“Why did you come to tell me about Damon and this woman, Jock? What difference could it make to you if Damon divorces me? You hate me anyway and should be glad if I suffer,” she said.
Jock buttoned his trousers. “Oh, pardon me. I forgot to tell you that when you show up at Thunder Mine and remind Damon you’re his wife, Eden will leave him. And I’m hoping she runs right into my arms. If not, my visit to you has been a failed venture.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “Please don’t make me wish I’d never laid eyes upon you, Tessa.”
She didn’t like the way that sounded, but like it or not, his future was tied to her efforts, and she didn’t want to disappoint him. She had to succeed, not only for herself but for the great Jock Sutherland. She blanched to imagine what might happen to her if she didn’t.
She smiled to herself, confident that Damon would take her back willingly. She had a secret that not even Jock knew, for if he did, Tessa had no doubt he’d have confronted her with the knowledge. And it was this secret which would make all the difference. Once Damon learned of it he’d never reject her.
In the morning she’d see Mrs. Pinkham and pay her for this month’s care. Tessa was overdue in paying the woman, but Mrs. Pinkham was the motherly sort, all forgiving and honest, the perfect person to care for little Collin. Most of the money Tessa earned went to the boy. She herself lived a pitiful existence to make certain he was well fed and clothed—and loved. Yes, definitely loved. Mrs. Pinkham loved the cherubic child, as did Tessa, his mother.
And once Damon got a look at the boy, Tessa knew he would love his son as much as she did. Collin Alexander was her way of gaining entrance into Damon’s life again.
Chapter 16
Jock was back. Eden had heard one of the miners mention he’d seen him on the road that morning. So, when Damon went to the mine after luncheon, she quickly combed her hair and plaited it, letting the braid hang down her back. She finished dressing in a plain blue shirtwaist and a gray split riding skirt just as the clock chimed one.
She was ready to speak to Jock about the water rights and mustn’t let anyone know what she was about, especially Damon. Instead of asking Tiku to escort her to High Winds, she saddled her own horse and headed down the road.
By the time she made it to Jock’s, she felt wilted by the intense summer heat. Already, they were well into February and fall wasn’t expected for almost two months. She wondered how much more of this hellish weather she could tolerate.
Nonnie opened the door to her, and Eden entered the parlor, which felt surprisingly cool. Jock was on the range, but Nonnie would send for him, she said. Until he showed up, Eden nursed an iced tea that Nonnie smilingly had handed to her.
Within half an hour, Jock was home and dusting off his wide-brimmed hat on his pant leg. His face lighted up when he saw Eden sitting on the divan. She accepted the polite kiss on her cheek.
“It’s been some weeks since I’ve seen you…” Jock began, pausing to sip at his iced tea. “You’re more beautiful now, if that’s possible.”
Despite what Damon thought about Jock, the warnings he’d shouted, Eden couldn’t dislike him. Whenever she saw him he was so polite, so extremely kind and civil, that she couldn’t accept he was anything but a gentleman. She knew she must have hurt him by dashing his hopes of marrying her, but he didn’t mention the incident at Marjorie’s wedding. Surely, he must have felt embarrassment in front of his friends and associates when she left with another man after they had assumed she and Jock were considering marriage. Yet Jock was so friendly to her, and if he was still pained by her choice, he didn’t indicate his feelings.
“You must be lonely here without Marjorie,” she noted. I’m visiting her on my way home this afternoon and I’ll send her your love, if I may.”
“Please do. I saw the newlyweds a few weeks ago, and Bert’s nose was wrapped like a mummy. He says he broke it.” Jock gave her a knowing wink which Eden ignored. She wasn’t about to comment on Bert Carruthers and her near rape at his hands, but it seemed Jock already surmised Damon had been the one to land the telling blow on Bert’s nose.
After making some more polite conversation, Eden placed her glass on the table. Her expression was candid; her eyes glittered with hope. “I understand the water rights are to be renegotiated very soon. So far, nothing has been done. Jock, I’m here to ask you to consider signing the papers giving Thunder Mine the use of the Shotover.”
