by Holly Bush
“You are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever set eyes on.”
With those words, Maximillian wrapped his hands around her upper arms, touching the sides of her breasts as he did. Every bit of her being was focused on the pressure of his fingers where he held her. She was aware of herself. Sensually aware that she was taking short breaths and that her lips had parted and her eyelids had drooped. Her mind was screaming that she should twist out of his grasp, but she made the ghastly error of looking at his face, at his tanned skin with a shadow of a beard, dark brown eyes and a well-defined mouth filled with even white teeth. He was breathing hard, too, and she could smell the whiskey on his breath. He was magnificent.
Maximillian growled low in his chest, pulled her tight against him and covered her mouth with his. He released her arms and slipped a hand around the small of her back, while the other tangled in her unbound hair. She could feel the outline of his sex against her stomach, and he angled his head to deepen their kiss and touched his tongue to hers. Her arms hung at her side until she slowly slid them up the cotton of his shirt, and her palms lay flat against his upper arms, wide and thick and hard. She was completely and utterly limp in his embrace and wondered briefly if she had the strength to stand on her own, let alone resist his attention.
Maximillian broke the kiss and scanned her face up and down as if seeing her for the first time. She touched trembling fingers to her lips and stared up at him. What had he done? What had she done? She could not, in good conscience, reprimand him again for touching her person. She had touched him back and felt her breasts grow heavy and her nipples harden against his chest. She had reacted to him sexually. Jolene took a step back, and her legs hit her dressing table stool. She sat abruptly.
Maximillian knelt before her. “That was more than either of us bargained for. I’m sorry if I’ve offended or frightened you. But I’m not sorry I kissed you.” He picked her hand up from her lap, and she watched as he did. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything to compare to you standing there in this frilly, girly gown, with your hair down and your cheeks pink.”
“I . . . I never meant for any of this to happen,” she whispered. “I don’t want any complications to our arrangement.”
Maximillian tilted his head. “Arrangement?”
“Yes,” she said. “We have an arrangement. I do not want any emotional attachment.”
He stared at her then, and Jolene felt as if he could see into her soul. “After Melissa died, I had convinced myself that caring for anyone else, like Maria and Pete or Zeb, or even Melinda, would just bring pain. Eventually I realized that not caring didn’t stop me from loving. I had to choose between being angry and cold or learn to take whatever joy and love would come my way until I met up with Melissa again in the great beyond. I’ve chosen to be happy. I know that Melissa would want me to. And I’m sure your husband would want you to be happy again, too.”
The mention of Turner returned Jolene to her rightful self. “My husband was weak-willed and was a coward in the end. He wouldn’t have cared what I wanted, nor would I care what he thought.”
“Eugenia said he caught influenza and died very shortly after. I hope I’m not a coward when I’m facing death,” he said.
“That is the story that I allowed to be told.”
“Allowed?” he asked. “What happened then?”
Jolene lowered her eyes. This story and her cold behavior, yes, even she recognized it as cold and calculating behavior that night, may be enough to keep him away from her. May eliminate this complication. “Turner did not die of the influenza,” she said and looked up at him with resolution. “Turner hanged himself in my chambers. He used the curtain roping from my drapes as a noose and looped it over the chandelier. I had just gotten into our carriage to attend an event when I realized I had the wrong gloves. I was furious with Alice who had lain them out for me. I went back to my rooms and found her in the hallway. I shouted my displeasure and berated her in front of other servants. She opened the door to my room to get me the correct pair of gloves, and I followed her. We both stood staring at him, hanging, and still twitching. I believe he was alive at that one moment and may have seen us. He went slack, and oddly neither of us screamed. Alice closed the door behind me and asked me what we should do.”
