Broken Vows

by Shirl Henke

  Rebekah had watched as Henry and her sister grew farther apart, he working longer hours while Leah spent his money. “Sometimes I think there is no such thing as real love between men and women—at least not the storybook kind marriages are supposed to be built on. I should’ve realized that from my parents' relationship.”

  “How is Ephraim doing? I haven't been very good about going to see him. Seems like whenever I go with Leah to Wellsville, we fight.”

  “I know how busy you are between the mines and the ranch, Henry. Papa's doing all right. Losing Mama so suddenly with her heart seizure—well, it was a shock; but as I said, they were never really close.” She paused, thinking of the Irish girl her father had loved and lost a lifetime ago back in Boston. She still haunts him as Rory haunts me.

  “Leah takes after her mother. You, on the other hand, have your pa's gentleness, Rebekah. I know Amos hasn't been easy on you.”

  “I'll get by, Henry. It's Michael I fear for.” She stopped and took hold of his arm. “Please, if I could presume?”

  “Anything you need, Rebekah. You know you only have to ask,” Henry replied earnestly.

  “If anything were to happen to me, would you look after Michael? I know it's a lot of responsibility. You have your own two boys and all—”

  “That's all right. I understand about Amos and the boy.” His face reddened, and he looked away.

  He's embarrassed. “We've never talked about the circumstances of Michael's birth, but I know Leah told you Michael isn’t Amos’s son.” Now, it was she who did not meet his eyes. She could not reveal her husband's affliction to anyone. It was too humiliating to her as well as to him. “Amos wanted an heir. I don't ever think he'll do anything to harm Michael. It's just...”

  “He has no fatherly feelings for the boy,” Henry supplied. “I'll look out for Michael. Maybe, when I'm in Philadelphia or New York on business, I can make a side trip and visit the boy at Calverton. Rebekah...” He paused, then cleared his throat and asked, “Do you ever think about him?”

  She knew he meant Rory. “It would be difficult not to since his name has been in the newspapers almost every day, first in Washington, now here.”

  “He's certainly had a meteoric rise,” Snead said angrily. “His older brother had already amassed a fortune in the China trade, but he never had political aspirations.”

  “Neither does Rory. He's refused to try for Amos' Senate seat or even run for a third term in the House. No, he doesn't care about politics. He just wants to ruin Amos. And my family.”

  “That dirty saloon trash! He—”

  “That's exactly why he's so set on this revenge. Don't you see? My family thought he wasn't good enough for me.” She let out a small, choking laugh. “I guess no one thought he'd amount to much, myself included. I never dreamed he'd be more than a struggling stockman with a small place. But I'd have settled for that.”

  He looked at her with shrewd dark eyes. “Are you still in love with him?” He drew his own conclusions even when she shook her head.

  “I don't know. He betrayed me and now he's set out to punish me for a lifetime of slights and prejudices because of his Irish heritage.”

  “He's proven to be a man of weak moral fiber just like your father predicted eight years ago,” Henry replied.

  “That doesn't justify our prejudices, Henry,” she said with a heavy sigh. She swallowed and raised her chin. “Whatever else he is, he is Michael's father. There, I've said it out loud for the first time in eight years.”

  “Does it make you feel better, having it in the open?”

  “No,” she replied forlornly. “Not at all. In fact, I fear...already Michael is starting to resemble Rory so much.” She shuddered. “If Amos begins to think someone might guess, he'll banish Michael forever!”

  “And then there's Madigan himself—would he be above using the boy to blackmail you?” His tone of voice already gave the answer.

  She nodded. “I live in mortal terror of that, too. He must never see Michael.”

  “He won't. I swear it.”

  Her eyes filled with tears as they resumed walking toward the waiting carriage. “I'm so grateful for your friendship, Henry. Thank you.”

  * * * *

  Leah Snead was having one of her “spells,” as her husband called them. She picked up a dainty, heart-shaped pillow from the settee and threw it furiously at his face. He ducked the harmless object easily, but eyed the heavy crystal paperweight on her escritoire with considerably more misgiving.

