by Debra Diaz
“What are you saying about me?” Geoff hobbled into the room, smiling a little. “Genny, would you be so kind as to hand me that book I left on the table?”
“Of course.” Genny picked up the book and crossed the room to hand it to him. As he reached for it, his gaze fell upon the photograph she still held in her other hand. His smile faded and his eyes narrowed.
“Where did you get that?”
Genny was faintly embarrassed. “I found it in the trash.”
“Well, put it back,” he said mildly. “I suppose Ethan put it there. That’s where it belongs.”
He took the book out of her hands and left the room. Genny heard Ethan’s footsteps in the hall and, galvanized into action, hurried to the waste basket and dropped the photograph into it. She turned quickly to the fire as if to warm her hands.
Ethan returned to his newspaper. Valerie began to write something on a sheet of paper. Genny stared into the flames, aware of how tired she was. Her bed, which had grown loathsome in her eyes, all at once seemed very appealing. Her breath was rapid and shallow, and unconsciously she placed her hand over her heart.
“Genny,” Ethan said, looking at her over the top of the newspaper, “how are you feeling?”
She tried to smile. “I think I’ll go to bed now.”
He stood at once. “I’ll take you.”
“Oh, no. It isn’t necessary.”
He paid no attention, striding forward to take her elbow. Over her shoulder, Genny said goodnight to Valerie.
“Goodnight, Genny. Sleep well.”
They walked slowly to the stairs. Genny hadn’t realized she was so weak. She paused, her hand on the newel post, and looked up the endless staircase.
Ethan glanced down at her and, without hesitation, lifted her in his arms and carried her up the stairs. Instead of leaving her in front of her door, he leaned down and opened it and carried her into the bedroom. Somehow it seemed natural and proper for him to do so.
He lowered her to the floor and said abruptly, “Take off that wrapper and get into bed.”
Genny was too tired to protest. Besides, he had seen her in her nightgown before and, if the truth be known, had most likely seen much more of her than she liked to think about, since he and Agnes and a nurse from the hospital had been her sole caretakers during her illness. She felt her face flush at the thought. It was getting harder to think of Ethan as a doctor; it seemed that every day she became more aware of him as a man. Even the difference in their ages no longer seemed such a vast one.
She got quickly into bed and pulled the covers over her. Ethan took her wrist in his hand and felt her pulse.
“How do you feel?”
“Terrible.” She thought she might cry. She was so tired of being sick.
“Give yourself time, Genny.” He reached over to turn down the bedside lamp, saying quietly, “And don’t worry. You will be well again.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was almost Christmas by the time Genny felt sufficiently recovered to return to work. The aroma of freshly baked pies, cakes and cookies permeated the downstairs rooms and Agnes sang Christmas carols as she went about her tasks, shrilly and a little off key. The house had been gaily decorated, with red and green ribbons and tinsel and boughs of holly. A great thatch of mistletoe hung in the center of the parlor. Genny had been sitting one afternoon and looking at the mistletoe when an idea occurred to her.
She must get Ethan to kiss her.
If he kissed her, and she pretended to be hurt that he should take advantage of her in such a way, she would, in reality, have an advantage over him. He would be forced to apologize.
True, it was only a kiss, something that Ethan would probably take very lightly. But how would he like explaining to Philbert Romayne why he had insulted his daughter by kissing her against her will? And she would make certain he knew how very insulted she was. Especially since he knew about the Malone incident. She would cry and threaten to tell her father — that ought to be enough to get him to forget his resolve!
The more she considered the idea, the more attractive it seemed. She had no doubt as to its success, and looked forward to the moment with a flutter of feminine curiosity. She wondered what it would be like to be kissed by Ethan Carey. Her previous experience was somewhat limited…her beaus had always been a little on the timid side. The other extreme had been displayed by Mr. Malone, but then, that was not a kiss at all. She shuddered and put that memory out of her mind.
In the following days, she endeavored to be in the room whenever Ethan was present. She managed to walk innocently beneath the mistletoe, pausing as she pretended to adjust a ruffle of her skirt or to thumb through a book. But either he was ignorant of the legend, or he simply did not wish to kiss her, for the anticipated moment never arrived. When she spoke to him, he would look up and reply as if a large shrub dangling from the ceiling was nothing at all remarkable. The feathers of her vanity were considerably ruffled.
But then, on Christmas Eve, it happened.
Valerie had a party that night in the parlor for her music students, who ranged in age from ten to sixteen. Genny helped Agnes serve the refreshments, then when the party was over and everyone had gone, Valerie and Agnes went into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Genny began picking up the discarded tissue paper, ribbons and bows. She did so grudgingly, for the day had been long and hectic, her back ached, and after all, it hadn’t been her party.
She didn’t hear Ethan come in. He had been at the hospital all day and had not appeared at supper. She knelt down to pick up some paper. When she straightened he was there, leaning in the doorway with an inscrutable expression on his face. She paused in surprise. He smiled and came toward her.
“I see the party’s over. You’re tired, Genny. Leave that till morning. Agnes will take care of it.”
