by Sharon Ihle
"Yes, old chap," Harry answered, eager to protect his daughter's heart. "Jewel has decided to accompany me on a tour of Europe. We shall be going abroad as soon as we can make all the arrangements."
"Jewel?" Brent persisted, trailing after them. "What's he talking about?"
Unable to avoid him any longer, she turned back and managed a halfhearted smile. "It's something Father and I discussed on the way back to the steamship, Brent. I'll let you know all about it after we've gone over the details."
"Good day, Brent," Harry said, tipping his hat. Then he ushered Jewel out through the door before the handsome gambler had a chance to digest her explanation.
Slowly making his way to the side bar, Brent drew a toothpick from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. Jewel had to have some kind of ulterior motive for allowing Harry to think she'd join him on a European tour, he decided, some new little twist in the Harry Benton saga he hadn't figured out yet. She would return, he reassured himself as he poured a shot of bourbon. Soon she would come back to his office and explain this newest puzzle in the life of Jewel Flannery Benton. Lifting his glass high, he addressed it before he downed the liquor. "She'll come running back to explain before we move two feet from the dock. I can bet the Dawn on it."
* * *
It was a good thing Brent was no longer a betting man. He sat in his office pouring over the ship's operating expenses, wondering why Jewel had been so difficult to corner over the last two days. She was all he could think about—all he seemed to be able to acknowledge. He stared at the rows of numbers, but saw her stunning green eyes. He rubbed his palms against the coarse fabric of his trouser legs, but felt instead the soft satin of her skin and the silky texture of her hair. Guessing her scent would fill his senses, he didn't take a breath of air.
Why was she doing this to him? he wondered for the thousandth time. They'd met for dinner the last two evenings and even managed to have a few strained conversations, but Harry was always lurking nearby, cutting in or actually dragging Jewel away to her next lesson in etiquette.
And Jewel was allowing it. She was acting as if she and Brent were casual acquaintances, as if nothing had passed between them save a brief handshake or two. Was she really so involved with learning how to be a daughter that she had no time for him? Or was it something else? Had he made some thoughtless remark or gesture or inadvertently offended her?
A light tapping at the door interrupted his thoughts. In no mood to be disturbed by yet another deckhand, Brent barked a quick "Come on in—it's open," then rubbed his eyes and forehead in a feeble attempt to clear his head.
The door opened and closed. Then he heard the faint rustle of silk. Before he could open his eyes to identify his female visitor, the barest hint of fresh violets drifted under his nose. Jewel.
Brent jerked his hands away from his face and pushed out of his chair. "It's about time you decided to grace me with a visit," he complained, but the relief in his voice belied the anger it contained. Sighing heavily as he rounded his desk and started toward the center of the room, he added, "I was just about to fashion a lasso from one of the drape pulls and go round you up myself."
"I'm sorry," she said with more nonchalance than she felt. "I was just trying to make things as easy as I could for all of us."
But Brent was filling his senses, not his logic, as he took a good look at her. She wore a dress of lilac and white candy-stripe silk that fit her like a wet camisole from the lace ruffle at the throat to the curve of her hips. There the overskirt and bustles flared out, tumbling down past her heels into a fashionably long train. Never before had he been privileged to view her dressed like a woman of high breeding.
"Good gracious, Pinky," he said, his breath catching in his throat. "If you aren't a sight."
Jewel raised one eyebrow and advanced a few more steps. "Am I to assume, then, that you like my new dress?"
"You're absolutely stunning—if you don't mind my saying so, that is," he added, finally regaining his usual balance.
"Thank you. I'm sure Harry thanks you, too, since he bought it for me back in Natchez. It's a Charles Frederick Worth, you know."
"No, I didn't know, and," he added raising one corner of his lip. "I wouldn't, since I've never heard of the fellow."
"He's a Parisian designer who's all the rage in New York. Father says he's—"
"I don't care who he is," Brent cut in as he gently pulled her into his arms. "I just care about you. Now, why are you so dressed up, and why in hell have you been avoiding me the last couple of days?''
