She stared at him for a moment, too confused to speak. All her life had been built on a lie, on many lies—but she had never known. She felt like such a hypocrite, having lived on the profits of liquor all these years, while at the same time living with such self-righteous blindness toward so many things that were now becoming so horribly clear—but she had never known. She had never—
Janson was staring at her, his green eyes moving over her face. “You said you wanted us t’ be t’gether, t’ be able t’ leave here an’ get married an’ have a place ’a our own,” he said, more quietly. “I’m doin’ what I feel I got t’ do for us t’ be able t’ have that. If you love me, it don’t seem t’ me that it ought t’ matter what it is I got t’ do. If it does matter—”
He left the words hanging, unfinished, in the air between them. She could feel their weight almost as if they were a physical presence. She looked at him, seeing in him the man she loved, and also seeing in him a man who operated illegal liquor stills for a profit. ‘If it does matter’—he had said, but it didn’t matter; nothing could really matter but him and the life that he was trying to provide for them both. No sense of betrayal by her father, no injured dignity over having discovered something so unexpected, no sense of right or wrong or legalities or memories from the past was more important than the love she felt for him, and the life they would have together.
“You got t’ decide, Elise. If you want us t’ be t’gether, then you’ll let me do what I feel like I got t’ do for us t’ be able t’ leave here b’fore too much longer. It don’t seem t’ me that what that is ought t’ matter too much, not so long as you feel th’ same way about me as I feel about you—”
Suddenly she was in his arms, pressing her body against his, holding him tightly. “It doesn’t matter; nothing matters but us, that we can be together. Nothing—”
He covered her mouth with his, crushing her against him, his relief at her words evident in the tightness of his arms around her. She could feel his body respond to her nearness, feel the desire awakening in him.
“Not here—” he said against her hair, holding her as if he could never let her go. “Not here; it’s not safe. Go t’ th’ old house; I’ll show you th’ way out a’ th’ woods t’ a path that’ll take you right to it. Wait for me there. I’ll be on soon as I can—”
It was not until she was away from the stills, away from Janson and the place that had stolen so much of his time from her, making her way along the path that he had shown her, that she realized—Janson could be in even so much more danger than she had ever known before, not only from her father, but also from the men her father sent him to do business with, men very much like that Al Capone and all the gangsters she had heard so much about on the radio, men who trafficked in bootleg liquor, and who openly violated the Prohibition laws—men who would think nothing of killing Janson if he even once got in their way.
A shiver ran up her spine and she pulled her sweater tighter about her shoulders, stopping for a moment to offer a prayer that he would remain safe. Then she went on toward the old house to wait for him, knowing that she would never again know another easy day until they were away from here and safely married—and knowing that, if something did happen to him, it would all be her own fault. He was doing it all for their future, he had told her—
She could only pray that future would be.
Elise sat staring at her reflection in the oval-shaped mirror above her dresser that October morning in 1927, the huge house silent around her, her mind somewhere lost in thoughts she had been considering over the past days. She reached and took up the ivory-handled hairbrush from the dresser top before her, and started to run it through her bobbed hair, but stopped short, staring into her own eyes—“I’m going to have a baby—” she said softly, staring at herself, feeling a thrill of both excitement and fear pass through her. No matter how many times she told herself, the thought was still so new she could hardly comprehend it—there was a baby inside of her. She was going to have Janson’s baby.
They had never once discussed the possibility that she might become pregnant, though she had known they had taken the chance in taking each other. Janson often talked about the children they would have, the family they would make together, and of the home and land he would provide for them—surely he had to have thought of the possibility of a baby from all the times they had been together. He wanted to have a family, children with her—he would be happy when he found out, she told herself, excited and nervous just as she was, though they would now have to leave so much sooner than he had planned. They would have to be married and away from here before her condition could become obvious, and before anyone could find out—her father would kill Janson immediately if he knew; there was no doubt in her mind of that. There would not be enough money to buy Janson’s land back right away, as he had hoped there would be, but that could not be helped now. They would find a place to live, and Janson could work, and they would have it soon enough—and they would have their baby, and other children in the years to come, and they would be so happy, together, at peace—and it would all begin so soon, she told herself, just as soon as they could leave here together. So soon.
She sat the brush down and took a deep breath, still staring at herself in the mirror as she told herself again that she was going to be a mother, and Janson a father, in only the matter of a number of months—she would find just the perfect way to tell him, and then they would begin to make plans for their departure and marriage. In a few days, or weeks at the most, she would be Elise Sanders—nothing could ruin their plans now. Nothing could spoil her happiness. God could never be that cruel. And, so she prayed, neither could William Whitley.