Genny pushed at her hair self-consciously. “I don’t mind,” she fibbed.
His eyes lifted, observed the mistletoe, and lowered back to her. Her heart began to race.
“Well,” he said, half-amused, “I’d be a fool to let go a chance like this, wouldn’t I?”
Gently he lifted her chin with his finger and his lips pressed lightly against her own. He raised his head and looked at her again, but he was not amused now. He was very serious and — what? Genny thought, a little wildly.
In a movement so swift and smooth she was hardly aware that he had moved, Ethan pulled her into his arms. His mouth moved on hers, urgently, purposefully, yet with care and tenderness. Genny felt her arms go around him.
It was Ethan who drew away, slowly. They stared at each other. Scarlet-faced, Genny found herself seized by a fit of complete idiocy. What on earth had just happened? This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Ethan, too, remained silent, and she wondered if he were just as stricken as she.
Someone who was not herself said, “I’m going to my room. Goodnight.” Someone who moved in her body propelled her out of the parlor and up the stairs. In her room, she looked at herself in the mirror and thought, “How peculiar I look.” Her face was flushed and her eyes were very bright and there was something in them like triumph. But she didn’t feel triumphant. She felt more vanquished than victorious.
And yet there was something — something in her that was happy. She felt excited; she grew hot and cold.
She thought she must have fever again.
* * * *
The next morning she didn’t see how she would face Ethan. She didn’t go to breakfast, lingering in her room like the coward she admittedly was. Something had changed between them, and it was a change that could not be undone or ignored. Valerie knocked on her door and said they were about to exchange presents. She called that she would be down in a moment, then nervously put on her clothes and pinned up her hair. She thought, too, that it was a very strange Christmas.
For the first time in her life, she would not spend Christmas with her family. But the realization was accompanied by only a mild regret, for holidays at her house h
ad generally been rowdy, unpleasant affairs compared with the quiet peacefulness of Ethan’s house. She didn’t miss Clarissa’s screeching and gloating over her gifts, or the boys’ quarreling, or Abigail’s complaining, or the tolerant, fixed smiles on her parents’ faces.
When she entered the parlor, she found that Ethan had been called to the hospital. A flood of relief washed over her. She opened her presents: a brooch from Valerie, a box of candy from Geoff. When she unwrapped the beautiful silk shawl Ethan had given her she simply sat and stared at it.
“Thank you for the composition sheets, Genny,” Valerie said, a little shyly, breaking into Genny’s runaway train of thought. “I’m always needing them.”
“This is a very handsome set of pens, Genny,” Geoff said. “Thank you. What did you get Ethan?”
“What? Oh, a new medical bag. His old one is about worn out.”
“Is that so? I had thought of that myself but couldn’t find any — did you order it?”
“Well, yes. But it wasn’t terribly expensive.”
She wondered at the speculative look Geoff gave her. For heaven’s sake, she thought, wondering why she felt guilty.
Ethan missed Christmas dinner, a feast of roast goose, smoked ham, black-eyed peas, glazed carrots, creamed potatoes with gravy, and a rich plum pudding cooked with wine sauce. He was not there when they returned from church, or later from visiting friends. He hadn’t appeared by suppertime, and when Genny finally went to bed she was as peeved by his absence as she had been apprehensive about seeing him. The day had been ruined…and it could have been such a nice day.
* * * *
The hand Ethan put out toward the doorknob was shaking; he took a deep breath and willed the turbulence and restrained violence inside him to subside. He stood unmoving before the door, and thought of all the wards filled with children, diseased, blind, deaf, suffering children. It was, to him, a sight more pathetic and heartbreaking than the slain on a battlefield. His mind was filled with a black bitterness he hadn’t known in a long time; he wanted to strike out at something, to break and destroy.
Dark had fallen; in fact, it was probably close to midnight. There had been other things — an emergency abdominal surgery and a baby to deliver. He’d lost track of time.
He took another deep breath and went inside the house, where a light shone in the parlor. He walked quietly to the doorway. Valerie was sitting in a chair, her light brown hair glowing in the lamplight, her head bent over a book. She looked up as Ethan came into the room.
“Ethan! I’ve been waiting for you. I wanted to at least say Merry — ” She stopped, put down her book, and got to her feet. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “It’s just been a long day. I’m sorry I missed everything. Thank you for staying up.”
She asked softly, “Who died?”
He sighed, strode across the room, and began to pour a drink. “Hannah Baxendale.”
“Oh, no — the little girl with the weak heart! Oh, her poor parents.” Valerie watched him drink a brandy and then pour another. “You were hoping she’d live through the holidays.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe it’s a blessing. She doesn’t have to suffer anymore.”
Ethan said nothing.
Valerie approached him, slowly. “Ethan, I know what you’re thinking. Please don’t blame God. God is not the author of sickness.”
“Valerie,” he said gently, “I think we’ve had this conversation before.”
“Oh, Ethan, what is it you’re angry about? What is it that has robbed you of your faith?”
He looked into Valerie’s hurt face and put down his drink. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “No one has robbed me of anything, Valerie. I suppose it is faith itself that makes me angry. You mustn’t trouble yourself so, my dear.”
