“There is every need. I want you to know.”
“Even if I can’t promise to be equally honest?”
His smile lighted the lean angles of his face. “Are you going to pretend to some misdeed I know nothing of? If it is trivial, it won’t matter; if great, I think I prefer not to know. Keep your secrets, by all means.”
“That hardly seems fair to you,” Serena said, staring down at the coffee growing cold in the cup she held.
“Why not, if I make the rules?”
“In any case, I doubt you have anything to confess that I don’t know.”
He stared at her, his hazel eyes wide, considering. She lifted her lashes slowly to meet his gaze. “Perhaps you had better explain,” he said finally.
“Since you were speaking of your trip, I assume you meant to tell me Consuelo was your traveling companion.”
“Yes, that’s so,” he answered, “though I meant to tell you that our association is over, that it was ended when we said goodbye this afternoon.”
“That wasn’t necessary, not for my sake.” The words were spoken before she could stop them. Serena looked away from him, staring into the fire.
“The decision was Consuelo’s, but I will admit I am — relieved. It was as nearly perfect as such a liaison can be, but I could not get over a feeling of guilt for betraying my marriage vows, and when I was with her, we both knew far too well that it was you I wanted.”
There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had felt no such compunction. As an antidote for the remorse that seeped in upon her, she cast about in her mind for another grievance.
“I am surprised that your vows had such a pull upon you,” she said, her tone reflective, “considering that you had to pay for the privilege of saying them. As far as that goes, I suppose it’s safe to conclude that you bought me, too.”
“That isn’t so!”
“How else would you describe your action in buying into the Eldorado, and asking Pearlie to evict me from Ward’s rooms at a certain time and day?” She set her cup down on the table and got to her feet, stepping over the footstool to stand before the fireplace, one hand on the mantel.
“I did what I thought was necessary. What care would you have had when Sean was born if I had left you where you were?”
“There is that,” Serena admitted, “though I doubt that was your primary reason.”
“I never said it was. In fact, I thought I had made my reasons abundantly clear.” He put down his pipe, his expression disturbed. In the sputtering light of the chandelier over-head, the sandy shock of his hair gleamed above the sheen of perspiration on his high forehead.
“So you have, and yet, you could have asked first.”
“Would you have accepted my proposal?”
Serena stared at her hand, pale against the dark rust-pink marble of the mantel. “I’m not sure.”
“You see? I couldn’t take the chance you would refuse.”
“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?”
“It comes to the same thing.”
“If you mean,” Serena said, “that it comes to the fact that I am your wife, then you are right.”
He stood, taking the step that brought him within arm’s length of her. “I’m glad that you accept that much, at least.”
“You may not always be glad,” Serena answered, her voice low as she allowed her gaze to rise no higher than the knot of his narrow tie between the rounded tabs of his stiff collar.
“Impossible,” he answered, smiling. He moved closer. His hands were gentle but firm as they closed on her arms. He bent his head and touched his mouth to hers. His lips were soft and smooth and faintly bitter with the taste of coffee and tobacco. It was not unpleasant. Serena willed herself to stillness, aware of a sense of waiting, of testing, inside her.
His hold tightened, his kiss grew more demanding. Panic welled suddenly upward inside her, routing her apathy, washing over her with a shudder of distress. She dragged her mouth free, turning her head as she held him off with both hands against his chest.
“Please, no,” she whispered. “Not now.”
He was still, his breathing ragged as he stared down at the pale oval of her face, with her lips like crushed petals and her eyes as dark as mountain pools. At last he stepped back.
“As you wish, Serena. I’ll give you a little more time to get used to the idea, and to what I’ve said this evening. But my patience isn’t infinite. I have no use for an unwilling wife; still, I am forced to wonder if your unwillingness couldn’t be overcome with just a little effort on your part — or mine.”
Swinging away, he moved stiffly to the door, almost as if he could not trust himself in the same room with her. He paused for a moment, his hazel eyes dark and devouring as he watched her, then he went out, closed the door quietly behind him.
Serena sank down on her knees before the fire. She clasped her hands together in her lap, bending over them as if in pain. The red glow of the firelight played over her, reflecting in her eyes.
“Nathan,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
It was true. She was sorry for the hurt she had caused him, sorry for the twisted snarl of their lives, sorry she could not love him. And no small part of her contrition stemmed from the recognition that he was right. It was not distaste that had made her break from him, but fear, fear of her own unwary need for comfort and acceptance. If she had tried, and if he had dared to use his strength to overcome her protests as once Ward had done, she could have gone to him. She could have given him what he wanted, and perhaps found in his arms some small ease for the desolation that clung with icy tentacles to the beating warmth of her heart.
Dorcas showed Consuelo into the nursery where Serena sat playing with Sean. He was fourteen weeks old and his smiles were cherubic. He kicked against his long gown of white flannel embroidered in blue with exuberant strength, cooing in pleasure at having his mother’s complete attention, arching his eyebrows and flailing his arms in a determined attempt at communication. He had just disgraced himself, however, by wetting himself and his mother, when Consuelo appeared. Serena looked up from her loving scolding to greet the Spanish girl. Together they hung over the cradle, consoling Sean, letting him clutch and gnaw their knuckles and generally getting in the way as Mary tried to change him. It was only as his protests turned to outraged cries of hunger that they withdrew to allow the nursemaid to feed him and put him down for his morning nap.