He lifted an eyebrow suspiciously. “Did Damon send you here to plead with me? If so—”
“No, Damon doesn’t know I’m here.” Eden visibly stiffened. “Jock, you must realize that whatever you decide to do not only affects Thunder Mine but me as well. I own half interest in the mine, and the miners and their families are my concern. Thunder Mine is one of the few remaining mines that is still profitable. If you decide not to renew the rights, then we’re done for. The miners will leave and Thunder Mine will close.”
“Perhaps Damon should consider sheep farming. The gold will eventually play out.”
Eden didn’t care for his high-handed attitude, but she realized Jock probably would be proved correct in the future. But the veins ran deep into the mountains and so it might be a very long time before the gold was depleted, and she told him this. Jock nodded in understanding and scrutinized her for a long while until she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. Finally he got up and took her hand, bringing her to her feet.
“I’ll sign the papers, Eden. Thunder Mine can still prosper. But I want you to know I’m doing this only for you, not Alexander.”
She flashed him a grateful smile. “Thank you so much, Jock.”
He peered down at her, a frown lining his forehead. “Alexander will hurt you, Eden.”
“Jock, please—” She attempted to break away, but Jock cupped her chin and kissed her gently upon her lips.
“When he does hurt you, come to me. I’d do anything to make you happy. Anything.”
Somehow Eden knew he meant what he said, but she also knew Damon wouldn’t hurt her. He still hadn’t told her to set a wedding date and she still hadn’t told him about the baby she suspected more strongly each day she was carrying. And she wouldn’t tell him until the date was set. But time was growing short and within the next two to three months her condition would start to show. She didn’t want Damon to marry her because of the baby. She needed to know he was eager to marry her because he loved her. Though she felt certain he did love her and wanted to make her his wife, something was keeping him from going through with the ceremony. What Jock said caused her to feel uneasy. She feared he might truly be right, and if Damon hurt her again, she’d be unable to bear the pain.
Eden broke away only because Jock dropped his hold on her. She managed to smile confidently at him, hoping he didn’t recognize her bravado as false. “You worry too much about me, Jock. Really, you must find yourself a good woman, someone you can fuss over. I’m so happy that I want everyone to feel as I do.”
“I’ll do just that,” Jock promised with a smile. “In fact, I have the very woman in mind.”
“Good, now I must be on my way to see Marjorie.” Eden walked out into the hot afternoon and mounted her horse. Jock waved farewell from the porch, but as she rode out of the yard, she felt a sense of foreboding. Jock’s words rang ominously in her ears. Alexander will hurt you. Alexander will hurt you.
No, she argued with herself, denying Jock’s prediction. Damon loved her. She must place her trust in that love and stop worrying. But her mind was in turmoil when she arrived at Marjorie’s. Luckily Bert was in town, and from Marjorie’s expression when she told Eden this news, it was also a great relief for her.
Marjorie offered her a cup of tea and a selection of scones. Eden was startled when it was Marjorie herself who put on the kettle to boil. The absence of house servants was strange, given the fact Marjorie was not only a married woman now but a wealthy one in her own right. Eden drank her tea when Marjorie placed it in front of her, but when Marjorie looked
out of the window at the clothes drying on the clothesline and commented that she must take them in, Eden could hold her tongue no longer.
“Do you do all the housework?”
Marjorie’s face went from a pale ivory to a deep crimson. “Yes, Bert pinches every coin. He says servants are too expensive.” She grew quiet for a second. “But there is one Maori girl who comes every so often to give Bert some sort of a back treatment with special herbs. They go into the bedroom and he says I’m not to disturb him. But Eden, there’s always so much laughing and then a strange stillness that I think they’re doing something other than a treatment.” Her eyes registered defiance. “Though Bert pays her with my money, still I hope they are doing something else. I pray that the girl drains Bert so dry that when night comes he’ll be so tired he has no energy left for me. The money would be well spent and I can’t begrudge her if she can keep him satiated.” Her voice broke. “I hate him, detest him!”