Jewel looked up into his warm brown eyes, then quickly turned away as she thought of what she had to do next. Bracing herself against his broad chest with both gloved hands, she whispered, "Harry told me to stay away from you."
"What? After all we've been through together—and I'm talking about the three of us—what possible purpose would that serve? What have I done wrong?"
"Brent, please let me go. I can't think when you hold me like this."
But he was a starving man, hungry for the sight of her, craving a taste of her sweet lips. Brent stubbornly fit her against his body and said, "No, dammit. I want to know what's going on, and I want to know now." He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her to look into his eyes. His gaze intense, demanding, he said, "What's happened to you?"
Jewel steeled herself, expecting the inquiries, and quietly answered, "When the Dawn arrives in Memphis, and I'm told we'll be docking shortly—"
"Within the hour," he interrupted, impatient, uneasy. "Go on."
"When we get to Memphis, Harry and I will be leaving the ship." Her eyes grew cold as she prepared for his next remarks. "We're going on to Chicago by train."
Brent stared at her, the blood frozen in his veins, the air trapped in his lungs. Finally his system sprang to life, and he whispered harshly, "Chicago? You can't still be planning to turn Harry in, can you?"
Even though she'd been expecting the words, Jewel's defenses were stifled, trapped as much as she was by his grip. Using surprise as her only leverage, she tore out of his arms and spun away from him, nearly tripping on the fine ecru lace edging the silk hem of her train.
Brent watched incredulously as she stumbled over to the billiard table. Then he raised his voice a notch and repeated, "Is that what this is all about? You still have it in your mind to put your own father away?" When she didn't answer right away, he persisted, "And he's agreed? He's just going to let you haul him off to Chicago and put him behind bars?"
Hanging her head, she quietly said, "He thinks we're just stopping off there to collect my things."
"Oh, great plan, lady detective. You should be real proud of yourself."
Facing him again, Jewel gripped the felt railing of the table and raised her chin defiantly. "I don't see why you're so interested. Your precious family and its heirlooms are all safe, sound, and secure. What I'm compelled to do with my own family shouldn't be of any concern to you."
"Aw, Jewel," he said, his voice softer, lower. "I know you don't believe this. You think a little more of our relationship than that, and," he added, crossing over to the billiard table, "I also happen to believe you care more about Harry than you're letting on."
Circling the table, keeping just out of his reach, Jewel grabbed a billiard ball and tossed it down the eight-foot span of felt. The ivory sphere ricocheted hard off the opposite rail, then began its return journey toward her open palm as she tried once again to inform him of her plans
"I didn't come here to argue with you about Harry, Brent. I just wanted you to know we were leaving the ship. It doesn't mean that you and I can't see each other again. Maybe when the Dawn returns we can get together again."
"Stop it," he snapped. "There's a lot more at stake here than when and where we meet again."
"I don't see why," she bit off, again thrusting the eight ball down the burgundy felt. "I've spent my entire life just waiting and planning for the day I could bring Harry to justice. My job as a
Pinkerton operative demands that I bring him in now. I fail to see what either of those things has to do with you and me."
This time Brent caught the ball before it could start the return trip. Holding it up, he squeezed it until his knuckles turned white. Then said the things he knew he would regret, the thing he had to say in spite of those regrets. "Oh, I believe your plans and your sense of justice have everything to do with you and me." Brent positioned the cue ball on the table, then gave it a vicious twist that sent it spiraling off the corners of the railing before it finally came to rest in front of Jewel.
Eyeing the ball, then looking up at Brent, she said, "Then you and I have come to a major difference of opinion."
He regarded her from across the table for a long moment as he searched for a way to reach her heart. Raising his eyebrows, he finally said, "Maybe we do have slightly different views on a few things, but I don't see any obstacles we can't overcome if we're honest with each other."
