by Jane Archer
"The lady is exhausted. She's been riding for hours. We need a room for the night," Stan said.
"Pay in advance and sign here," the man said as he swung the heavy, leather bound ledger around to Stan.
Alexandra watched him sign, "Mr. and Mrs. Smith". Always careful, even in Texas, she thought. He wanted no dead men rising to haunt him when he was back in New York City. It was just like Stan, just like the cautious, scheming Stan Lewis.
When money had exchanged hands, the register signed satisfactorily, the man handed Stan a key, and went up the stairs ahead of them. Once in the room, Stan said, "I'm going out to make plans for tomorrow, Alexandra. I trust you're tired enough not to make trouble for me."
Then he turned and left the room, locking it from the outside. Alexandra dimly heard the steps that receded from her room, down the hall, and away from her. But she was not really sure of anything as sleep engulfed her, carrying her into the deep oblivion she craved.
It was still dark outside when Stan leaned over her, holding a lamp above her head to look at her better. The light awoke her, as well as his presence, and she stirred, feeling as if she could never leave the bed again.
"Wake up, Alexandra. I've sold the horses and booked passage on a schooner going to New Orleans. It's the best I could do. You'll be staying in a cabin with several other women. You can rest on the way. Get up. We won't be delayed."
"Oh, Jake. I'm—"
Red stars exploded in her head as Stan slapped her across the face. She just lay there, shock almost taking over completely.
"Don't you ever, ever call me by his name again. Do you hear me, Alexandra?" he hissed fiercely, leaning over her prostrate body.
Then she remembered. She'd been dreaming of Jake, and she'd said his name automatically.
"Do you understand me?" he hissed again, grabbing her limp body and shaking it.
Finally when he stopped, she whispered, "Yes. Yes, Stan.'"
"Good. Now, get up. The skipper wants to leave at sun-up and wants us on board now."
Alexandra felt as if a thousand pins were stuck in her body as she raised herself up, gently edging her legs over the side of the bed. Stan stood to one side watching her, then groaned in disgust. He grabbed up a bottle and a glass and came over to sit down beside her. He poured a generous portion into the glass, then held it up to her lips.
"Drink. Cheap whiskey ought to revive you. Drink it all, Alexandra."
She obediently took the glass, her hands shaking as she tried to hold it to her lips. He took the glass away, and began pouring the whiskey down her throat. She choked on the fiery liquid as it ran down her throat. When she had drunk it all, Stan poured himself a drink and downed it quickly before setting the bottle and glass aside.
He came back to Alexandra and jerked her to her feet. The room swayed crazily for a moment, but she did feel better. She didn't ache so much any more for the whiskey on her empty stomach had gone straight to her head.
"That's better," Stan said, taking her arm and leading her toward the door."Now, don't speak to the other passengers, Alexandra. Pretend you're sick or something. I don't want any trouble from you."
"All right, Stan," she said unsteadily, feeling her legs wobble as she followed him out of the room.
Downstairs, Stan flung the room key on the desk, and with a firm grip on Alexandra's arm, led her outside. Stan looked neither right nor left as he hurried Alexandra along. She wished he wouldn't walk so fast. She had trouble keeping up with him.
Finally, they reached the quay and what happened afterwards would always seem more like a nightmare than reality. Stan got her on board, then settled her in the room with three other women who were all asleep. They only grumbled as she bumped into their beds getting to her own. Then she sank down into her bunk, fully clothed, and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep that lasted the entire trip except for the brief moments of wakefulness when her queasy stomach demanded relief. She ate little; for the most part she slept.
Stan had to carry her off the schooner to the New Orleans dock. She was too weak to even lift her head. They went to the best hotel in New Orleans, and he carried her inside. She was embarrassed by her dirty, ragged condition in the magnificent lobby of the hotel, but after what she'd been through she was lucky to be alive. He carried her upstairs to a spacious, luxurious room and laid her gently on the bed. She looked around herself in wonder, surprised to realize that she had become completely unaccustomed to such luxury.
