by Holly Bush
“Yes, ma’am,” Alice said. “It was delicious. They were preparing the noonday meal as I was leaving. They must feed many, many people.”
Melinda clapped her cheeks. “Oh, no! I was to help set the tables today!” she said and raced to the door, her long plaited hair flying. “I will find you afterwards, Miss Jolene, so I can take you to see my horse.”
The door banged shut. “You may quit looking at me oddly, Alice. I have not agreed to see the horse. I’d like to get dressed now.”
Jolene spent the rest of the morning at the large desk she’d found in the corner of a sitting room off of her sleeping room. She unpacked her private papers into the locked drawers and stowed the small chest with William’s blanket underneath the desk. All things considered, her suite was comfortable and well-planned, and she admitted to herself that she liked it very much. She envisioned her rooms at Landonmore, with their long, heavy drapes, flocked wall papers, and tasseled lamps. These rooms were airy and light-filled and felt . . . freeing. How silly, she thought to herself, rooms cannot free a person. But it did feel like a new beginning. It felt hopeful, which felt strange in and of itself. What was she hoping for?
There was a locked door in her sitting room that Jolene guessed would lead to his private rooms. Maximillian Shelby. He was taller than her by a good six inches, and she was a tall woman. It was disconcerting to have to look up to him. His suede jacket, while well-made, was worn-in, and his hat wasn’t on his head for effect, she thought, but rather to serve its actual function. He was broad-chested and long-limbed with an easy physical grace. He was manly. What an odd thought.
“Alice?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Please find Mr. Shelby’s secretary, Mr. Moran, and see if there is a time today for Mr. Shelby and me to tour the house,” she said.
A few moments later, Jolene answered a knock at her door. Maximillian Shelby was standing in the hallway. He was wearing a light-colored shirt, sweat-stained and dirty, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, revealing thick tanned forearms. She could never remember conversing with a man in less than formal attire or at the most casual, when Turner loosened his four-in-hand late in the evening. There was a raw masculinity that surrounded Maximillian Shelby and his clothing enhanced his attractiveness rather than diminished it.
“Afternoon, Jolene. Your maid said you were interested in a tour of the house,” he said.
“Oh. Perhaps you’d prefer to wait until you were changed for evening.”
He shook his head. “No. This is fine. I needed to get out of the sun for a while.”
Jolene followed him down the long hallway. He slowed at the landing at the top of the staircase and leaned on the railing. “I think the Hacienda looks its grandest from here. All of the bannisters and railings were hand-carved from wood shipped here from up north. The chandelier came from Philadelphia. It took the Shaw boys two days to get it here.”
Jolene looked out at the two-story room below. It was indeed striking, with its beamed ceiling, and tapestries and paintings on the walls. The floor was a dark red tile, shined bright. Three women came through the room at that moment, all laughing and chatting in a foreign language, Spanish, she supposed.
“Maximillian?” she said and nodded towards the women. “Your staff does not wear uniforms.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “No. They don’t. The heat can be oppressive, and there’s no reason they shouldn’t be comfortable doing their job.”
“A house of this size generally has a more formal staff.”
“In Boston, that’s true. I started out working side-by-side with some of these people, so we’re much less formal. And it doesn’t matter a lick to me what they’re wearing as long as they get the job done.”
“And when we entertain?”
He looked at her. “I suppose that may be different. I’ve not done much entertaining other than when the staff was invited.”
Maximillian continued on, showing her the wing of guest bedrooms, his library, and finally the dining rooms. “This is very beautiful,” she said as she walked the length of the massive main table. Long windows and doors opened up onto a large outdoor area shaded by thick vines that wound through an open roof. “Did your wife do the decorating?”
He shook his head. “No. These rooms weren’t even here when Melissa was alive. We were just starting to hit wells back then. There’s an architecture company in Dallas, McCastor Building, that did the drawings. The owner’s wife did the decorating.”
