mark's voice was low as he walked beside her, so close she could feel the heat of his body. He took her hand, stopping her.
At his touch, all thoughts left her mind but those of Mark and the delicious tingle in her veins.
"Your parents have given me permission to use the horses," he said. "I would like to have you ride with me. Will Grosbeck once told me of a secret cave near here. If you know where it is, perhaps we could picnic there."
Picnic at Skull Cave? Samara shivered.
"If you do not wish to ride with me, I will understand," Mark said, releasing her hand.
"I'd enjoy that very much," she said hastily. "Maybe not a picnic, though. Not there anyway."
"I would enjoy seeing this mysterious cave. We might go early. Tomorrow at dawn? Of course, if you are too afraid of the place--"
"No, no, that's all right," she said, ashamed to admit she hated the cave. Sergei had found it on one of his excursions and made her go there with him. He'd forced her to go inside. But Mark wouldn't do that to her. It would be safe to go with him.
"I've always treasured the feeling of being the first to see a new day," she confided to him.
"And now we will experience the wonder together," he said. "Tomorrow at dawn."
He touched her face with gentle, caressing fingers, thrilling her, sending waves of yearning through her. She was more than ready for a kiss that didn't come.
Instead, he took her hand and led her back toward the house. "I would not like your parents to feel I was monopolizing their daughter on her first night home," he told her.
She wished he didn't have such perfect manners. When she entered the house, she heard piano music and knew Uncle Vince was in the music room playing. Not wanting to run into him, she wandered into the library where her father was reading. Vera, she assumed, was helping Frances put the children to bed.
"I thought you'd be listening to the radio," she told her father.
"There's such a thing as too much of Hitler and Mussolini," he said with a grin. "Let's talk about you, that's much more interesting. What are you planning to do this summer?"
"Laze around, I guess."
"Sure you won't get bored? We're pretty quiet here."
She made a face at him. "You're one to talk about getting bored. Why don't you ever ta
ke Vera off somewhere? If I were her, I'd complain."
He looked startled. "Do you think she minds?"
Samara laughed. "Not everyone's like you. Most people like to go someplace else once in a while. To travel. You seem to think Hallow House will fall apart without you here. Last time I was home, I heard Stan tell Uncle Vince it was a good thing you had an unfailing knack for picking talented and honest men to run your business or you wouldn't have any."
"Oh, Stan. He's always complaining because I don't want to sit in an office in San Francisco." John paused and gave Samara a penetrating look. "I wonder if you can understand, he said finally. "Though, after all, you are a Gregory. I've talked to Vincent about this and he knows what I mean even though it affects him less. You were very nearly correct in your assumption that I think Hallow House might 'fall apart' if I'm not here. I have a compulsion to be here. I'm not sure of the exact date when I began to have this feeling. but it was shortly after my father died in 1922."