Jolene watched Maximillian’s face as he digested what she’d said. He was grim, but he squeezed her hand and nodded.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“Alice and I pulled my desk over to him, and we climbed up on it with a pair of shears that Alice had found. We were able to hold him by the arms while I cut the roping. But he was heavy, and we couldn’t climb down and hold onto him. Eventually, we let him drop to the floor so we could get down from the desktop,” Jolene said with her head turned away toward the night sky through her windows, seeing the scene in her head as clearly as if it were happening at that moment. “When he hit the floor, his head rolled under his shoulder, making the most ghastly, unhuman sight I have ever beheld. Alice gagged and had to look away. He was still warm, you see. We could see tears on his cheeks. Alice recovered and helped me move him into his bedroom. We undressed him and cleaned him up, which was horribly unpleasant. We put him in a night shirt and dragged him into his bed. Straightening his neck to appear natural on the pillow was my undoing. I could not touch him anymore. Alice arranged him as best as she could.”
Jolene gagged, closed her eyes, and concentrated on settling her stomach. She felt a handkerchief in her palm and looked up. Maximillian was holding both of her hands loosely in his, and there were tears dripping down on him. She dabbed her eyes with the hanky. “I have never cried about this. Never once until now.”
“Then you are a far braver person than I would ever be.”
“Bravery has nothing to do with it, you see. I was too much of a coward for it to be known publically that Turner had killed himself.”
“I’m not sure it matters why you did it,” Maximillian said. “I think you were probably in shock and trying to protect your family.”
Jolene looked up at him. “I was. However I was not thinking of him. I resented him for forcing this disturbing episode on me. I hated him for many, many reasons that I will go to my grave with. But, even still, I could not imagine myself telling his mother that he’d handged himself. I just couldn’t do it.”
“Does anyone know about this other than Alice?”
“I sent a message to the undertaker to retrieve the body quickly, that he had died of influenza and I didn’t want it in the house one second longer than necessary. When they moved him, Turner’s neck fell back from his body, and the man sent to take him away looked at me. I said nothing. He came back inside after moving him to his cart and told me it would be five-hundred dollars to move the body to the undertaker, an ungodly amount of money. I wrote him a check for five-thousand dollars and told him he was to inform the undertaker that one of his men had dropped the body, even though rope marks were beginning to show on Turner’s neck. He nodded, took the check, and I never heard one more thing about it.”
* * *
Max got Jolene another tumbler of brandy and took it to her. He dismissed Alice and sat on a chair beside the chaise lounge she was stretched out on. She stared out the window for an hour or more before her eyes finally closed. Max found a blanket, covered her, and slipped out of her room. He stripped, all but his short drawers and stretched out on his bed, hands behind his head, thinking about the story Jolene, his wife, had just told him.
There weren’t too many women that would have done what she’d done. And while she was cool, and even detached, as she told him, she gave herself away when she said couldn’t imagine telling his mother that her son had killed himself. There was some deep-seated anger and grief at the bottom of it, he was certain, and he thought maybe what Jolene had done the night her husband killed himself was a symptom rather than the source of her bitterness. He wondered if she’d ever tell him the whole story. One thing was certain. He would replay
their kiss time and again in his head.
Chapter Nine
One week later Jolene could still not believe she’d told Maximillian about the night Turner died. She was grateful he had not pressed her for more details or looked at her with pity or distaste. There had been some release for her, though, after telling that story, she admitted. It was as if one of the steam valves on a train had finally reached its boiling point and bellowed its whistle, especially after telling him about the undertaker. No one knew of that detail and for months, every time a servant told her she had a visitor, she anticipated seeing that unwashed man who’d carried away Turner and her secrets, with his hand out for more money.
When she saw Maximillian for the first time, she was determined to act as if she’d never described that gruesome scene to him. But when she saw him, she didn’t recall his holding her hand as she spoke, or the tears she shed, or her embarrassment over both. She took one look at his face and felt his breath on her cheek and his fingers pressed up against her breasts as he held her arms. To her own mortification, she blushed. If he noticed, he didn’t comment, but she felt as if he stared at her lips an uncommon length of time. Or perhaps it was her imagination. They spoke each other’s name at the same time, and she felt awkward as if she was a green girl.
