by Kristy Tate
“You are the hired help and I won’t be letting you go until the frost sets in.”
Christian bowed his head, humbled by her kindness.
“’Sides, I can’t let you go seeing as how you’s still so wounded.”
He gaped at her. “I’m better, really.”
She cocked her head, lifted her glass, and gulped down a swallow of boysenberry wine. “That’s not how I be seeing things.” She lifted the wine bottle and started to fill his empty glass.
“You know I don’t drink.”
She sighed and put down the bottle. “You’re about as much fun as the Pennsylvania Dutch. When did you start this hogwash?”
“It’s not hogwash.” Christian thought back to the night he’d first met Rita. “If not for the wine, things might have been different with Rita. I would never have kissed her if I was sober. The kiss set everything in motion.”
Nessa, who by now probably knew every Rita story by heart, laughed at him. “You should thank the wine of that night, instead of shunning it.”
“Ever since I met her I have felt I need to keep my mind sharp. She makes me want to be a better person.”
“So, why then are you hanging around me? Why aren’t you with her?”
“I told you—”
“No you haven’t. There’s a whole load of stinking hogs waiting for their wash and you been hiding something so deep, I’m thinking you’re even hiding it from yourself.”
Christian touched his fingers to his forehead and studied his stew.
“There ain’t no answer in that bowl. Look at me, son. You got to go and git her.” Nessa took another swallow of wine. “What you scared of, boy?”
Christian leaned back in his chair and raised his eyes to the ceiling. Spiders crawled on elaborate webs built between the wood beams. Everything felt safe in Nessa’s cabin. “My father.” Christian cleared his throat.
“You’re scared of your pa?”
Christian shook his head. “My father’s lover gave me the promise of my mother’s safety and a hundred thousand dollars to disappear.”
Nessa whistled. “And you is going to let go of this girl for money?”
“It’s not just the money. I made enough in Cayoosh gold to make that look like pocket change.”
“The Cayoo what?”
“Cayoosh Flat, British Columbia.”
“The British own the Columbia?”
Christian shook his head. “No. Never mind.” He didn’t want to explain the gold rush. “The important thing is I’m not worried about money as much as I’m worried about staying alive...and my mother.”
Nessa looked at him blankly.
“He said he would kill me if I returned to New York.”
“Now why would he do that? You involved in more murders you ain’t been telling me about?”
Christian shook his head, suddenly tired. “I’m going to pay you back, Nessa. I just need to find a way to get my money back.”
“And where’s your money?” Her eyes glittered and Christian wondered if Nessa would try to steal it if she knew.
He raised his eyes to meet hers. “Rita has my heart and my gold.”
“All of it?”
“More than she knows.”
“What does that mean?”
“She probably thinks that all the value is in the gold coins, but it’s not. There’s a key.”
Nessa laughed. “She has the key to your happiness and your wealth. Boy, you got to face up to your father and go and get that girl.”
***
Finding Rita took half the time it took to muster the courage to climb the stairs to McDougal’s office.
“He’ll see me,” Christian told the receptionist at the main desk.
A tiny man in a slim dark suit frowned and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Mr. McDougal is a very busy man…”
“Give him my name. He will want to see me.” Christian’s gaze followed the receptionist through the marble and gilded bank lobby. He thought it a temptation of fate to decorate a bank in the baroque style, baroque being just one syllable away from broke, but McDougal had done it. Gold leaf shimmered on the heavily carved facades. One only had to look at the bank’s décor to know that its president favored the homoerotic, but very few in a bank looked at anything other than accounts, numbers and figures…and not figures of the fleshy sort. Christian’s gaze swept over the tellers behind the counter, handsome men, all of them. Coincidence?
Despite the bustle of patrons and tellers, Christian whirled when he heard the heavy footsteps of William McDougal. The massive banker exuded wealth and power. Only Christian would see his weakness—an intricate gold ring on his left hand. Christian’s father wore a matching ring.
“Christian, my lad! What a surprise!” McDougal held out his arms, but Christian didn’t step into them. He wasn’t intimidated by McDougal’s size, but repulsed by the man’s character. “Tell me, does your father know you are in town?”
“No.” Christian let McDougal take his arm and steer him into an inner office. “Not yet,” he said as he settled into a wingback chair. Leaning back, he crossed his ankle over his knee. “You must know why I’m here.”
McDougal closed the office door and went to stand behind his desk. A large gilded mirror hung directly behind him and Christian realized that if McDougal reached for a gun in the desk drawer, Christian would catch the reflection.
“Listen, McDougal, all I ask is for a guarantee of my mother’s safety and my own freedom.”
All friendliness dropped from McDougal’s voice and demeanor. “I don’t understand why you chose to come to me, rather than your father.”
“In every pair there is always an alpha dog. We all know that you are that dog.”
McDougal chuckled a dark laugh and fingered an envelope opener on the desk. “I am no threat to you.”
“That is not what my father said.”