Eden could well understand Marjorie’s sentiments. She placed an arm around the woman’s frail shoulders and let her cry. When she’d finished, Marjorie looked so pitiful and distraught that Eden wondered why Jock hadn’t thought to intervene. He must be aware of his sister’s circumstances. But there was an unwritten code, it seemed, among most men that they look the other way and not interfere in another man’s domestic life.
“How is it that Bert controls your inheritance?” Eden asked.
“That was my father’s doing,” Marjorie explained, sniffing indignantly. “He worried about what would happen to me after he was gone. He thought I might take it into my head to squander my fortune. As if I would! He thought women were stupid silly fools who didn’t need to do anything but look beautiful. Well, I wasn’t beautiful, but I did have a quick mind. And I was lucky he realized that and hired a well-educated woman as my governess.” She heaved a long sigh. “But Jock was to inherit the bulk of Papa’s wealth, along with High Winds. It was Jock’s duty to find a decent husband for me if Papa was no longer alive.
“So, upon my marriage to a suitable person, my inheritance was to be bestowed upon my husband who was to see to all of my wants, my needs—and I was to rely upon him for everything for the rest of my life. Only now I fear for my life married to a beast like Bert Carruthers; at the very least I fear for my sanity! But Jock was glad to marry me to Bert, pleased to no longer have me underfoot. My deformity always caused him endless embarrassment.”
“I don’t believe that,” Eden protested.
“It’s true!” Marjorie shot back, contempt in her eyes. “I love Jock and he does love me, but that doesn’t stop him from disliking me. He wanted me married to Bert so he could get a hold on this land. Bert wouldn’t sell it to him, you know.”
Marjorie had mentioned that. Why did Jock want the land at all? In comparison to High Winds the Carruthers’ land was very small; and the mine Bert had started a number of years ago had played itself out rather early, from what Damon had told her of the area’s history. The land was rich and fertile for grazing, but High Winds already boasted untold acres of land for sheep raising.
The Carruthers’ land acted as a buffer between Thunder Mine and High Winds. Could Jock want the land only to torment Damon, to act as a thorn in his side? Eden resisted that assumption. It was Damon who constantly espoused his hatred of Jock. Jock had never been anything but gracious to Damon in her presence, and if Jock truly hated him, she doubted the man would marry his only sister to a monster to claim some land. Marjorie was overwrought, seeing hidden motives behind her marriage and blaming Jock for it. Eden couldn’t believe what Marjorie told her. If it was true, then who was more of the monster—Bert or Jock?
“Come stay with me for a while,” Eden suggested to her. “You can forget about Bert, then perhaps when you return, things will be different.” Eden didn’t truly mean that, but she didn’t know what else to say. Marjorie didn’t believe her, either.
“Bert would only show up and make a commotion. And we both know what happened to cause Mr. Alexander to come over here and break his nose. I’m sorry for what Bert did to you, Eden, but I won’t have you placing yourself in jeopardy to help me. Somehow I’ll figure this out for myself.”
~~~
Eden reached Castlegate only minutes before Damon returned from the mine. They spent the next two hours eating supper, bathing together in the large indoor bath tub, and making love. Their bodies were entwined like ivy when one of the servants discreetly knocked on the door and slid a piece of paper underneath.
Damon reluctantly rose from the bed and took the paper. As he read it, his face broke out into a broad grin. “Sutherland’s sent a message,” he told Eden, joining her again. “He’s decided to sign the contract for the water rights for another two years. Sorry for the delay, he says.” Damon took her in his arms, but Eden sensed something wasn’t right with him.
“Aren’t you happy about Jock’s decision? This is what you’ve wanted.”
“Aye, it is. But I’ve known Sutherland too long, and he doesn’t give an inch. The bastard would have kept me dangling until the eleventh hour and loved every second of it. There’s still a week left before he had to notify me. It’s odd, very odd for him to relent so suddenly. I’d have wagered he’d insist I sweat blood for the next seven days.”