“I’m expecting a delivery from McCabe’s Apparel today, Maximillian,” she said later that week. “I assume I have an account set up with them?”
“I didn’t before, but I’m guessing I do now. Lots of things were delivered from McCabe’s the day we rode into town. There’s more?”
“Yes, there is more. I just had some ready-to-wear garments sent that day. Many of the things I ordered had to be made and weren’t done until now. In fact, there are two gowns that won’t be ready for another few weeks,” Jolene said.
“Just give the bill to Zeb. He’ll see that it’s paid.”
“I have sufficient funds to pay for my wardrobe.”
“I will dress and feed my wife. There’ll be no arguing about that.”
“I would prefer to be under no obligation.”
Maximillian smiled. “I believe we are having our first argument, Mrs. Shelby.”
Jolene looked away. This was certainly not how she anticipated resolving small differences. “Money is a serious matter, Maximillian. I would think this disagreement would be best solved in a serious manner.”
“You’re right, Jolene,” he said. “But truth be known, if I didn’t make one more nickel, even if we lost the ranch and the wells, we’d be fine for all the rest of our days. We’d never go hungry, and we’d always have a roof over our heads. But we are making money on this land every day, and our money in the bank is invested diversely. While I’m not being frivolous, I’m not going to get myself in an uproar over your new clothes.”
“I didn’t pay enough attention to money in my first marriage. I have no intentions of repeating that mistake,” Jolene said. “I remember listening to my father talk about the Great Depression of ’73. There was a run on the banks, and wealth disappeared in a matter of days. My father’s bank had not over invested in the railroads, but it was a tense time for many old-money families who lost everything. My father’s best friend shot himself in his carriage house.”
Maximillian walked close to her. “Jolene. If the absolute worst happens, I will always take care of you and Melinda. If I have to get a job driving teams or digging fence lines, I’d do it. You don’t have to worry.”
“Men say things they don’t always mean,” she replied.
He touched her cheek with his hand. “Who hurt you, Jolene? Whoever it was is gone out of your life. You’re going to have to learn to trust me.”
Maria tapped on the doorway of his office where she stood with Maximillian. “Mrs. Shelby. Mrs. McCabe is here.”
“Send her in, Maria,” Maximillian said and smiled as he looked at Jolene. “I want to pay her.”
Mrs. McCabe and two young women were escorted into Maximillian’s office. Maria turned to leave and Jolene stopped her. “Maria. Mrs. McCabe will be taking your measurements today. And please have your two other most reliable staff members be measured as well.”
“And the young girl?” Mrs. McCabe asked. “We don’t want to forget her.”
“Melinda?” Maximillian said.
“Melinda needs clothing and not more dungarees and flannel shirts. She needs dresses and skirts appropriate for a young girl. Mrs. McCabe has brought some ready-to-wear items and will plan a complete wardrobe,” Jolene said.
“I will get Melinda, Mrs. Shelby, once I take Mrs. McCabe to the guest room,” Maria said.
“I’ll get Melinda,” Maximillian said.
* * *
Max tracked down Melinda to where he was planning on building a new bunk house. There were just piles of dirt and string run around four posts, but Melinda and Maria’s children were playing on the mounds of earth and sliding down them on their backsides.
“Melinda,” he called. She ran to him, laughing and dusting her hands on her pants.
“Daddy! I haven’t seen you all day!”
He kissed her head and hugged her to him, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Come on inside, sweetheart. There’s something I need you to do. But first, go to your rooms, wash up and change clothes.”
“What is it?” she said and skipped along beside him. “Can I come back out to play then?”
“May I come back out to play,” he replied.
She giggled. “May I come back out to play?”
“We’ll see,” he said. “It will almost be time for supper then.”