McDougal picked up the envelope opener—a gold double-edged blade with a silver filigree handle—and twirled it in his hand. “Your father loves you. His only concern is your welfare…and your mother’s, of course.” He stretched his lips into a facsimile of a smile.
“Of course.” Christian unfolded from the chair and stood. “You should know I have posted a letter to the Times to be opened should she suffer an untimely death.”
“And who is to determine what is untimely?” McDougal’s eyes turned black.
“I am.”
“You fool,” McDougal spat out as he leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk, as if to vault over it. “What makes you think the press isn’t snorting over your insipid letter at this very instant?”
Christian laughed. “That was a risk I was willing to take.”
“You would jeopardize your father’s career?”
“No, his career was already jeopardized—by you. Good day, McDougal.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door. “I’ll see you in the funny papers,” he said over his shoulder.
***
Rita pushed through the wood- and brass-trimmed doors of McDougal Savings and Loans. A slight, clean-shaven man helped her deposit her money. He smiled at her and she returned the gesture, but it made her heart twinge.
“Is that all, miss? Are you sure there isn’t more I can do?” His blue eyes twinkled at her.
Rita blushed and drew the small gold key out of her satchel. It was all that was left from Christian’s bag. She had set up an account and now, should she ever find him, she could fully repay him. She looked up, realizing that the teller was expecting a reply. What had he said? Something about tea? “That’s all for today, thank you.”
She saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes and wondered again what she had missed. Slipping the key back into her satchel, she wondered if she would miss Christian for the rest of her life. As she passed through the lobby, she noticed a large man with a face as red as a beet, storming for the doors.
Chapter 10
I was born in America and have lived
here all my life and expect to die here. I am looking for an eager woman who would like to be my wife and have children. I am looking for someone who wants to live a respectable life and be an ornament to society.
Matrimonial News, January 8, 1887
Applause thundered through the hall and Rita swept into a deep bow. The lights flickered as she made her departure, heading for the sanctuary of her dressing room.
“Brilliant show tonight, Miss Ryan,” called a boy carrying a food tray as they passed in the dimly lit hall.
“Thank you, Charlie. Can you be a love and bring me a pot of tea?”
“Sure thing, miss. Sad this being your last show and all. I know everyone will miss you.”
Rita flashed her smile and fought back a wave of fatigue and loneliness. “And I will miss all of you,” she said, knowing there was one she missed more than all the others.
She blinked back the tears to which she had grown so accustomed; they returned every time she thought of Christian. She ached, wishing that Christian could be as predictable and ever-present as her tears. This wasn’t how the story was supposed to end. She wasn’t supposed to go to Europe by herself.
She wished their last words had been more loving. Because she did love him; she knew that now. And yet in cruel spite of his absence, her love for his memory seemed only to grow rather than diminish. She sighed and pushed into her dressing room.
Her clothes lay scattered around the room, vying for a space in the large steamer trunk she would take to Paris. Flowers in vases crowded the dressing table and perfumed the air. She dropped her cape to the floor and slipped off her shoes.
All her dreams had been realized. Yet she had learned weeks, if not months, earlier that dreams were hollow and meaningless without someone to share them. She would rather ride in a boxcar and sleep on loose straw with Christian than board a steamship and sail first class to Europe alone.
“Would you like help with your buttons?”
Whirling, she spotted Christian in the slipper chair. She hurried to him but froze when he didn’t move.
“My love.” His voice came out in a whisper.
Her gaze swept over him. His face was pale, eyes dim, but his smile didn’t waver.
She was too happy to see him to be angry. “Where have you been?”
“Looking for you.”
She shook her head. “That cannot be true. I have been very easy to find. Anyone with a few coins in their pocket can find me. You, on the other hand, have been very mysterious and elusive.” She knelt beside him and noticed for the first time the blood pouring from his belly and staining his shirt. “Oh, Christian.”
He gave her a weak smile. “I’m afraid this is more of a goodbye than a hello.” He took a deep breath, and she knew from the flash of pain across his face how badly he was hurt.
She touched his forehead then smoothed the hair from his face. “I love you too much to let you go again.”
“What happened?”
“McDougal’s henchmen. I tried to tell you, New York is a dangerous place.”
The door swung open and Charlie came in bearing a tray of tea.
Rita went to her dressing table. “Charlie, I need you to do something for me. You must be very, very quick.”
“Of course, miss. You know I would do anything for you.” Charlie’s eyes widened when he caught sight of Christian on the chair, one hand on his shirt, fruitlessly trying to stem the flow of blood.
Rita took out a pen and a sheet of paper. “I need you to deliver this note to a Mr. Michaels on Seventieth and Fifth. Can you do that?”
“Yes, miss.” Charlie took the note with a nod and sped from the room.
“And who is Mr. Michaels?” Christian asked as soon as Charlie left.
Rita knelt beside him and pushed his blond hair off his forehead, measuring his warmth. “My father.”
“Your father?”
“If anyone can save your life, it is my father.”
“Yes, but won’t he ruin yours?”
She picked up his hand and laid it against her cheek. “Without you, I have no life.”