  “Now, Leah, put that blame thing down. What will the servants think? You know how they gossip.” That was one plea that usually gave her pause.

  “They already gossip—you and my slut of a sister have set enough tongues wagging from Carson City to Washington these past years!” Leah's face was pasty pale and blotched red by her temper. What had once been a smooth porcelain complexion was now prematurely wrinkled, with pockets of fat quivering beneath her eyes and chin.

  Leah's delicate features had not withstood the years any better than had her voluptuous curves, now gone to pillowy fat. Her once tiny waist was now thickened after two pregnancies and a decade of eating rich foods. Her hair, once silver gilt, was faded and lank. How could I ever have thought she was the more beautiful of the sisters? Henry thought in disgust. Aloud, he repeated what he had been telling her to no avail for the past six or seven years. “Leah, you have no call to take on this way. Amos asked me to escort your sister and their boy to the train station since he couldn't get away from his meeting with the stock buyers at the Flying W.”

  “Their boy! Ha! We all know whose boy the little bastard is. That's why Amos foists them off on you every chance he gets.” Her eyes slitted with jealous fury.

  His blunt, handsome features grew harsh with anger. “I don't ever want you to repeat that—I don't care that you and Rebekah don't get on. She's the boss' wife, and you've got to live with it.” He turned and slammed out the front door.

  Leah knew she had pushed too far. Seldom did Henry lose his temper. In fact, seldom did he pay her any attention. His usual manner of dealing with her was to let everything she said and did simply roll off his wide shoulders.

  She had begun throwing temper tantrums to get his attention when she felt his interest in her waning. Not that she had ever enjoyed the intimacies of the marriage bed; but when she had been young and pretty, he had doted on her, taking her everywhere as his position in Amos Wells' empire grew in importance. Men fawned over her and women were envious. But that was before her looks faded.

  Now, everything had changed. Rebekah, always the plain sister, had blossomed into a great beauty. Indeed, she seemed to grow more striking with the passage of every year, while Leah only grew grayer and fatter.

  “It isn't fair. She sinned grievously and was rewarded with a rich husband, while I was virtuous; and now I'm losing my husband to her wiles. Just like she ensnared that vile Irishman and Amos and every other man she meets!”

  Leah crumpled onto an upholstered armchair by the parlor window and sobbed as she watched Henry ride away, headed north to the Flying W.

  She knew they were making plans to get Amos an appointment to the Department of the Interior now that the legislature had voted in another senator backed by that hateful Irishman. Even though her husband's fortunes were tied to those of Wells and his associates, a part of her could not help but rejoice that Amos' political star might be on the wane. If she had to be stuck in the Nevada backwater, let Rebekah be stuck here, too. If only Amos didn't send Henry to squire her around so often, a voice inside her head echoed fretfully.

  * * * *

  Carson City, September, 1878

  Amos steered her down the curving fan of marble stairs in the Sheffield' mansion. “I want you to charm the senator, Rebekah. He has President Hayes' ear, and you know how much I want that cabinet appointment in Interior. It's our entrée back to Washington.”

  A railroad builder of renown, the senior senator from Nevada was a
political force to be reckoned with and everyone who was anyone in the state had received a command invitation to his annual birthday celebration. As they moved among the crowd, her husband smiled, laughed, pumped hands, and slapped backs, introducing her to dozens of influential men and their wives; but Rebekah's thoughts were far away as she greeted acquaintances perfunctorily.

  Rory's note, which had arrived early that morning, was still etched in her memory:

  Several years ago you sent me a message, warning me about Amos' threats against me. Now I'll return the favor. Your husband as well as you are in grave danger. Meet me in Sheffield's library during the presentation of the birthday cake.

  Rory

  Rory stood, partially hidden in the shadow of a wide pillar, looking down on the festivities from the second-story balcony that ringed the immense room. His eyes never left Rebekah' s golden beauty as she glided, nodding and smiling, from man to man on her husband's arm. The timing has to be just right, he mused.

