by Anita Mills
Exasperated, she snapped, “You don’t listen to me! It’s over for today—I’m not going to be sick again today! I said I wanted to go, and all you want to give me is some mumbo jumbo about why I can’t! And I’m not having it, Spence! I’ve got an interest in this, too, and his name is Spencer Hardin!”
“Damn. Do you think I’m lying to you? Is that it? Well, I’m not. I’ve got some other business to attend to; then I’m going to visit this uncle of Ross’s. He might not even tell me anything, but if he does, you’ll be the first to know.”
“I’m not sick, Spence.”
“You could use a rest. We’ve spent damned near two months bumping around in that wagon, and we just got here day before yesterday. Look—put your feet up on the bed and get some rest this afternoon, order dinner up when the boy comes by, and have a nice quiet evening.”
“Will you promise me you’ll take me with you when you call on Mr. Donnelly? I don’t want you going alone,” she maintained stubbornly.
“Laura, I’m twenty-nine years old—I don’t need a nursemaid. I managed to live twenty-eight of those years on my own.”
“When I married you, I told you I wanted to be a partner, that I didn’t want to be left out of anything. Well, I’m holding you to that now.”
“I don’t know what the hell you think you could do that I can’t!” he snapped, his patience at an end. “Tell me that, will you? What are you going to do if he does throw down on me? Get in front of me?”
“I just don’t feel right about this—I feel like something bad’s going to happen.”
“You’re the one who’s been telling me all along I’m going to find my son.”
“I just don’t feel right.”
“You’re damned right you don’t—you’re tired, and you’re sick. We can discuss this later if you wish, but I’m telling you for the last time I don’t intend to look Ross up today! I don’t intend to kill or be killed, and I’ll be damned if I know what’s gotten into you!”
“Don’t you raise your voice to me, Spencer Hardin. Screaming at me is about as bad as hitting me!”
“I’ve never hit you in my life, and I never will, but if you start screaming at me, then I’m damned sure going to yell back!” Stopping, he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to make some order of his mind. “Look—you don’t have to stay here in this room if you don’t want to. Take the baby and go shopping. Buy yourself something pretty. If you don’t want to take her out, go ahead and hire someone to watch her. I don’t care if you have yourself a little outing, as long as you can take care of Jessie.”
“I never had the money to shop, Spence. I wouldn’t know how,” she said evenly.
“If that’s all that’s stopping you, here’s some money.” Opening his wallet, he pulled out several banknotes. “There’s fifty dollars there, Laura—that ought to buy you something nice. Spend it on yourself, or on Jessie if you want. I don’t want to see a dime of it back.”
“I couldn’t spend fifty dollars if my life depended on it.”
“Well, try!” he snapped. Shoving his wallet into his pocket, he headed for the door. “I’ll be back sometime tonight.”
She sat on the bed, shaking, as he slammed the door. She hadn’t wanted to argue with him. She’d just wanted to go, and she couldn’t see anything unreasonable in that. Fighting tears, she slid off the bed and walked to the washstand to pour water into the fancy porcelain bowl. Using the pretty lilac soap, she washed her face, then stared in the mirror. Now that he’d got her to someplace where she didn’t show to advantage, he was probably ashamed of her. He didn’t want Ross Donnelly seeing how he’d lowered himself by marrying somebody who couldn’t hold a candle to the rich, beautiful Lydia. She was all right for bed, but not good enough to be seen on his arm.
She caught herself. He just wasn’t that kind of man. Still, as she looked at her face, she could see a catalog of faults. Her hair was brown. Her eyes were brown. If anybody looked close enough, they’d see that fine smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. And her hair was a fright—there hadn’t been any other woman in the hotel lobby who had her hair wadded up in the back like hers. A style like that required a perfect face, and she didn’t have one.
She didn’t talk right, she didn’t look right, and she just felt plain. She wouldn’t even get her milk dried up from Jessie before the next baby came. And her cotton dress looked like what it had been—a calico flour sack. The only crinoline she owned was as limp as a dead chicken’s neck, and everyone else had skirts as wide as the door. It was a wonder they’d let her into a place like this.
But that wasn’t what ailed Spence. She looked the same way when he’d met her and when he’d married her. He just didn’t want her to hear what he said to Ross Donnelly. It was a private matter between them, and he’d made it plain that it didn’t have anything to do with her. No, she might be a frump, but he loved his frump just fine.
Somewhat relieved, she pulled the pins from her hair and let the knot at her neck tumble over her shoulders. It wasn’t bad-looking hair—it was just not fashionable.
A knock sounded at the door, and for a moment, she dared to think he’d come back. Opening it hastily, she faced a uniformed young man, who looked more like a hussar than someone who worked in a hotel.
“Oh … I’m sorry. I thought you were my husband.”
A lopsided grin spread across his face as he looked at her streaming hair. “Makes me kinda wish I was, but I’m just supposed to find out if you wanted supper sent up.” Producing a blue leather folder stamped in gold, he handed it to her. “You can order anything on the menu, ma’am.”