Melinda ran ahead of him, and he waited at the bottom of the stairs until she reappeared in a clean top and pants. She jumped off the third to last step and laughed when he caught her. Max held her close to him for a long minute. She was not going to like what was going to happen next. He knocked at the door.
“Is everyone decent?” he hollered and heard laughter from inside. The door opened and he walked in with Melinda. “Here she is.”
Jolene walked over to him. “Thank you, Maximillian. You may go now.”
* * *
“Come in,” Max said to the knock at his office door the following week and looked up. “What do you need, Maria?”
“Mr. Shelby, I think you should speak to Melinda,” Maria said in a rush as she wrung her hands.
Max continued adding up columns of numbers. “If she’s giving you a hard time, Maria, swat her on the butt. She’s got no right to disrespect you.”
“That is not it, Mr. Shelby.”
“What is it then?” he asked and wrote in a total at the bottom of the account book.
“I don’t think she’s eaten anything today. She didn’t come down for her breakfast, and I have not seen her downstairs all day,” Maria said.
Max stood up and came around the desk. “Is she sick? Did anyone check on her?”
“Yes, yes. We have checked on her. She is in her room. She told the Donatella that she felt fine when she went to straighten her room.”
Max stopped and stared down at Maria. “What is this about?”
“Mrs. Shelby has taken her clothes.”
Max rubbed his face. “I’m thinking I better go see what’s going on.”
Max took the hallway to Melinda’s room in long strides. He knocked on the door. “Melinda?” He heard the door unlock and opened it. Melinda was standing there in her combination. “What are you still doing in your drawers?”
“She took my clothes!” Melinda shouted.
“Jolene?”
Melinda was crying and launched herself at Max. “I want my clothes back!”
Max patted her back. “I’m sure she’s not meaning to keep them from you, sweetheart. Let me talk to her, and we’ll get this all straightened out. You can’t spend your whole day in your room, why, what would Daisy think if she didn’t see you?”
“I hate her. I want her to leave.”
Max put Melinda down on her feet and he
ld her chin. “We don’t hate, Melinda. There’s no sense in it, and nobody’s ever satisfied.” He kissed the top of her head and walked out the door.
A few minutes later he found Jolene coming out of a guest room with one of the maids. She turned to him.
“I was just coming to look for you. I have some questions for you,” she said and turned to the young woman. “Thank you. I’ll let you know what Mr. Shelby and I decide.”
Max waited until the maid was beyond hearing distance. “I was just in Melinda’s room because Maria told me she was still there and hadn’t come down for the day. She said you took her clothes.”
“I did take her clothes.”
“Why?” Max asked.
“She has new clothes appropriate to her age, sex, and station,” Jolene replied. “However, that is not the reason I had the laundress take her clothes.”
Max opened the door closest to him and motioned Jolene to precede him. “We aren’t having guests today, and it’s not dinner time. I don’t see any reason to make her wear these new duds. She’s just a girl and likes to ride her horses and play with the other children.”
“Do not fear, Maximillian. I have no intentions of raising her. I have told you that. But I will not tolerate her being dirty about her person because you allow her to run rough shod over the staff.”
“What do you mean rough shod? Melinda is a sweet, kind child, and she’s beloved here.”
“I am well aware that you love her desperately. And she certainly has a sweet disposition. But she is still a child and needs discipline as well. Housekeeping-type issues here are handled by Maria, who is a very competent housekeeper, but is far too lenient with Melinda and places the same expectations on her as she does her own children. I imagine you have higher hopes for Melinda than being a ranch hand or marrying one.”
Max stared at Jolene, tight-lipped. How dare she talk about Melinda this way! But the more he processed her words, the more worried he became that she was right. He knew Maria doted on Melinda. Hell, he was glad. He thought it might make up some of the pain of being motherless. And while there was nothing the matter with being a ranch hand or marrying one, it was also likely that Melinda and her husband would be in control of a vast and complex business on his death. She needed to be prepared to take over the lead when the time came. He owed it to everyone who depended on him now and in the future.