“She has quite an eye,” Jolene said. “Are they friends of yours?”
“Yes, they are,” he said. “I’ve invited them to join us for a meal later this week.”
“This week?”
“Thursday, I think. I’ll have to look at my calendar. They’ll more than likely stay over, as Timothy and I have some things to discuss about an upcoming Republican Committee meeting.”
“How is Mr. McCastor involved in that meeting?” she asked.
“He’s the chairman.”
“So you have invited the person who will more than likely be very influential in whether you are nominated, and his wife, to be entertained, including an overnight stay, and I am learning of this,” Jolene said and tilted the watch pinned to her blouse, “now.”
“No need to get worked up,” he said. “Maria will figure something out.”
“I thought the whole point of this was that I manage your social affairs, especially those people and events that could be influential in whether you are elected as a U.S. Senator,” Jolene said. “We can discuss some things at dinner tomorrow evening. Please plan some extended time afterwards for us to talk after Melinda has been excused. And please ask Mr. Moran to join us. I would like to dine alone this evening in my rooms.”
Chapter Seven
Jolene swept out of the dining rooms without another word to him. He was pretty certain he was on the outs with his wife. After her quick dismissal of everyone waiting on her arrival last night, he’d had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he’d just made a huge error in marrying again. But half the reason they were married was to launch his political career with the right people, and he supposed he could have delayed this meeting for a week or two. It just never occurred to him that breaking bread with Timothy McCastor would cause such a fuss. He supposed he better find Melinda and tell her she was eating dinner with the adults tomorrow rather than with Maria’s children.
Jolene had been attentive during their tour of the Hacienda, but it was tough for Max to concentrate on what he was saying when she stood beside him. His brother-in-law’s description of her did not do her justice. Jolene Shelby was stunning. She carried herself with confident ease and an economy of movement. She paid close attention to everything he told her and asked thoughtful, intelligent questions. She looked at him as she spoke or when he was replying, and it made him feel as if he were the only man in the whole state of Texas. Jolene Shelby was the quintessential lady, and a beautiful one at that.
* * *
A few minutes after six o’clock on the following evening, Max walked into the room where he and Zeb often ate breakfast and, if not dining with the staff, ate dinner together there as well. There was no one in the room, and he stuck his head into the adjoining pantries. “I think I’m supposed to have dinner with Mrs. Shelby, Melinda, and Zeb, but no one is in the alcove,” Max said to Francesca, who was busy peeling a mountain of potatoes with young helpers.
“In the dining rooms, Senor,” she said. “You should hurry. They have been waiting.”
Max strode down the hallway to the dining rooms. One of the smaller tables had been moved and centered in front of the doors to the portico. It was covered with a tablecloth and set with china that Max did not recognize. Melinda and Jolene were standing behind their chairs, and Zeb was sitting in one of the leather arm chairs, a drink in his hand.
“I’m sorry to be late,” he said as he came up to the table and pulled out Jolene’s chair.
“I thought we’d be eating in the alcove and went there first. You needn’t stand until I came. Please be seated.”
Jolene looked at Melinda. “You may be seated. Mr. Moran? Will you be joining us?”
“Why do we have to eat in here with all this fancy stuff?” Melinda asked.
Max caught Jolene’s look. “We’re eating here because this is the dining room. And there’s no difference between these forks and the forks in the alcove,” he said.
“Excepting these forks are real silver,” Zeb said and swallowed the last of his drink.
Jolene nodded to a young man, one of the inside staff, standing near the door. “Please tell Maria that she may bring the soup course.” He nodded and hurried out the door. She looked up at Max. “There is scotch and bourbon on the side cart, or you may prefer to wait for wine with with dinner.”
Zeb stood. “I’m having another. Do you want one?” he asked Max.
“Bourbon, if you please, Zeb.”
“Maria made me take a bath, Daddy.”