The cheapest thing on it cost enough to feed a whole family in North Carolina for a week, but she didn’t want to seem any more countrified than she looked. “Yes, of course. I’m not much for duck or pheasant,” she murmured to herself, reading down the column. “What would you recommend?”
“They don’t let me eat any of it, but the crab in cream seems pretty popular.”
“I’ll take it.”
“And the wine?” he asked, pencil poised.
“My husband usually takes care of such things,” she fibbed. “I’ll take whatever’s being ordered with the crab.”
“There are several choices being picked.”
“All right, then. I’m not all that choosy about what I drink, so just pick one for me.”
“And after dinner?”
“Dessert.”
“Which one?” Sensing that she wasn’t familiar with most of the names, he offered, “The ices are quite popular this time of year. There’s a peach with raspberry sauce.”
“That sounds appealing.”
“Very good, ma’am. Supper will be up promptly at thirty minutes after eight.”
She’d starve by then. “I’ll be looking for it” As he turned to leave, she dared to say, “I was planning to shop a little this afternoon, but I hate to take the baby out while she’s teething.”
“I’ll tell them at the desk to send someone up whenever you wish.”
“How much?”
“It will be billed with the room.”
“One-thirty,” she decided. “I don’t suppose there’s any place that does hair around here, is there?”
“There’s a desk off the lobby where arrangements can be made for just about everything you’d want—theater, ballet, a carriage to take you anywhere from a shop to the park on the hill. Just tell them where you want to go, and they’ll fix you right up. If you don’t know the city, they can direct you to which stores carry what.”
“And they’ll know where I can get my hair fixed?”
“Yes.”
“I believe I’ll go down and visit with them.”
It proved to be even easier than he’d said. While she sat in a little padded chair, the hotel sent messengers out to confirm appointments with a hairdresser nearby and a dressmaker several blocks away. Within the hour, she was in a hand
some conveyance, making her way around the city, gawking at everything until it was time to go to the dressmaker. While there were places selling ready-to-wear clothing, the woman at the hotel had insisted the garments were of the poorest quality “suitable only for menials,” Surely, a dressmaker would have a variety of prices as well as styles.
She felt like a fish out of water, but if Spence did set up practice here, she needed to learn where things were. And while it seemed like an extravagance, he had said he didn’t want any of that fifty dollars back, she reminded herself. And if she went to the proper places, she was fairly certain she wouldn’t be tricked out like a freak.
Feeling quite elegant, she ate her supper in her new wrapper with her feet propped up on a footstool, and she couldn’t complain about a thing except the cost of the wine, which was more expensive than the whole meal. Having paid for it, she intended to drink it, whether she liked the taste or not.
She was on her fourth glass when Spence let himself in the door. Feeling somewhat sheepish for his earlier outburst, he’d brought her a gold locket on his way back from the bank. Depositing the key in his coat pocket, he turned around.
“Good God—what happened to your hair?”
“You don’t like it.”
She looked crestfallen. Recovering, he told her, “I didn’t say that at all—I just wasn’t prepared for the change, that’s all. Actually, once the shock passes, it’s quite becoming,” he said. “I’m just not used to you with all those curls.”
“But you’re sure you like it?”
“You look like a fashion plate,” he assured her.
“Good, because it took two hours for her to get it this way. I didn’t think she was ever going to be done with all the curling and crimping.”
“Can you do that yourself?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure going to try. I’m not about to spend two dollars getting somebody else to put it up for me.”
“Actually, that doesn’t sound too bad.”
“Spence, do you have money I don’t know about?” she asked suspiciously. “You gave me fifty dollars to spend on myself, and everything in this place comes dear. We must be paying a fortune to stay here. And it doesn’t make sense, considering you worked the rep track in Nebraska because you needed money.”
“I had a bank draft on me that I couldn’t cash anywhere out there. I took it in with me today.”
“And I suppose we’re rich, and you forgot to tell me?”
“We’ve got some money, Laurie. Bingham and his spinster sister inherited equal shares of the plantation, and since he didn’t have any children of his own, I came into his share when he died. Unlike my stepfather, Aunt Claire wasn’t much of a patriot, and when she saw the war coming, she managed to convert her money to gold and bury it under a privy, pretty certain that nobody would want to dig it up. She bought Bingham’s half from me and paid cash for it.”
“But you’ve been watching your money ever since I’ve known you.”
“I didn’t want to carry all of it on me. I put some of it in the bank at Macon, and had the banker give me the rest in a demand draft and cash. We’ve been living on the cash.”
“You still should’ve told me. A husband and wife shouldn’t have secrets from each other.”
“Would it have made any difference? I figured if you’d marry a poor man, you wouldn’t mind discovering he had a little stash of money somewhere. And to tell the truth, I hadn’t thought much about it myself until we had to store everything yesterday. Besides, what if I’d said I had a draft, and then when I went to the bank out here, they wouldn’t honor it. The way things are down home now, there’s no telling what shape the bank there is in. You d have felt pretty damned cheated if you thought we had money when we didn’t.”
“Well, I spent the fifty dollars today, so I guess it’s good they honored it.”
“Good—it’s about time you spent something on yourself. I spent something on you, too—I brought you a little present.”