"I'm going out, Alexandra. There's much for me to do before we can leave. I'll have food and hot water sent up to you. I'll be back when I can. In the meantime, don't try to escape." He paused, looked down at her white, pinched face and limp body, and said, "In fact, for once I don't believe I'll even have to worry that you'll try to escape—I don't believe you can."
Alexandra merely looked at his satisfied face. She was beyond feeling, beyond comprehending. She only wished to lie still and perhaps the queasi-ness in her stomach would go away. She was only dimly aware when Stan left the room, locking the door behind him, as she drifted off into a deep sleep.
Later she was abruptly awakened when a maid entered, carrying a tray, and behind her more people brought hot water to fill her bath. The maid set the tray down, then came over to Alexandra and hesitantly asked, "Will that be all, ma'am?"
Alexandra slowly opened her eyes and looked at the young girl a long moment before fully comprehending the situation.
"Oh, no. No, thank you. That'll be all."
The girl bobbed, then hurried out, the others following. Surprisingly Alexandra felt better, not quite so sick. Her stomach felt almost back to normal. And a long, hot bath would be wonderful.
She began slowly, carefully removing her torn, dust-coated riding habit. She pulled off her boots with great effort, then stood up and walked slowly across the room. Catching sight of herself in the full length mirror, she stopped, hardly recognizing herself.
She was thin, painfully thin, and her eyes seemed like enormous green orbs filling her face. Her hair was matted with dirt, grass. She was a shadow of her former beauty. She pulled the tray of food over to the bath, and then sank down into the soothing waters of the tub. And so alternately eating and bathing, Alexandra passed the time until the water had become cold and the food had been consumed.
She washed her hair, and wrapped it in a towel, not knowing what else to do with it until she had a brush. After drying herself all over, she walked back to the bed. Sleep soon eased the tension in her face, changing her again to the once innocent girl.
It was dark the next time she awakened and Stan was lighting the lamps.
"Feeling better, Alexandra?" Stan asked when he saw her eyes open.
"Yes."
He sat on the edge of the bed and she moved away from him, keeping the covers high around her neck.
"I managed to book passage for us on a steamer leaving for New York City tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow?" she asked in a whisper.
His gray eyes darkened before he said, "There's no point in lingering here, Alexandra. You can recover on the ocean voyage. That's supposed to be good for people. And I want to get back to New York. I've been gone too long already.
"I bought clothes for us today, only a limited amount, of course. Can you dress yourself?"
Alexandra nodded.
"Good. I have a room of my own. We're traveling under our own names now and I don't want to hurt your reputation since your name will be henceforth linked with mine. Unfortunately," he said, letting his hand run over her bare arm, "it will seriously inhibit my desires, but I believe I can manage until we reach New York."
Alexandra looked up into his face. He was smiling cruelly, his gray wolf eyes greedy as they regarded her soft form outlined beneath the covers. He leaned forward, his eyes burning, but she put out a hand to ward him off. The thought of another man touching her after Jake was repulsive. She couldn't even stand the thought.
He leaned back, his eyes dark. "So that'
s how it is to be. All right, my dear, for the present, but your bed will be shared once we reach New York."
Alexandra looked away without speaking, and Stan left the room, locking the door behind him.
Alexandra got up, looking through Stan's purchases to find what she wanted—a brush: she began to work on her hair.
It took a while to restore her hair to its former luster, but when she was through she was rewarded by a recognizable Alexandra. The face looking back in the mirror was no longer soft and vulnerable. The green eyes were hard, determined, and knew about life. This Alexandra would get what she wanted. She would control her own fate. She would marry Stan when she was ready, giving Jake's child a name, then she would have her revenge.
Her mind set, Alexandra returned to bed to sleep the dreamless sleep of the untroubled mind.
She knew nothing more until Stan woke her the next morning. He was quite upset that she wasn't already dressed. He looked quite normal in the sober business attire of New York. After admonishing Alexandra, he left her to dress while he ordered breakfast downstairs.