***
Rita and Charlie stood on the porch, supporting Christian between them. Snow drifted around their feet, and puffs of their breath hung in the cold air. Christian’s limp form weighed heavily, but not as heavy as her heart. Up and down the avenue came the sound of jingling bells on the harnesses of horses, but Rita heard only dread in their snow-muffled hoofbeats.
The door opened after the first ring. The aging butler blinked at Rita in surprise.
“Hello, Webster,” Rita said. “May we come in?”
Pleasure filled Webster’s eyes when he saw Rita, but worry flooded his expression when his gaze landed on Christian. Webster seemed to add an inch or two to his already impressive height as he straightened his shoulders and held the door open wide. Smells of nutmeg and cinnamon wafted down the hallway. “Let me call Ford to help make the gentleman comfortable, miss.”
“That’s not necessary. Charlie and I can manage.” Rita guided Christian to a sofa in the parlor. Christian’s face had turned as pale as parsnips—even his lips had lost their color. His eyes were clouded with pain. She and Charlie settled him against the cushions. Webster hovered nearby. “How can I assist your guest? Shall I ring for the doctor?”
“I had hoped my father had already done so.”
“Your father is expecting you?”
Rita pressed her lips into a straight line, anger mounting as her father strode into the room.
“Please leave us, Webster,” her father said.
“You may go also, Charlie.” Rita handed him a few coins. “Thank you so much for your aid.”
Charlie glanced nervously at her father, and Rita saw her father through the boy’s eyes: tall, erect, every ounce a well-heeled businessman—and a tyrant.
Rita straightened her spine. “Hello, Father. Let me introduce my husband.”
Webster ushered Charlie from the room and closed the French doors behind them.
“Young lady, did you really think you could show up here after months of defiance and a prolonged disappearance and demand our aid?”
“I do not ask it for myself, Father. I have no need of your help, but Christian needs a doctor’s care—the finest. I have money, but he needs a place to—” Her voice caught as she choked back tears. “I cannot let him die in a hospital.” She had expected her father’s lecture and reluctance to help, and she was prepared. “If you are unwilling to help, then I should tell you that I have written a letter to the newspaper exposing your prolonged affair with Elaine Didier and the treatment she received at your hand.”
She stopped when Christian chuckled. “What’s so funny?” she asked him.
He tried to shrug but winced in pain instead. “There are going to be a lot of letters to the newspaper today.”
“What does that mean?”
He chuckled again. “If I live, I will tell you.”
Mr. Michaels stared, mouth agape, at Christian. “Christian Roberts. Raymond Roberts’ son.”
“The state senator?” Rita turned to Christian. “Your father is the senator?”
“Excuse me. I will ring the doctor immediately.” Mr. Michaels marched for the door. “Webster!”
Webster stood outside the French doors. “It is already done, sir.”
“Well, then, bring us coffee.”
“Anna is bringing up a tray.” Webster followed Rita’s father out of the room. Their footsteps sounded down the hall.
Christian tried to smile when Rita dropped on her knees to bring her face close to his. “I told you I was very rich,” he said. “Even though you are much wealthier than my father, or yours.”
“I don’t care about your money and I don’t care who your parents are or who they are not, but obviously my father does. You are sure to receive the very best of care. My father won’t allow a senator’s son to die on his sofa!”
He closed his eyes, exhausted from the exertio
n. “You told your father we are married.”
“In my heart we are.”
“But you don’t believe in marriage.”
“I don’t have to believe in something to want it.”
“And you want to be married to me?”
“More than anything.”
Christian struggled to sit up.
Rita pressed him back against the cushions. “Don’t try to move or speak.”
Christian closed his eyes, and Rita did the same, offering a silent prayer to a God she did not know.
***
Rita waited until Christian slept before she slipped out of the bedroom. Her mother, a tall willowy woman with fair skin and auburn hair, met her at the foot of the stairs.
“My heart aches for you, my dear,” her mother said.
Rita paused and read the love and pain in her mother’s eyes. She had never seen emotion there before. Was that because it hadn’t been there? Or because she had never before looked? Rita squeezed her mother’s hand. “I have to go out.”
“But where are you going? How can you leave your husband’s side?”
“There are people I must see.” She would need to give her notice at the theater. They were prepared for her imminent departure, so it would not be too much to ask for Clarisse to take her place a few days earlier than originally planned. Rita knew Clarisse was prepared and well trained.
“I hoped that we would have a chance to talk,” her mother said.
Rita needed to speak to Christian’s parents, but first, perhaps, she should talk with her own. She sighed. She didn’t get along with either of her parents, but maybe that was because she saw her mother as only a shadow standing behind her father. “Would you care to walk with me?” Rita asked.
Her mother frowned at the pale moon shining through the window. “Whomever you wish to see would undoubtedly prefer a morning caller to an uninvited guest at midnight.”
“But I must see Christian’s parents immediately.”
“And why is that?” her mother asked patiently. “The man has been estranged from his parents for more than six years. His prolonged absence has broken his mother’s heart.”