“I’ve got to talk to you—” Elise said a few hours later that morning, smiling up at Janson and looking happier than he had ever before seen her in the months they had been together. They stood at the edge of the clearing in the woods, their old meeting place, where she had asked him to meet her this morning—somehow he could not stop looking at her, touching her, feeling almost as if he had not seen her in weeks, though they had been together only the day before.
“Then talk,” he prompted, pulling her to him, then covering her mouth with his before she could say a word.
She giggled after a moment and tried to hold him at arms-length away. “I’m serious!”
“So am I—” he said, smiling and once again trying to pull her closer even as she playfully tried to fend him away.
“No—I mean it!” she laughed, pushing at his shoulders. “We’ve got to talk.”
“Okay, talk.” He gave her an exasperated look at last, and then contented himself for the moment with his hands at her waist. “You can be th’ damndest woman sometimes for talkin’.”
She laughed at his words, and then stretched up to kiss his cheek, affectionately looping her arms loosely about his neck.
“S’ what’s s’ important that you got t’ talk t’ me about?” he asked, reaching up to gently brush her hair back from her eyes—she looked so pretty this morning that he could refuse her nothing, not even talking when he wanted to touch and love instead. “I don’t have much time. I got t’ go int’ Goodwin t’ pick up some stuff for your pa in a little while.”
She stared up at him for a moment, seeming to be considering something. “No—not like this,” she said, moving her fingers down to play at the buttons on his shirt. “When will you be back?”
“Couple ’a hours, I guess.”
“Then meet me at the old house after supper. I’ll tell my folks I’m going to see J. C..”
Janson shrugged—women could be the damndest things for changing their minds as well. “If that’s what you want,” he said.
“It is.” She looked up at him for a moment, and then threw her arms around his neck again, holding him close. “Oh—I love you so much!” she said, pressing against him.
He laughed, holding her e
ven tighter. “An’ I love you—” He smiled—he had never seen her like this before, so warm and happy in his arms, seeming so content and so much a part of him. “You sure you don’t want t’ talk t’ me now?” he asked, enjoying the feel of her against him.
“No—” she smiled, her eyes moving over his face, more beautiful than she had ever before been in the months he had known her. “It can wait,” she said. “After all, you and I will have a long time to be together.”
“Forever—” he smiled.
“Forever,” she answered, and then drew his lips to hers, saying more with the kiss than any words could ever tell him.
William Whitley stood just out of sight within the cover of the trees at the edge of the clearing, his jaw clenched, his hands tightened into fists at his sides—never before in his life had he truly known what hatred was, but he did now; he did as he watched his daughter in the arms of the half-breed farmhand, Janson Sanders. He had thought nothing more than to take a short cut through the woods from one of his tenant houses this morning, when he had heard Elise’s voice, and then had happened on this scene—a black rage enveloped William; she had been lying to him as she had kept this relationship hidden away in dark corners—how long had it been going on now? How far had it gone? If that dirty half-breed had—but, no, Elise would never have given herself to someone so far beneath her. She was William Whitley’s daughter, and she had been raised for something so much better. She had been raised for—
William had thought he had killed the relationship, had thought he had killed whatever had begun to grow between them—but she had lied to him, Elise and the half-breed both. William had known all along that the boy would present a problem of himself one day, for he was too proud, too damned sure he was just as good as anyone else, when he was nothing more than red-Indian, dirt-farming trash—and now William knew just exactly what the boy had in mind, perhaps what he had had in mind from the first day he had come to the place. Janson Sanders wanted to get his hands on William’s money, and he wanted to get under Elise’s skirts in the process. He had probably been promising her his undying devotion at the same time he had been whoring on the side—after all William had found him one morning with some whore still in his room. What a damned little fool Elise had proven herself to be. What a damned little—
William stared, clenching his fists even more tightly at his sides until the tendons stood out on the backs of his hands in stark relief, his eyes on his daughter as she put her arms around the half-breed’s neck and drew his lips toward hers—a killing rage filled William at the sight. He was certain of only two things in that moment—Elise would pay for the lies and deceptions she had been carrying on all these months, and this relationship would end, once and for all. There was no doubt of that. Janson Sanders was a dead man.
19
It seemed almost that Elise danced up the front steps to the veranda, and in through the front door of the house that half hour later, humming some familiar bit of jazz music to herself. William stood waiting for her just inside the doorway to the front parlor, his eyes on her as she closed the door and turned to smile at him.