She hurriedly began dressing, throwing on the undergarments he'd chosen for her, then slipped on the dark, plain gown. She pulled her hair back into a plain knot at her neck, then perched the dark, plain hat on her head. She felt hot, stuffy and unattractive in the clothes he'd selected for her. Stuffing the extra garments in the valise, Alexandra left them packed on the bed, then went downstairs to join Stan for breakfast.
He'd chosen a small table by a window with sheer white curtains and was just being served when she arrived. He looked at her critically as he seated her, then nodded approvingly.
As Alexandra began heaping food on her plate, Stan watched her suspiciously. Then he smiled, his gray eyes glinting with pleasure.
"One would almost think you were eating for two, my dear," he said, his voice heavy with meaning.
She blushed and avoided his eyes.
"I wondered on the schooner coming from Corpus Christi. No one else except you was seasick. I thought it was because you were so exhausted, so tired, but now I have another thought. Is it Jake's child, Alexandra?"
Her hand shook violently as she picked up her cup of chocolate. "It does happen, you know," she muttered.
He nodded, a smile still on his face. "I couldn't be more pleased, Alexandra, although that might surprise you. You see, now you must marry me and of your own accord if you don't want your child to be a bastard. And we know about bastards, don't we? Another bastard in the fine Clarke family could hardly be tolerated, now could it?"
Alexandra looked hard into his cold gray eyes. He was playing right into her hands, while thinking that he was making the clever move, trapping her by her pregnancy.
"No, it could not."
"Then you'll marry me to give your child a name, if for no other reason?"
"Perhaps," she said, not wanting to appear eager.
"You must remember, Alexandra, that no other man of any respectability will marry you, knowing you carry another man's child."
She looked down, then back up at him, thinking how very sweet her revenge would be.
"Say you'll marry me, Alexandra."
"I don't love you, Stan."
"Hell! That has never mattered to me. It's completely unimportant. You need me. Yes, by God, you need me this time. You should be begging me to marry you. But I'm being nice. I'm asking you to marry me, Alexandra. Will you?"
She let out her breath, sighing, then said quite clearly, "Yes, I believe I will, Stan Lewis."
He smiled triumphantly at her, then picked up his fork. "Eat up, my dear, New York awaits us."
They finished their meal in silence, then he escorted her to the open carriage waiting outside, their luggage already brought there by the porter. Alexandra had her last look at New Orleans in the early morning light. It looked softer, more romantic than before. She was not hungry, or hunted this time, but somehow, she no longer had the spirit, or optimism that had been hers before. Her youth had left her along the way.
Once at the quay, they were escorted with great ceremony to their cabins. Alexandra knew this journey would be entirely different from the original one. Stan left her in her cabin, a nice, clean room, and she sat down on the bunk, thinking that no matter how perfect this trip was, she didn't have Jake to look forward to. She'd met him on the first trip and nothing could ever make her forget him and what they'd shared together.
PART FOUR: THE SIDEWALKS OF NEW YORK
Chapter 25
The night breeze, which had cooled very little since the day, wafted into Alexandra's bedroom on the second story of her mansion, bringing with it the sounds of New York City in the summer. She walked across the room to the window and pulled back the drapes to look out onto the lighted street. The breeze was humid, and did little to improve her mood, nor did the sounds of so much congested humanity.
She let the drapes fall back into place and went to regard herself in the full length mirror, thinking how different the hot, dry air of Texas, the wide open spaces, and the sound of nature, of cattle, of wild mustangs were from New York City. She had thought she might forget it, lose herself in New York again. After all, it was her home. But it hadn't happened. She couldn't forget the hacienda, the cowboys, the quality of life there. And, she couldn't forget Jake. He would always be with her At nights, her body ached for his touch, his nearness, but she comforted herself with thoughts of their child who grew steadily within her.