"I've been honest with you," she insisted, plucking the slick ebony ball off the felt and passing it from one hand to another.
Brent shrugged. "Maybe, but I have to wonder how honest you've been with yourself."
Jewel smashed the ball down on the table. "Look, I'm simply not interested in having my brain picked right now. I only stopped by to let you know we're leaving."
"Hear me out," he demanded. "I think you owe me that much." Taking her silence as acquiescence, he went on. "I happen to know how I feel about everything, especially when you're talking about my family. They are everything I value in my life, except for you."
"I realize that," she said, her tone softer. "You're not telling me anything I don't already know."
"Maybe, maybe not." He leaned down and gripped the railing, spearing her with a pointed gaze. "Do you know that the Connors family—all of us—survived the war only because we knew we had one another? Can you understand what I'm saying about us? We could have lost everything, we damn near did, and it wouldn't have really mattered because we still had one another. That's the kind of honesty I'm talking about."
Suddenly nervous, her breast fluttering with sensations she couldn't identify, Jewel took the ball in her hand again, this time content to hold it and stroke the smooth surface. "I know your family is wonderful and that it means a lot to you, but I still don't see why you expect me to relate to it. Have you forgotten the kind of home I was raised in, the people I have to call family?"
"Not at all. Perhaps you don't understand what I'm trying—"
"I understand perfectly. You're trying to fit me into a place I don't belong. Don't you see that?" she cried, suddenly desperate for his compassion. "Try to imagine how living in that home has made me feel in here," she said, striking her bosom, "how awful I feel inside when I think of those few people I have to call family."
Brent closed his eyes and shook his head. Still seeking the right words, he glanced back up at her and gently whispered, "I can't know your pain, Jewel, but I do recognize the good fortune in that fact. That's my point—you don't know how good it feels in here," he said, placing his palm on his heart, "when I think of the word 'family.' I had hoped to share some of those feelings with you."
Jewel stared at him a long moment, trapped by his intense gaze, locked in place by her own erratic heartbeat. Tears, more alkaline than acid, formed against the back of her eyes, and threatened to expose a part of herself she'd never before seen. Unprepared for what she might find, Jewel blinked back those tears and thrust the billiard ball toward the rail where Brent's fingers were draped. Then, her usually glib tongue unable to form the words "good-bye," she spun on her heel and stomped toward the door. When her hand touched the knob, Brent's voice reached her from across the room.
"Before you open that door," he cautioned, his voice heavy and grave. "I want you to understand one thing. I happen to love the woman you are. I love her very much. But know that if you walk out of this office now and proceed with your plans to destroy your father, a man I have embraced as family"—Brent hesitated a moment, making himself aware of the challenge in his next words—"if you can do that, don't bother to come back through that door."
Anger and fear collided, forming a huge knot in Jewel's throat at his final words. Not daring to face him, she let her hand remain poised above the doorknob as she asked in a strangled whisper, "You say you love me in one breath, then tell me not to return in the next. May I ask why not?"
"You may," he answered softly. "I love you, who you are today, Jewel. But I repeat: Family means everything to me. I could never love the woman you'll become if you find yourself capable of ruining Harry."
Those new, softer tears pressed forward, broke through the dam of her eyelids, and joined forces with the knot in her throat. In a blind rush, Jewel tore open the door and slammed out of the room—out of Brent's life.
Brent stared down at the eight ball in his hand, and snarled at the cruel white eye as he imagined it laughing up at him. Then he heaved the globe through his office window, splintering the glass in a parody of his own shattered heart.
* * *
The following day as the northbound train rattled its way through Mount Vernon, Illinois, Harry returned to the small compartment he shared with Jewel. He found her moping as she had been since they boarded the train in Memphis. She was staring out the window, looking at the landscape, but seeing nothing.
In an effort to boost her spirits, Harry plopped down on the plush hinged seat across from her and said, "I realize these accommodations are far from perfect, my darling, but tomorrow evening when we leave Chicago, I shall see to it that you travel in style. Princess? Did you hear me?"