“He’s a beautiful baby,” Consuelo said, her voice caressing.
Serena smiled as she led the way down the hall toward the stairs. “And Mary’s so good with him. I believe she would give her life to keep him from being harmed. I’m lucky to have her.”
“You are so isolated here at Bristlecone, and it’s been such a cold and snowy winter, too cold to take an infant out. I wonder, has Ward seen him?”
“No — not yet.”
“It’s a sad thing, when a father is prevented from seeing his son.”
There was an odd note in Consuelo’s voice. Serena, opening the door into the sitting room, sent the other woman a quick glance. “So far as I know, Ward has expressed no desire to see Sean.”
“That doesn’t mean anything, as you well know. He isn’t the kind of man to parade his feelings.”
Serena could only agree. “That makes it so convenient for his type, doesn’t it? People always credit them with all the proper feelings whether they have them or not.”
Consuelo took the chair Serena indicated. “That’s one way of looking at it. People might also fail to credit them with any feelings at all.”
“Have you come to plead for Ward?” Serena asked. She seated herself, leaning to hold her hands out to the fire beneath the mantel.
“Far from it. He needs no help from me, or anyone. You are right, though, in thinking I have a purpose. I would not risk coming here, even knowing Nathan is in town, if there wasn’t a reason.”
“You know you are always welcome.”
“I
know you are more forbearing than any woman of normal emotions has a right to be — unless, of course, you are not jealous because you know you have nothing to fear.”
“Or unless I have reason to be grateful to you?”
“Ah, Serena, you are a fool — I say this with deepest affection and sadness.”
“You may be right.” The look in Serena’s eyes was wan.
“This may be the last time I insult you, also, my dear friend. I am going away. This visit is to say goodbye.”
Serena allowed her silence to pass for the surprise she could not claim. Finally, she said, Where are you going?”
“I think I told you once of my plan to go to Mexico? I have not changed my mind. I will go to a town neither large nor small, take a new name, call myself a widow, perhaps. The last is needful because I am to have a baby.”
Serena’s gaze widened. “Nathan’s child?”
“But of course!”
Stretching a hand toward the other girl, Serena said, “I didn’t mean — I was only surprised. Nathan has been so concerned with Sean that I find it hard to believe he would let you go, knowing you were pregnant by him.”
“He doesn’t know.” Consuelo’s voice was flat, her words hard.
“You haven’t told him? But why?”
“I — I am afraid.”
Serena stared at her. “I don’t understand.”
“It is because I doubt he would let me go that I am afraid. Nathan wants a child, a son of his own. If I stayed, I fear that when my baby is born he might take it from me. Oh, it would be with the greatest tact, and for the best of reasons, but still, I would be alone.”
“But he would take care of you; there would be nothing he would not do.”
“I know that. He has been more than generous already. But how long could I bear to be his — his pensioner, once you have become his true wife? I am a realist, and I know, Serena, that if our roles were reversed, if I were kept in luxury while you shared his bed, my jealousy would destroy me. I would have to return to Myers, leaving my child to his father to be raised. I don’t doubt, with your forgiving nature, you would become his mother. No, far better to go away and hope that as a rich widow, some man may be persuaded to wed me and become a father to my baby.”
“I can’t blame you for that,” Serena said slowly.
“And yet, I am troubled.” Consuelo turned to stare into the fire.
“In what way?”
“Do I have the right to keep this from Nathan? Which would be the greater cruelty, to go without telling him, or to go, leaving the knowledge behind to be given to him when he can no longer act upon it?”
“You are asking my opinion?”
“No, not really,” Consuelo said, shaking her head, her mouth curved in a grimace meant for a smile. “If I had wanted to go away, leaving Nathan in ignorance, I would never have come here to trouble you with my secret. What I am asking is this: Will you be my messenger? Will you tell Nathan when I am gone, when I am miles away where he can no longer find me, that somewhere in a Mexican village, his child with dusky skin and dark, curling hair will play under a hot sun? Tell him the child will be loved, will know joy, will grow in pride and will know the name of his or her father. Tell him that one day, if God wills, I will send his child to him so they may meet face to face and recognize each other?”
“Consuelo, are you sure?”
“I am sure. You must not be hasty, however. It will be some weeks yet before I can sell my house and make ready, before the weather will be fit for such a long journey. I will go, regardless, at the first sign of spring. The child will be born as summer wanes and fall begins. That is when you may tell him, not before. Promise me.”
“I will do that,” Serena answered, her eyes dark.
“It will not be a burden? You have a son; there may be other children. You are under no obligation to share their inheritance with Nathan’s Spanish bastard.”
“Don’t say such things! How could your child possibly have less claim than Sean, who is not Nathan’s own?”
Consuelo waved her words away. “It may be you think I am doing wrong. If so, say it now.”