If Damon had looked at her instead of at the ceiling as he spoke, he’d have seen the guilt on her face. She hated deceiving him by not telling him she’d gone to speak to Jock. But there was no need to upset him. Jock had agreed to sign the contracts, living up to his word. Everything was going to be fine. Once the contracts were signed, they wouldn’t have to deal with Jock again for another two years.
“Be grateful Thunder Mine is still operating,” Eden said, snuggling more deeply into his embrace. “Stop thinking the worst of Jock Sutherland.” Her hands began exploring the fur-planed area of his chest. “When you think so much about Jock, you don’t think at all about me.”
Damon grinned and lifted her atop him. “Then I’ll concentrate only on you, you greedy wench.” And he did.
~~~
By midnight, Bert hadn’t returned home. Marjorie had long since changed into her nightgown and braided her hair. Bert would no doubt show up reeking of liquor and cheap perfume. She hoped his time in town had been spent with some willing whore, as she didn’t feel inclined to Bert’s slobbering over her. And she hoped he’d had enough to drink so he’d pass out and not awaken until late the next day. She liked her moments of peace, stealing and holding on to each second with greedy relish.
Other women whose husbands caroused and drank endeavored to curb their husband’s vices. Marjorie encouraged hers. Whenever Bert declared he was going into town, Marjorie didn’t protest. Not that it would have done any good since Bert was like a willful child and would have his way no matter her opinion. Many men who drank beat their wives, but Bert beat Marjorie when he was sober. When he was drunk, he was usually unconscious. And this was how she longed to keep him.
She’d begged God to forgive her transgressions, believing herself a sinful woman to encourage her husband’s vices. Now she just begged God to let Bert pass out soon after supper so she could get a decent night’s sleep. It seemed God heard her.
However much she hated Bert, she found herself constantly limping to the parlor window. Once she thought she’d heard a noise, but glancing out into the darkness, she saw nothing. Perhaps he wasn’t coming home, she reasoned, and grew angry. It was just like the stupid lummox to stay in town and keep her up all night waiting. She was tired from her endless chores. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, and fatigue lined her face. She wasn’t cut out for housework. Because she was forced to walk with her cane, the smallest tasks were hard to perform. Just taking the laundry off the clothesline meant she risked falling. It was difficult to balance herself with one hand on the cane and the other arm and hand filled with laundry, some of it dragging the ground and becoming so soiled she had to wash it again.
And then there was the dusting, not
too difficult a chore in itself, but there were four rooms of furniture upstairs and the stairs were unusually steep, the banister rickety. Heights had always frightened her, but the stairs at High Winds had been broad and carpeted and the railing thick and sturdy. She’d never been afraid at home. But here, each time she went up to the second story, she felt she was taking her life in her very hands. Bert inspected the rooms once a week, and if his index finger showed so much as a trace of dust, he backhanded her.
Marjorie kept the upstairs immaculate, and the furniture shone like sunshine. She kept a clean house and cooked passable meals, and for what? Bert would only come home and dirty things up, animal that he was, and he’d demean her cooking but gobble it up as if he were starving. Oh, how she wished he’d choke!
“Forgive me, dear Lord,” she prayed. “Make me strong, make me a good person. Help me to endure this marriage and not think such horrible thoughts. Please help me make a decent home and be happy. If not that, then let me be content with my life. That’s all I ask. Please hear me.”
She lighted the oil lamp and sat on the couch to read. An hour later, her eyes began to sting and the words on the page blurred before her. The book fell to the floor with a thud as she started to doze. She awakened, startled, and bent to pick it up when one of Bert’s dogs began barking furiously in the yard. Marjorie immediately lowered the light from the lamp and went to the window. She saw Bert’s horse galloping up to the house and realized Bert was clinging to its mane. She rushed to open the door just as Bert slid off of the animal.
He’s drunk, she thought with guilty glee. But she’d seen the effects of alcohol on Bert many times, and Bert was more times than not “a happy drunk” until he passed out. This time she heard no bawdy song or slurred words. In fact, he seemed to be almost stupified. When he tottered onto the porch and into the house, she noticed that he held his hand over his arm.
Lynette Vinet Page 18