by Sandra Brown
Love Beyond Reason
Sandra Brown
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Chapter One
“The Denver City Council voted today to increase taxes by six percent for the coming fiscal year. Councilmen argued that—”
“Great,” grumbled Katherine, “that’s just what I need—another drain on the budget.” She replaced the hairbrush she had been using in the well-organized drawer and reached for a bottle of lotion on the bathroom dressing table. She rested her leg on the commode seat as she smoothed a liberal application of the emollient to her long, shapely leg. She returned her attention to the voice coming from the radio on her bedside table in the adjoining bedroom.
“An armed man’s attempt to rob a convenience store was thwarted today by Denver police. A tactical squad surrounded the building after receiving a call…”
Higher taxes and crime. What a wonderful note to end the day on, Katherine thought ruefully as she brushed her teeth.
Was this to be one of those nights when she allowed herself to wallow in self-pity and bitterness? Such introspection was rare, but she indulged herself whenever this melancholy mood settled over her.
It would be nice to say good night to someone, share a room, space, with him, breathe the same air, hear the same sounds. Him? Why had this nonentity taken a masculine form? She sighed. Living alone had its compensations, but it could be lonely too.
“Tomorrow’s weather…”
Frowning, Katherine glanced at the radio and wondered if the late-night announcer ever got weary of talking to himself. Did he ever think about the souls he was talking to? Did he sense their loneliness and strive with his easy chatter to ease that solitude?
His voice was pleasant. It was well-modulated and distinct, but somewhat… sterile. His casual bantering was rehearsed, anonymous, and impersonal.
God! What a dour mood I’m in, she chided herself as she pulled on her robe and left the bathroom. Maybe I should get a roommate now that Mary is married, mused Katherine as she went through the house on one last inspection before turning out the lights.
Katherine loved this old house. After her father died when she was barely six years old, her mother had managed to keep the house and had reared Katherine and her younger sister, Mary, as comfortably as she could on her postal clerk’s salary. It hadn’t been easy for the widow, but forced frugality had taught the girls to live economically.
Katherine checked the door locks and switched off the living-room lights just as she rejected the idea of a roommate. She and Mary had gotten along fine after their mother’s death three years before, but they were sisters, and Mary’s cheerful disposition made her easy to live with. Katherine might not be so lucky with someone else.
Mary. Dear Mary. Her life certainly hadn’t improved with her marriage. No, thank you, Katherine thought wryly. She would remain independent and suffer through these short, though painful, spurts of loneliness.
“This bulletin just came in…”
Katherine reached for the button on the radio to set her alarm when she recoiled, staring fixedly at the wood-and-chrome box and listening in disbelief to what the announcer was saying.
“Tonight Peter Manning, a prominent figure in Denver’s business community, was tragically killed when his car spun out of control and crashed into a concrete abutment. Police reported that Mr. Manning’s car left the road at a high rate of speed. He was pronounced dead at the scene. An unidentified woman, riding on the passenger side of the sports car, was also killed in the tragic accident. Peter Manning was the son—”
Katherine jumped when her telephone rang stridently at her side. She took deep gasping breaths before her trembling hand grabbed the receiver. She sank onto the bed as she raised the instrument to her ear. “Yes?” she wheezed.
“Miss Adams?”
“Yes.”
“This is Elsie. I work here at the Manning estate. I met you—”
“Yes, Elsie, I remember you. How is my sister?” she asked urgently.
“That’s why I’m calling, Miss Adams. Have you heard about Mr. Peter?”
It wasn’t necessary to tell the maid that she hadn’t been officially notified, but confirmed that she knew of Peter’s accident.
“Well, all hell’s broken loose over here. Mrs. Manning is hysterical, screaming and yelling. Mr. Manning is little better. Photographers and reporters are all over the place talking and waving cameras and microphones and flashing lights—”
“How is Mary?” Katherine interrupted imperiously.
“I’m coming to that. When the policeman told them about the wreck, they were all in the living room. When he mentioned that a woman was in the car with Peter, and that she was dead too, Mrs. Manning turned to Miss Mary, who is so sweet, and started yelling at her. She said such awful things to her, Miss Adams. She said if Miss Mary had been a better wife, Mr. Peter wouldn’t have gone out at night to look—”
“Please, Elsie, is Mary all right?”
“No, Miss Adams, she isn’t. She ran up the stairs to her room to escape Mrs. Manning. No one was paying any attention to her, even in her condition. I went in to check on her and she’s bleeding, Miss Adams.”
“Oh, God—”
“Yes, and she’s in labor, I think. I thought you ought to know ’cause nobody around here seems to care about her. They’re all thinking about—”
“Elsie, listen carefully. Call an ambulance. Get Mary to the hospital right away. I’ll call her obstetrician. Don’t tell anyone what you’re doing. If you have to sneak Mary out through the kitchen, do it. Just get her in the ambulance. Okay?”
“Yes, Miss Adams, I will. I always liked your sister and thought—”
“Never mind all that now, Elsie. Just call the ambulance.” Katherine couldn’t afford to be exasperated by Elsie’s garrulity, but she hoped the excited woman would get Mary to the hospital immediately.