She looked at her stomach in the mirror. The baby didn't show yet. She had put on some weight since leaving New Orleans for there had been the long trip back in which she had rested and enjoyed the food served on the ship, and her breasts had grown larger, rounding her figure more. She knew she was desirable by the looks she caught in Stan's eyes, but she didn't feel alluring. Jake had made her feel sensual, alive, beautiful, and she'd wanted to be all those things for him. Now, it didn't matter.
The pale green satin gown she wore was cut low, revealing the soft curves of her ripening breasts, and fit tightly around her still small waist, then flowed gracefully to the floor. It was a beautiful gown and she'd decided to wear her mother's emeralds with it. Her hair had been styled beautifully, pulling the golden-red locks into curls and twists all over her head. Stan should be pleased.
He had insisted that she look especially beautiful tonight since it was to be her first real introduction to New York society. Stan was taking her to the opening of a new play at the theatre. He was using her as he would a new horse, or carriage—as an extension of himself to impress the important members of New York society. Well, let him, she thought, for it would help her child take his rightful place in New York City.
When she had returned with Stan two weeks ago, she had found little changed in her mansion, or with her family. Her housekeeper had been very efficient and all was in order. Her cousins had come to visit her, bringing their odious sons, all engaged now and bringing their simpering fiancees. She'd endured their presence patiently, graciously, and had even suffered Stan's possessive pride in her before the others. He had announced their engagement immediately, with the family's complete approval. She kept her thoughts to herself and played the docile female for them all, but deep inside her plans were unchanged. Stan would feel the double-edge of her revenge when her child had been safely born into the world.
Until then, she played her role. Stan pressed her for a quick marriage, but she kept putting him off. She could hardly bare the thought of having him in her home, sharing her bed. How could she stand his hands on her after Jake? But Stan kept telling her that if they didn't marry soon, her pregnancy would show, and how would they explain a baby that was born too early. He was right, of course, but it was so hard to accept Stan as her husband.
She still loved Jake with all her heart. He was the man who should have been her husband, the man to share her life. She just couldn't seem to reconcile herself to his death, no matter that she had seen Stan shoot him. She could still feel him, sense
him. It was as if he lived and called to her. But no, it was not possible. He was dead. She had to accept that fact or she could not go on.
She glanced at herself once more. Her face had paled and her eyes had grown bright and soft with thoughts of Jake. She shook her head, willing the tears not to come. It did no good to think of him, want him, almost feel him with her. No! She had to stop thinking of him, or she would go mad.
She hurried from the room, trying to run away from the memories that haunted her every moment. Sometimes she would wake in the night, drenched with sweat, and the memory of Jake holding her in his arms would be so strong that she would reach out for him, call to him. She could not bear life without him....
Stan was standing in the foyer when she came down the staircase. He looked up at her, his gray eyes suddenly softening. He walked toward her, and as she reached the last stair, he took her hands and pulled her softly against his chest. She suffered his light embrace, reminding herself that this was the man she would marry.
He tilted her chin up with his hand and looked down into her green eyes, now hard and cold.
"You are magnificent tonight, Alexandra. The gown is superb and the emeralds—well, no other woman will be able to compare with your beauty."
"Thank you," Alexandra said stiffly, detaching herself from him and walking away.
He frowned, then followed her retreating form. She went into the parlor, looking pensively out the window. He stood back from her, watching. She'd been like this ever since the trip back. She was so distant, so cold. There was no fire in her as there had been before, no spirit. He wanted the other Alexandra back, even if she fought him all the way. This woman he could reach in no way. Nothing he said or did caused any reaction in her. It took all his will power not to ignore her cold, biting eyes and simply throw her on the floor and take her as he had the first time and prove that underneath her cold exterior she was still a warm, vital woman. But he was afraid of losing her so close to the wedding. He wasn't sure of her yet, perhaps even less sure than before for she had grown into a woman, a woman with no fears, no worries, simply a woman waiting the passage of time. If it had not been for the baby she carried, he wondered if he could have made her marry him. She was so withdrawn now, nothing reached her, nothing at all.