“The decision is yours,” Serena answered. “I will do as you ask. I owe you that much.”
A shadow dulled the blackness of her eyes. “I don’t ask this for the payment of a debt, but because you will be near Nathan, close to his heart. You will know what he thinks and how he feels. You will know the words to say to explain, and to ask him to forgive me.”
The Spanish girl’s words trailed off into a whisper. “Yes,” Serena answered in the same tone.
“You will be kind to him, Serena? You will allow him to — to be kind to you?”
Consuelo’s pathetic attempt at whimsy, reminding Serena of their walk that winter day more than a year ago when the storekeeper had offered his kindness in exchange for a piece of yard goods, was her undoing. Serena swallowed with the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. “It seems,” she said, “that I will have to.”
~ ~ ~
The new hoist came the next day, arriving by slow freight in the middle of a raging blizzard. The young engineer sent out to see to its installation tumbled off the train, arranged to have it unloaded and transferred to the heavy drays he had rounded up and protected from the weather on the difficult haul to the Century Lode. By the time he was done, he was in a high fever, and had to be put to bed in a downtown hotel with bronchitis.
Serena suggested he be brought to Bristlecone, but Nathan vetoed the idea. He did not intend to expose his household to sickness; moreover, it was more convenient to keep in touch with the engineer, since the hotel had one of the few telephones in the district, and he was having a line run to the Century Lode along with the electric wire. Too impatient to wait for the young man to get well, he would act as a go-between, since he had taken careful note of the installation of the machinery during his inspection before buying. With a few good men to do the heavy lifting, they would have the hoist in operation without delay.
Between the cold and the calls on his time brought on by the hoist, Nathan did not spend much of the following days at home. Many nights, either because of the snow and ice or fatigue, he even slept at the mine. Sometimes he sent a note telling Serena not to expect him, though usually he simply did not put in an appearance. On these last occasions, Mrs. Anson held dinner back as long as possible before grudgingly serving it to Serena. Not that Serena minded the waiting. It was the fact that the housekeeper did not ask her preferences as mistress of the house that annoyed her.
The lack of supervision made no difference. There had not been another summons to the Eldorado, nor had she heard anything from Ward. It was as if with her refusal to come back to him, he had put her out of his mind. He was being considerate, she told herself, he knew Nathan was back, and was bowing to her concern for security. It did nothing to fill the void within her.
It was an evening more than a week after the arrival of the hoist. Serena sat frowning over the newspaper delivered that day with the milk and butter for the kitchen while she waited in her bedroom for dinner to be announced. There had been another woman strangled and mutilated on Myers Avenue. The victim had been a taxi dancer on her way to her room after her closing number at the Topic. There were signs, according to the newspaper, that she had been molested, and thereafter followed a graphic account of the manner in which her anatomy had been carved up, all couched in guarded, oblique language designed to titillate, but not shock, a lady reader. In the opinion of the reporter, in which the county coroner concurred, the crime was the work of the same man who had struck so many times before.
Serena threw the paper aside. She shifted in her chair to sit with her clenched fist pressed against her lips. So Otto had not been the killer. The depths of her dismay were an indication of how much she had depended on his being guilty. Without that vindication for killing him, she felt doubly a murderess, regardless of his attempt to assault her.
Who could have committed
these heinous crimes? Her mind was circling warily around an idea when the door from the hallway behind her swung open.
Serena jumped, swinging around. It was so unusual for anyone to enter without stopping for at least a light tap that it was a minute before she could form a greeting. “Nathan, you startled me.”
“Sorry.” He advanced to stand with his back to the fire and his hands clasped behind him.
“You’ve already bathed and changed. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I’ve been here nearly an hour.”
“Are you through at the mine, then? Is the hoist ready for operation?”
“Almost. It will take a couple of days for safety checks before we drop it down into the shaft.”
“What a terrible way to put it!” Serena protested with a smile.
Nathan let it pass. “I stopped in town on the way here to see the engineer. As I was coming out of his room, I met someone you know.”
“Oh?” Serena watched him, a wary light in her blue-gray eyes. The gaslight overhead shone on her blue-black hair and lent a pale-gold sheen to her shoulders above her dinner gown of blue crepe beaded with jet.
Nathan looked away as if the sight of her pained him. “It was Pearlie.”
In the silence they could hear the crackle of the fire, the slow tick of a clock in the hall landing outside, and Mary crooning wordlessly to Sean two doors away.
“I’m sure,” Serena said slowly, “that the two of you had a lot to talk about.”
“You could say so. She thought I might like to know that my wife was seen coming and going from the Eldorado at odd times during my recent absence, and that the distinctive phaeton I had presented to her was left sitting for hours at a time at the livery stable convenient to the saloon.”
“Are you accusing me of misconduct, Nathan, or asking why I was there?”
“I am trying to get to the bottom of what appears to be either a malicious slur, or else a serious charge against you.”
Now that it had come, finally, Serena felt her agitation leave her to be replaced by a tenuous composure. “I will grant you the right to ask, but are you certain you want to know?”
Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2 Page 126