She put her arms around his shoulders and hugged him, her head sideways against his chest. Then, without looking at him again, she broke away and left the room.
* * * *
There weren’t many patients to see the following day. Genny spent most of the morning balancing the ledger. She had just closed the heavy book and the last patient had taken his leave when Ethan came toward her. He had a basket of apples in his hand that he put down on top of her desk.
“A gift from the Millers,” he said, casually sitting on the edge of the desk. “Want one?”
She shook her head, not looking at him. “No, thank you.” She busied herself with some papers.
He took an apple in his hand. “There is a little matter we need to discuss, Miss Romayne.”
The use of her last name sent a chill through her, making her forget the reason for her former uneasiness. So, at last he was going to confront her about her family. She straightened her spine and stared up at him.
“Tell me something. Why are you so determined not to go back? Why do you feel so strongly about your parents not knowing where you are?”
“I told you. Because — ”
“Because you’re afraid of being forced into marriage. Because you believe they don’t care about you. But I need more than that, Genny. Those are not sufficient reasons to keep them from knowing your whereabouts.”
“You can’t possibly know how I feel about it. Besides, I’m a grown woman and it’s really none of your business.”
“But it is my business. This entire situation is completely different from the one I first thought existed. I want to know — did your parents ever beat you? Was there anything else? Sometimes things happen in families — ”
“No, nothing like that. They don’t believe in spanking.”
Ethan looked searchingly into her eyes. Something about her answer apparently satisfied him, for he seemed to relax a little and took a bite out of his apple.
“Then I have one more question. Will you marry me?”
Genny’s head jerked up and her startled eyes fastened on his. “You are joking!”
“Just think,” he said ruminatively. “It will solve all your problems. You won’t have to go home. Your future will be assured. And you won’t have to worry about my yielding to the constant temptation of your presence in my house. Because, my dear Genny,” — and he looked very sober—“if you think I have forgotten about the other night when I kissed you, I haven’t. I have thought about it a great deal.”
“Oh!” she cried. She tried to think of some scathing reply, but realized all he said was true. But marriage — the thought of marriage terrified her. Marriage was a prison from which there was no escape. Her parents were proof of that.
“I’m sorry to be so crude,” he said, as he dropped the half-eaten apple into the waste basket. “But that’s the way of it.”
“So you’re saying the only reason you want to marry me is because you — because of the other night?”
He stood up, sticking his hands in his pockets and sauntering about the room. Genny watched him, almost breathless, suddenly yearning to hear him say that he cared for her. Just then it seemed the most important thing in the world.
He came back to the desk, looked for a moment at the basket of apples, and lifted his eyes to hers.
“You are beautiful, and very desirable, as you well know. But no, it isn’t just that. When you were ill, Genny, and I thought you might die — well, I couldn’t imagine your not being here anymore. There are feelings between us. That you know as well as I do.”
“Oh,” she said again, but very quietly.
“Before you answer me, I’d better tell you that I intend to write your parents, no matter what your answer is. In fact, I’m going to send them a telegram. What you’ve done isn’t fair to them, Genny, and they must know that you’re all right.”
Genny felt a wave of confusion. Ethan watched her, alert, but with a curious air of restraint.
“What they did wasn’t fair to me either. But I suppose I can’t stop you.”
“I’m sorry. They’re still your parents and they have a right to know.”
She looked
away. Now she had no choice, really, but why had he told her this before she had answered his proposal? Was it his intent to trap her into marriage?
She said softly, “I was going to say yes anyway.”
“Were you?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Look at me, Genny. Why were you going to say yes?”
She met his intent gaze. “Well, because — ” She floundered for words. “Well, the other night — I do have feelings for you, obviously, and the only reservation I might have felt was because you’re so much older than I am…”
He smiled ruefully. “I may have one foot in the grave but I’m not ready to topple in just yet. How soon do you want to get married?”
“We’d better do it right away. Before my father comes.”
She thought he seemed unnaturally still. “I see.”
“Well, it would make things easier, wouldn’t it?”
“Sometimes,” he said, “the easiest way isn’t the best way. However, I have no objection to an immediate marriage. Do you want to have it here, or in a church? Or do you want to go away and get married?”
She thought longingly of the house gaily decorated with flowers and greenery, and of herself descending the stairs in a white gown while guests stood in the hall and foyer, all eyes upon her. There would be a tall wedding cake and a great crystal bowl of punch on a table laden with nuts and candies and small pastries. There would be music and dancing and candlelight…
But no, there wasn’t time for such preparations. There would hardly be time for her to grow accustomed to the idea of becoming Mrs. Ethan Carey. Her parents would be shocked at her lack of propriety, but they would be scandalized were they to find her living in Ethan’s house without being married to him. Funny how it hadn’t seemed improper until now.
“We’d better just go away,” she said at last.
“And one more thing. Lest you believe I’m one of those fortune-hunters you’ve talked about so eloquently, I intend to have an agreement made up that anything your father chooses to give you is yours alone, not mine.”