“Oh now, Spence—”
“Well, I knew we’d both said some things we didn’t mean, and I thought maybe I ought to make up for my part. I knew you didn’t feel well, and I should’ve just gone on.” Reaching inside his coat, he drew out the jeweler’s packet. “It was going to be a nice wedding ring, but I got to thinking you might want to pick that out yourself.”
“You didn’t need to. I actually spent a little more than what you left me,” she confessed. “When I had it put on the hotel bill, I didn’t know this wine was going to cost ten dollars a bottle. I could’ve drunk water just fine.”
“Ten dollars isn’t much, Laura. I’d have been pretty peevish if you’d said you’d run up hundreds of dollars on me without talking about it, but a bottle of wine isn’t going to break us.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what we’ve got in the bank? I don’t want any of it, but I’d like to know.”
“That’s fair. I intended to tell you as soon as I knew for sure we had it.”
“It’s hundreds of dollars, isn’t it?”
“I deposited close to five thousand today. And I’ve got about that much left in Georgia. If we decide to stay for sure, the bank here will make arrangements for the transfer.”
“Five thousand? In dollars?” she choked out.
“It wasn’t what the place was worth. But I probably won’t see it again until Bingham’s sister dies, and the whole thing goes to probate. And since I’m her heir, too, it didn’t make much sense to fight over the money with her. I just wanted out of there.”
“But we’ve got five thousand dollars?”
“Ten. It’ll keep us comfortable for a while—at least until I can build up my practice.”
“Comfortable. Yes, I’d say so,” she managed, still trying to believe it.
“Well, don’t you want to see what this is?” he asked, directing her attention to the package in his hand. “Or are you holding out for diamonds?” he teased her.
“A diamond is just a rock, Spence.” Unwrapping the gilded tissue, she gasped. “It’s beautiful! I wanted a locket all my life, but I never had one—” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Thank you.”
“I can’t take tears tonight, Laura.” Moving behind her, he asked, “Do you want me to put it on for you?”
“I’m never taking it off.” Noticing he hadn’t said anything about Ross, she asked casually, “I don’t suppose you found Mr. Donnelly’s uncle, did you?”
Straightening out the fine gold chain, he dropped it over her head, then fumbled with the clasp. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
“And?”
“He gave me the only address he had, so I reckon we’ll be going to look Ross up in the morning.”
“He’s still got Josh, hasn’t he?”
“Ross’s uncle is a real nice fellow, which probably explains why he and Ross are estranged. He said Ross didn’t want to learn the banking business enough to work at it.”
“You didn’t answer me.”
“Both of them got here.”
“Oh, I’m so glad—so very glad.”
“He said Ross found somebody to take Josh right after they arrived.”
“Oh … no!”
“Yeah. I’ll tell you about it on the way there tomorrow. There’s nothing we can do tonight.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry.” Reaching up to cover his hand, she sought words to comfort him and found none.
“I’m going to kiss Jessie and turn in. I just don’t feel like much of anything tonight. I’ll be taking you along to keep me from killing the bastard, Laurie.”
“I don’t know, Spence. This doesn’t look like much of a place for a fine southern gentleman to be living. Are you sure you were given the right address?”
“The uncle said he’d taken to drinking heavily, that he was pretty down on his luck.”
Laura eyed the ramshackle boardinghouse skep
tically. “I’d say so.”
He sucked in a deep breath, then expelled it before he started up the steps. The faded sign above the door bore the pretentious name of Hathaway House. He rapped several times, and when no one answered, he opened the door into a dark, narrow foyer backed up against a steep set of steps.
The only illumination was a row of smoking candles set in chimney sconces following the stairs upward to the landing above. The walls had once been painted a lovely shade of green, but now they were streaked with soot and rusty rain. The pattern on the carpet snaking up the steps had disappeared, exposing the frayed strings of jute underneath. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, Spence saw the bank of small wooden cubicles along the front wall.
Moving closer to them, Laura read the names until she found a yellowed piece of paper with the name R. Donnelly on it. “Well, I guess he’s here, all right.” Squinting, she tried to make out the faded number penciled above it “I think it says eight, but it could be a three,” she said.
“We’ll try the three first.” Moving down the dark, dank hall, he found the number on a door, and he knocked. He could hear a stirring of sorts within, then a lumbered gait approached the door, and somebody threw an iron bolt, opening it a crack. A fat, toothless crone looked him up and down before asking, “Hep yeh, dearie?”
“I’m looking for Ross Donnelly—his name’s on one of the mailboxes, but we couldn’t make out the number.”
“I don’t know any—what was the name again?”
“Donnelly—Ross Donnelly”
“No McDonalds here—less’n it’s Mr. Ross upstairs—that’s all anybody knows him by—Ross. I got no notion what he’s callin’ hisself but that.”
“Where is he?”
“Upstairs—second door right of the top.”
“Thanks.” Taking Laura’s elbow, he propelled her toward the staircase.
“He ain’t fit comp’ny!” the woman called after them. “He ain’t nuthin’ but a sot!”
“Well, I guess this is where we find out,” he said, hesitating. “It’s been a long, hard old journey to get to this.”