  “You should at least have the courtesy to pretend I exist, darling,” Thea Paisley said, using her long feathered fan to tease his jaw line as she leaned provocatively against him. “After all, I did travel all the way from Sacramento just to be with you tonight.”

  He shoved the irritating feathers away as if brushing off an annoying gnat. “You traveled to Carson City because every rich, powerful man west of the Mississippi always attends Shanghai Sheffield's birthday parties. You wouldn't miss it for the world,” he replied lazily, still not deigning to look at her.

  She pouted, sticking out her heavy lower lip in a moue that usually melted men to puddles. “I'm far more beautiful than that skinny stick. Whatever do you see in her, Rory?” She nudged his arm with one lush breast as a reminder of the bounteous charms virtually spilling from her Worth gown.

  “That, pet, is none of your concern.” He turned to her at last, offering her his arm. “Just smile and be—er, affectionate as is your usual charming wont.” Raising one eyebrow in a sardonic gesture, he winked at her, then led her toward the festivities.

  Rebekah knew Amos had seen Rory. She could feel his whole body tense in anger when he danced by them with Senator Paisley's wife clinging to him like a leech.

  “Cheap, vulgar woman. Paisley's a fool to turn her loose in public,” he muttered beneath his breath.

  Rebekah knew better than to bait him by replying, or to let her eyes follow Rory's arresting figure. Dressed in formal evening clothes that hugged every inch of that lean, muscled body, he drew admiring female glances around the room. Not yet thirty, he was already one of the richest men in a state known for millionaires. The sapphire studs winking in understated elegance from his snowy white shirtfront and cuffs attested to the fact.

  While most of the elite were balding, toothless, or fat, he was in his prime. A few premature silver hairs at his temples only added to his mysterious air of brooding Irish charm. Now that he had made his fortune, being Irish was no longer a liability. In fact, the lilt of his accent seemed more pronounced as she heard him exchange jovial remarks with Senator Sheffield across the room.

  By contrast, Amos, once so dapper and distinguished, had deteriorated over the past years. His salt-and-pepper hair was washed out and thinning now, and the thick muscles of his barrel chest seemed to have slipped downward to form a paunch that even the most expensive tailoring could not conceal. Fleshy lines of dissipation from late-night drinking marred his once handsome face, unmasking the cruelty within his soul.

  Rory the ruthless charmer, Amos the cunning despoiler. Rebekah shuddered, thankful to have neither of them in her solitary bed. Let that Paisley witch fornicate with Madigan tonight! Yet she dared not ignore his request to meet him. What did he know about Amos that could place her husband in grave danger—and herself along with him?

  Over the years, Rebekah had learned as little as possible about Amos' shady business practices and political chicanery. The less she knew, the better she could sleep nights. As if I could change anything if I did know the sordid details. Whether his fortune rose or fell, she was tied to him, with Michael an innocent pawn she would protect at any cost.

  Shortly before eleven p.m., when Senator Sheffield's huge triple-tiered cake was wheeled into the room amid laughter and applause, Rebekah slipped away through the crowd. She prayed Amos would not miss her, nor the crotchety and keen-sighted old curmudgeon, Horace Sheffield, when he asked for help blowing out all those candles. Having been a frequent visitor to the mansion, she had no trouble finding the library at the end of the long hallway in the west wing.

  The room was dark and silent when she peered in. Glancing up and down the deserted corridor to be certain she was not followed, Rebekah slipped inside and closed the door, then moved slowly across the thick carpet. Where was the blasted switch for the gaslights?

  Suddenly, a tall figure moved from behind one of the floor-to-ceiling freestanding bookcases in the center of the room. She jumped back and started to scream, but hard fingers covered her mouth and held her jaw immobilized as a man's muscled arm pulled her firmly against his chest.

  “I doubt anyone would hear you over the racket down the hall, but I'd advise against screaming. Think of the scandal if we were caught together in the dark.”