At the mention of his newest pet name for her, Jewel looked away from the window and managed a wan smile. "I'm comfortable enough. You don't have to spend extra money for first-class accommodations on my account."
"Don't be silly, dear. Where do you think we'll find all the lords and kings you'll bewitch with your great wit and beauty—in steerage?"
Jewel chuckled, brightening in spite of her dark mood.
"That's better," Harry said, surprising even himself with the depth of emotion behind the words. "You're so very beautiful when you smile. I wish I'd had the chance to watch you grow. Were you a simply adorable little girl?''
Again in spite of herself, she laughed. "Are you kidding? With these freckles and this hair, which I should tell you was the color of a rusty mop bucket until I turned thirteen."
Enjoying another rare burst of laughter, Harry sighed, blissfully eager for more information on the daughter he was proud to call his own. "Tell me some more about yourself, dear. We've hardly had a chance to become acquainted. Given these cramped quarters, I'd say you've got my undivided attention for the next twenty-four hours."
"Oh, I'd rather not talk about my past, if you don't mind."
Harry leaned forward and took her hands in his. "Oh, but I do mind, Jewel darling. I've grown quite fond of you since learning your true identity, and I cannot seem to get enough information about your childhood. I've missed so much of your life." He released her hands and sat back, angry as he thought of all he'd been deprived of. "I still cannot believe your mother was selfish enough to keep this from me."
Finally able to believe that he was telling the truth, to accept that he'd had no knowledge of her birth, Jewel bit her lip and stared out at the rolling hills as the train chugged on by them.
Harry sat forward abruptly. "Goodness me. Jewel darling, perhaps Martha wasn't aware of you herself the last time we met. Isn't it just possible she couldn't tell me what she didn't yet know?"
The idea had occurred to Jewel more than once. She merely shrugged.
"When were you born, darling?" he asked, his eyes shining with excitement.
"On October 22, 1850, I'll be twenty-six this year."
Harry rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as he made his mental calculations. "Assuming you were not premature, that means you were..." He stopped just short of overstepping the boun
ds of good taste, and continued his addition in silence. Jewel had to have been conceived in late January or early February, he determined. But what had he been doing in the year 1850? Then it came to him.
"My goodness," he said, his eyes glazing with memories of another time, another life. "I think the odds are your mother had nothing to say to me but good-bye the last time we met. That was most definitely on Valentine's Day. She made some small heart-shaped cakes for us to share." Harry snapped back to the present and straightened his shoulders. "I know that's the correct date because I brought her a dozen red roses that night. I wanted to leave her with something special. Little did I know," he added, "that it would be you."
Jewel blushed and stared down at the white satin ruching on her skirt panel.
"Please don't be offended, princess," Harry apologized, again reaching for her hands. "I don't mean to be indelicate, but I had to make sure of the dates. I know the last time I saw Martha was on Valentine's Day because the following morning I cleaned out old Lemuel's safe and took off for New York."
This pulled a chuckle from Jewel. Returning her gaze to his again, she smiled and said, "I have to tell you, that hurt Grandfather more than anything you did to my mother. I think you could have bedded the entire household, Grandmama included, and he'd have forgiven you, but once you stole his precious money, you became the enemy."
"I know," Harry said, holding up one hand in submission. "I remember him quite well. Why do you think I never tried to see your mother again?"
"Because your job was done?" she ventured with a knowing grin.
Harry shrugged. "All right, you have me there, but perhaps you don't have a very clear picture of your mother. Even if she had known about you before I left, I doubt anything would have come from it. Had I proposed marriage—''
Jewel's sudden burst of laughter cut him off.
"All right," Harry grumbled, grinning at her insight. "On the off chance that I might have proposed, I do not believe she would have have married me, at least not if I insisted she move out of Lemuel's home and start a life away from him."