Max stared at his daughter and thought about how she must appear to Jolene. He certainly didn’t want to tamp down her loving spirit or her natural joy, but he realized he might have done her a disservice by not setting more rules for her. She had the run of the Hacienda and was beloved by the staff, but she wasn’t a child any longer. Hadn’t been for some time.
“Maria was right, Melinda. You’ve got to clean up before you come to the dinner table.”
The meal was served by some of the kitchen staff, obviously nervous and uncomfortable with their new tasks. With small signals and few words, Jolene directed them in the correct way of service. By dessert, Max thought he might be back in Boston at his mother’s dinner table. He had to admit though, that this meal was preferable to his usual. He was taking his time as the courses arrived and not eating from a heaping plate filled from the bowls and platters at arm’s reach. He let out a sigh and sipped the coffee that had just been served.
Melinda pushed back her chair. “There’s a new foal in the barn. I want to see it before I have to go to bed.”
Any other evening, he would have told Melinda to run along. “Where is your napkin, Melinda? Please pick it up and put it beside your plate. What do you say when you want to leave the table?”
Melinda rolled her eyes. “May I please be excused?”
Max stared at her. Melinda straightened in her chair and asked again. “Yes, you may.”
“I’ve got some reading to do on that new fencing we’re looking at so, you’ll have to excuse me too,” Zeb said and stood.
“Please stay, Mr. Moran,” Jolene said. “I would like to discuss some things with you.”
Zeb sat, but he didn’t look happy. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Shelby?”
“We are entertaining later this week, and I have made a list of some additional things that I will need done. I’ve spoken to Maria, and she said she has lost some employees recently and is concerned she cannot manage what I have requested of her. Do you have any outside staff that could fill in?”
“I suppose I could rustle a few up,” he said.
Jolene nodded. “Thank you. I’d like you to join us for dinner with the McCastors.”
“Why? I’m not running for office, and I sure ain’t used to sitting with fancy folk at dinner.”
“Come now, Mr. Moran. I understand you were educated at the University of Georgia and that your father is still a professor there. I highly doubt you’ve not attended your share of soirees and entertainments with fancy folk.”
Zeb stared at Jolene for a few long minutes. “What time is this dinner?” he said.
“Seven in the evening. Jackets are required,” she said.
“Is that all?” Zeb said and threw down his napkin.
“Actually, no. I was hoping you would be able to pick me a suitable mount. I need to go to Dallas tomorrow and can’t afford to waste the time it would take in a buggy,” Jolene said. “My side saddle was shipped here with some other items last month.”
“You can’t just go running off to Dallas alone. It wouldn’t be safe. I can have one of my men go to town for you,” Zeb said.
“I doubt they will be able to visit the modiste for me, though, or choose linens, do you?”
“I’ll take you in the morning, Jolene. Find a gelding with a smooth gait for her, Zeb,” Max said.
Zeb stood and walked to the door. “I’ll have one ready for you in the morning, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Jolene replied and turned back to her cup of tea.
“I didn’t think you would be a rider.”
Jolene looked up at him. “I haven’t ridden much in the last few years, but, yes, I am a rider. What accomplished woman isn’t?”
“I suppose you’re right. I’ve just been here for a long time now. Riding is a necessity, not a social skill in Texas,” he said.
“My social skills are the reason I’m suitable to be here, though, wouldn’t you say?”
Max laughed although Jolene didn’t respond. “Yes, they are. But I’m hoping you’ll grow to like it here. I’ve been meaning to ask, how did you find your suites?”
“Considerably different than what I’m accustomed to, but I’ve found them very comfortable.”
“And your maid’s quarters?”
“She is very appreciative of the sitting room attached to her sleeping room. And she thanks you for the crystal bowl and jar for her dresser that you bought her.”
“And the staff here at the Hacienda? Has everyone treated you well?”
“Yes. The staff has been very attentive.”