  Rory's voice was a low purr. He held her back pressed against him as his hand slid down her throat and around the curve of her breast. She could feel the heat of his breath and see in the moonlight streaming through the window that once beloved hand, still sun-darkened and callused in spite of his elegant new lifestyle. How pale her breast looked in contrast. How achingly familiar the old tightening and swelling when he cupped the globe through its sheer silk covering. His throaty chuckle indicated that he felt her body betray her.

  “Let me go, Rory.” She was proud of the steadiness of her voice but could not stop her pulse from racing or her body from trembling.

  He turned her around in his arms but did not free her. “I wondered if you'd come. The preacher's prim daughter on a moonlight tryst.”

  “This is no tryst.” She wriggled ungracefully free of his arms, which abruptly fell away as he reached over and turned up the lights. Blinking in the sudden brightness, she glared angrily at him. “I came because you said Amos and I are in grave danger—not to dally with you.”

  His eyes swept over her. “A moment ago, I could have sworn I detected quite a different response, darlin'.”

  “Don't call me that. I'm not your darlin'. I never really was.”

  “No, you weren't.” Rory kept his expression sardonically cool and detached while he drank in her loveliness. The deep violet silk made her hazel-green eyes turn almost gray and brought out the bronzed highlights of her dark golden hair. She seemed to grow more beautiful every time they met. “Have you ever regretted your hasty bargain with Wells? Just think, if you'd waited a few years, I could've bought you Worth gowns and amethysts,” he said as his hand caressed the delicate lavender stones encircling her throat, then trailed lower to where the largest oval stone nestled in the deep vale between her breasts.

  She felt her heart accelerate until she was certain it would leap from her chest. Unwittingly, she took a step backward, trying to break the spell. “If you lured me here only to add me to your string of conquests—”

  His mocking laughter cut off her protest. “You were already one of my conquests. Or have you become such a staid society matron that you've blotted our brief liaison from your memory?”

  “No, I haven't forgotten our brief liaison, as you so charmingly put it. Nor have I forgotten your threats back in Washington four years ago. I'll never come to you for anything, Rory Madigan.” She started to walk past him, furiously angry for coming to humiliate herself in this cruel hoax of his.

  His arm barred her way as he reached out and placed his palm against the end of the bookcase. He stepped toward her and pulled her into his arms again. “Don't be so certain of that. I happen to know your husband's political fortunes are on the decline. So are his busines
s interests.”

  She stood rigidly within the circle of his arms, her nails biting into her palms as she struggled to regain her poise. “Amos has lost his bid for a second term as senator. I know you had a hand in it.”

  He shook his head reprovingly. “So little wifely concern, Rebekah. Could it be you have as much reason as I to want him brought low?”

  “Why should you care about him or me? Why this vendetta, Rory? Just because you were a poor Irish Catholic and my family favored Amos Wells over you?”

  He refused to give her the satisfaction of knowing how flayed he had been, returning to Wellsville with those rings in his vest pocket, learning of her marriage, watching her dance with Wells' filthy hands all over her. “Your family has sterling taste indeed. They favored a murderer.”

  She blanched. “Amos is many things...but murder...I don't believe you. You're just as filled with prejudice and hate as the good citizens of Wellsville were.”

  “I have far better reason for my hate. Remember when I told you my brother Ryan was killed in a mining explosion?”

  Cold dread washed over her. “No! Not Amos.” Her protest was desperate. She had seen her husband's cruelty and ruthlessness firsthand.

  “Yes, Amos. Surely you've heard about the way speculators hold miners prisoner underground?”

  She nodded. “To start false rumors about a big strike—or keep word of one from getting out until they buy up the stock cheap.”

  Rory could see from her expression of dawning horror that she understood. “I have proof Wells was involved in half-a-dozen explosions. Unfortunately, not the first one at the Silver Lady back in '64 when Ryan died, but more than enough others since then to send him to prison for life.”

  “No!” She put her hands on her ears as the room spun around her and a great roaring noise seemed to fill her head.

  He pried her hands away and forced her to hear him out. “It's only a matter of time until the investigators sift through all the evidence. Once Patrick and I got our first piece of solid information, his whole filthy operation began to unravel.”