Katherine cut that connection and quickly dialed the doctor after fumbling through the telephone book frantically searching for his number. Alphabetical order seemed to have escaped her, and she cursed her ineptitude. She reached his answering service and quickly apprised the operator of her sister’s condition. The operator promised to contact the doctor immediately and have him go directly to the hospital.
Without thinking about her actions, Katherine stripped off her robe and nightgown and dashed to her closet. Pulling on a pair of jeans, she damned the Mannings and especially Peter. How could he? Hadn’t he made Mary’s life miserable enough without humiliating her by getting himself killed while another of his women was in the car with him? She believed Mary’s tales of his physical abuse, but would that extend to his inducing her labor to deliver a seven-month fetus? God, help her, Katherine prayed while pulling a T-shirt over her head and stepping into a pair of sandals.
Without combing her hair or bothering to apply any makeup, she ran out of the house, climbed into her car, and headed for the designated hospital. She forced herself to drive slower than she felt compelled to do. She would be no help to Mary if she were injured or killed herself.
Mary, Mary, why didn’t you see the kind of man Peter Manning was? Had she been so blindly captivated by the smi
le that graced the society page columns that she couldn’t see the superficiality of it? Peter Manning, the Golden Boy, son of one of the wealthiest and most prominent families in Denver, heir apparent to bank directorships, real estate holdings, insurance companies, and numerous other enterprises, had become Mary Adams’s husband a year ago.
Katherine had been puzzled to say the least when Peter’s attention had suddenly become riveted on Mary, whom he had met while she was working in an art gallery to help pay for art classes.
He was suave, debonair, devastatingly handsome, polished, and confident. He had swept gentle, naive, trusting Mary off her feet and then let her fall. Hard and far.
Why? From the outset of that bizarre romance that question had plagued Katherine. Mary was pretty, but nothing like the dazzling debutantes and celebrities Peter was accustomed to escorting. Why had he bothered with Mary?
Katherine honked belligerently at a motorist who was sitting through a green light. Her anger wasn’t directed toward the other driver, however. It was directed toward the man who had turned a laughing, happy, vibrant young woman into a haunted, listless robot.
After only a few months of marriage, Peter’s loving attitude toward his wife, which Katherine had always felt was a little too overdone to be sincere, began to change drastically.
Katherine had been shocked to listen as Mary tearfully related one horror story after another. Physical and emotional abuse were daily occurrences. Peter was furious over Mary’s pregnancy, though she swore he had raped her one night without giving her time to take precautions against that condition. The marriage was a living nightmare.
But the picture Peter presented to the world was one of marital bliss. With total devotion he doted on Mary in front of his parents and their country club friends. His hypocrisy would have been laughable if it weren’t so tragic.
Katherine wheeled into the hospital’s emergency entrance and thankfully found a parking space near the door. She locked her car and raced for the well-lighted alcove only moments before she heard the wail of the ambulance.
She and Mary’s doctor were standing in the wide foyer as the paramedics guided the stretcher through the glass doors which opened automatically. Katherine gasped when she saw her sister’s face. She covered her mouth to stifle a scream. Mary’s eyes were open, but unfocused, and didn’t register her sister’s presence as they whisked her past Katherine and into one of the treatment rooms.
After a cursory examination Mary was sent to the maternity ward where she delivered a baby girl after only thirty minutes of labor.
The doctor looked bleak as he walked toward Katherine down the hushed, softly lit corridor in his rubber-soled shoes.
“She’s in a bad way, Miss Adams. I don’t think she’ll last the night.” Katherine slumped against the wall and stared at him over the tight fist she was pressing hard against her bruised lips. Her green eyes overflowed with tears that flooded over the lower lids, coursing down her pale apricot cheeks. They dampened the strands of honey-gold hair that tumbled around her head in heedless disarray.
“I’m sorry to be so blunt, but I think you ought to know the severity of her condition. She hemorrhaged so much before she got here that there was little we could do about it, though I transfused her.” The doctor paused and studied Katherine before saying softly, “It hasn’t been a happy pregnancy. She wouldn’t take care of herself. I’ve been worried about her before.… Well, I know what happened tonight. I’m sorry about Mr. Manning. I don’t think Mary wants to live,” he added sympathetically.
Katherine nodded mutely. As the doctor was turning away, she grabbed his sleeve and asked hoarsely, “The baby?”
He gave her a ghost of a smile. “A little girl. Four pounds. Perfectly formed. She should make it.”
* * *
Mary died at dawn. In one of her few lucid moments during the long night, she asked for Katherine.
“A piece of paper,” she whispered.
“Paper?” Katherine repeated stupidly. Didn’t Mary realize this was their farewell?
“Yes, please, Katherine. Hurry.” She could barely form the words.
Katherine searched the hospital room desperately looking for a piece of paper, and finally found a paper towel in the small bathroom.
“Pen.” Mary croaked.