Max was hoping to engage Jolene further than a one-sentence reply. He certainly was hoping to see her smile. But, hell, who knows, maybe this was as happy as she ever was. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot, but Max figured that he’d hardly given her a chance, considering the huge change her marriage had been for her. “Would you like a cordial? I think I’ve got some sherry in the whiskey cabinet. Or maybe you’d like some of this bourbon.”
Jolene pushed her tea cup aside and looked at him steadily for some minutes.
Max laughed again. “You don’t have to. . .”
“Bourbon, please.”
Max poured hers and sat down in Zeb’s vacated chair, beside Jolene, rather than his own. He turned sideways in the seat and stretched out his legs. “Nice breeze coming through. Feels good after a day in the sun.” He looked around the room. “Never thought about putting the table here, but it’s a good spot. Not that we ever ate in here much anyway,” he said with a smile. “Good idea.”
“Thank you.”
“I guess it was a bit of a shock when you saw Melinda considering you thought she was seventeen or eighteen years old.”
“Yes. It was a shock,” Jolene said and sipped from the cut crystal glass.
“She’s a bit of a handful,” Max said and looked directly at Jolene. “But she’s got a good heart and is kind and loving.”
“Those are not necessarily assets for a young woman attempting to make a suitable match. While it is clearly not my business, I would suggest a boarding school,” Jolene said.
Max stared at her. “A boarding school? No. We’re not sending Melinda to a boarding school.”
“We’re not going to do anything,” Jolene said. “She is your daughter and, therefore, your responsibility. I merely made a suggestion.”
Max spun the liquor in his glass for a moment and thought about what Jolene had just said. He figured he best know now exactly what she meant. “Are you saying you don’t want to be involved with Melinda?”
“Our arrangement was for a marriage, Maximilian. Not for a mother.”
“But you live here. You’re my wife. She’s my daughter. How will you avoid a relationship with her? And she needs some motherly advice. Surely you wouldn’t deny her some attention of that kind.”
Jolene stood and picked up her drink. “If you choose to make me out to be cold and heartless, so be it. It is a label I have w
orn in the past. What time will we be leaving in the morning?”
Max stood and stared at Jolene. There was something eating at this woman. Something sad and angry. He did not know if he had the energy or the inclination to try and find the real woman inside, and maybe she was right. Maybe polite strangers would be the best way to live out their lives. Although he doubted he could claim polite when his thoughts were going the direction they were now. He wondered what she’d do if he pulled her tight against him and kissed her hard. And why, when she’d said what she just said, would he be attracted to her? But he was. “How about seven?”
“I’ll be ready.”
* * *
The girl did need a boarding school, Jolene thought to herself as she stretched out on the lounge in her rooms. She laid back against the pillows where she could see the stars in the sky, and hear in the background the soft chatter and laughter of the servants. She could smell cigar smoke and wondered who was on the portico below her. She had dismissed Alice as soon as she had helped her out of her corsets and into her dressing gown and brushed her hair from the loose chignon atop her head.
What a fool Maximillian Shelby was if he thought for one second that she would cuddle and fuss and hold hands with an unruly child. And she was unruly. Her clothing consisted of dungaree pants and flannel shirts like her father’s, and her skin was tan from the sun. Jolene could see, though, through the grime that this child would be a strikingly beautiful woman someday. She was clearly very bright, but Jolene wondered how far her academics had reached.
While not an asset, Melinda seemed to have no sense of hierarchy within the Hacienda. She conversed with the slop boy in the same manner that she spoke to Zeb Moran or Alice or her, for that matter. Jolene imagined she took after her father. She’d watched Maximillian deal with the people around him. Even in the short few days she’d known him, she knew he was a born politician and thought that his ability to talk to anyone and make that them feel perfectly at ease may have been passed to his daughter, even at her young age. It would be wrong to plan, and would go against her own commitment to herself that she would never, ever be emotionally involved with another person. But . . . this girl could be an exceptional woman.