Katherine supplied that out of her purse and watched in wonder as her weakened sister managed to write several lines on the towel with a shaking hand. She signed her usual signature at the bottom when she was finished.
Mary fell against the pillows, totally exhausted. The exertion left her face white and beaded with perspiration. Her lips were blue. Dark circles ringed her eyes, but they were brighter, more alive and vivid than they had been since her marriage. Katherine caught a shadowy glimpse of the former Mary in this wasted shell and wanted to weep copiously for her loss.
Mary was blond and blue-eyed. Her skin had always been clear and rosy. Her eyes had laughed whenever her cherub mouth had curled into the slightest suggestion of a smile. She was shorter and plumper than her svelte sister and agonized over every calorie, until recently when all appetite vanished. The cheerful voice that was now subdued to a gasping whisper brought Katherine back from her reveries.
“Katherine, name her Allison. Don’t let them have her. They mustn’t have her.” The white, clawlike hands gripped Katherine’s forearm. “Take her away from here. Tell her I loved her very much.” She closed her eyes and breathed a few shallow breaths. When her eyes opened again, they had taken on a dreamlike quality. They were peaceful. “Allison’s such a pretty name. Don’t you think so, Katherine?”
* * *
The double funeral took place two days later. It was a circus. The public’s voracious appetite for scandal was fed by the eager reporters competitively trying to write the most sensational story. The girl who had been killed with Peter was a seventeen-year-old high-school cheerleader. Her body had been only partially clothed when the accident occurred. Allison’s premature birth and Mary’s subsequent death only added more spice to the tantalizing story.
Katherine was saturated with grief over Mary’s death. Peter had died instantly from a broken neck without a mark on him. Sadistically, Katherine thought that to be unjust, especially when she remembered Mary’s ravaged face, her innocent beauty marred by months of physical abuse and verbal attacks. It wasn’t fair.
Katherine had barely been able to cope with the ostentation of the society wedding a year earlier, but the funeral was even more of an ordeal.
Eleanor Manning, managing to look lovely in her black designer dress and well-coiffed blond hair, was inconsolable. One minute she was clinging to Peter Manning, Sr., who was a tall, distinguished, gray-haired man, weeping uncontrollably. The next moment she berated poor dead Mary for not loving Peter, her darling son, enough. Then she would curse Jason, Peter’s younger brother, for not being in attendance.
“It wasn’t enough that he humiliated us by not attending the wedding. He had to further our shame by not coming home for his brother’s funeral. Africa! My God, he’s as barbaric as those heathens who live there. First it was Indians. Now it’s pagans in Africa!” At that point she would lapse into another bout of hysterical tears.
Katherine knew very little about the brother, Jason Manning. Peter had always referred to him vaguely, as if his existence was of no consequence. Mary, however, had been excited when she received a letter from him.
During a visit with Katherine she exhibited the letter with timid pride. It had never taken much to make Mary happy.
“I got a letter from Peter’s brother, Katherine. He’s in Africa, you know. He works with oil or something. Anyway, he apologized about not being able to get away for the wedding and congratulated me on the baby. Listen.” She read from the plain white stationery which was slashed with a bold, black scrawl.
“ ‘I look forward to returning home and greeting you as a proper brother should. If you’re as pretty as the pictures Mother sent me, I wish I had
seen you first. Damn Peter. He’s got all the luck!’ Of course, he’s only teasing me,” said Mary blushing. “Doesn’t he sound nice? He says, ‘Take care of that new niece or nephew of mine. It’ll be great to have a baby around, won’t it? Just think. I’ll be Uncle Jace.’ ”
Katherine nodded enthusiastically, though it was really out of politeness. She was alarmed by how thin Mary was growing despite her expanding abdomen. On that particular day, she had been much more interested in her sister’s declining health and obvious unhappiness than in a long-lost brother. She shelved her impressions of him along with those she had formed about the other Mannings.
After the funeral the days fell into a dull, grinding, and exhausting routine. Katherine went to work every day at the electric company and continued writing the research papers and press releases that she had been hired to do five years ago. Was it really that long since she had graduated from college? Had she been doing this same tedious job that long? She made a respectable salary, but she saw the job only as practice for better things to come. She was a more gifted writer than her job demanded and she longed to have her creativity challenged. Maybe with the new responsibility of a baby, she would be compelled to go looking for a higher-paying job.
Allison! Katherine delighted in her. Every night she visited the hospital and gazed at her niece through the glass wall of the premature-baby nursery. She longed for the day she could hold her. Allison was gaining weight every day, and the pediatrician told the anxious aunt when the baby maintained five pounds for five days he would release her into Katherine’s care.
She made arrangements to take two weeks’ vacation at the time she could bring Allison home and started scouting out the best day-care center for working mothers. It would have to be the best before she would entrust Allison into its care. It never occurred to her that her guardianship of the baby would be jeopardized.
She was bolted out of her placidity when the Mannings’ lawyer called upon her at work. Inundating her desk with official-looking papers, he told her in his prissy, arrogant voice that his clients “… intend to take sole responsibility for the child.”