“Where have you been?” he demanded, trying to force a control over the urge within him to immediately wipe the smile from her face—he would give her one last hope, one last chance to confess the relationship she had been hiding all these months—and, God help her, she had better make that confession.
“I just went for a walk,” she said, the smile never changing, taunting him all the more with the lies that lay behind it.
He walked toward her, clenching his hands into fists at his sides, his voice rising in tone with the rage he fought to control. “I asked you, where have you been?”
Her expression changed, the smile weakening, becoming almost forced. “I just went for a walk. I—”
The rage snapped within him. He slapped her hard, then stood staring at the shocked look that came to her eyes. “Damn you! Tell me the truth!”
Her hand went to her cheek, covering the reddening mark his blow had left. Her eyes were large and horrified, filling now with tears—but there was no pity left within him. “Daddy, I—”
“Don’t you dare lie to me!”
Martha entered the hallway from the parlor behind him, her voice frightened and worried as she reached to try to take his arm—but he would have expected nothing less from her. She had accepted the discovery of Elise’s lies, and the relationship the lies had covered for, without comment—but that was what was wrong with Elise now, Martha’s constant coddling, and that coddling would stop now. “William, please don’t—”
He turned on her, holding his fist just inches from her face. “You shut your goddamn mouth and stay out of this!” he shouted at her, and then turned back to Elise. “Don’t you even try to lie to me again! I saw you with that boy today! I saw you with that half red-Indian trash’s hands on you!”
A look of terror that she could not conceal came to the girl’s eyes. For a moment she seemed almost to fight to control her emotions before she could speak, and then her voice came, weak, but almost determined, to him. “Daddy, I don’t know what you think you saw, but—”
He raised his fist and almost struck her again, but instead watched her shrink away, toward her mother as Martha moved around him and to her side. “Don’t you dare lie to me! I saw you, goddamn it! How long has this been going on? If he’s put his hands on you I’ll—”
“Daddy, please, you don’t understand—” Her voice was pleading as it cut into his. “It wasn’t—”
“Shut up!” he screamed at her, frightening her into silence. The huge rooms of the old house echoed his voice back to him over and over again as he stared at her, his anger only increasing as he watched Martha put her arms around the girl and draw her closer. “It’s over,” he said, forcing the words through barely parted teeth. “He’s only been using you, and you’re too damned stupid to see it—but I’m no fool. I know what he’s after, and he’s not going to—”
“But, it’s not—”
“You’ve been taking me for a fool all these months, you and him both—but you won’t again. You’re never going to see that dirty half-breed again even if I have to—”
“No, you can’t—” Her eyes were filled with fear, with more horror than he had ever before seen there in all her life. “You don’t understand. I—I love him, and he loves—”
“Love—” William almost laughed at the word, at the notion of his daughter in love with the dirty, dirt-farming trash, and even at the sincerity and fear in her eyes—but he could not laugh, for anger filled him instead, anger and disgust at the lies and the stupidity of a sixteen-year-old girl who had no notion of the trouble she could cause. “You don’t even know what love is—and he doesn’t give a damn about you,” he said cruelly. “All he cares about is getting his hands on my money, and getting under your skirts in the—”
“William!” Martha’s eyes were shocked, as was her voice, but he ignored her, staring instead at Elise. He started to speak, but her voice cut him short.
“He does love me! We’re going to be married! We—”
“I’d kill you both before I’d see you married to that goddamn half-breed!” he shouted at her, almost striking her again. “You won’t see him again, not even if I have to kill him with my—”
“No!” she screamed, grabbing at his arm and pulling at him, the tears beginning to stream down her cheeks now. “You can’t hurt him; you won’t! Please—you can’t—”
William stared at her, seeing suddenly in her fear her very weakness. She might be just as stubborn and willful as he—but she had given him a tool now to use against her, a tool that would assure the destruction of the relationship more assuredly than anything else ever could. That tool would be her very love itself.
He pushed her hands away deliberately, and stood staring at her, feeling nothing more for her in that moment than d
isgust, anger and outrage. “Janson Sanders is dead for crossing me—” he said, staring at her—yes, he would love to see Sanders dead, love to see him dead and bloody and buried where he could never cause trouble again. But there were better ways to handle such matters. Dying hurt only once—but there were ways to make a man hurt for so much longer, ways to make him wish that he were dead a thousand times over in every day that he lived and walked and breathed.
“William, you can’t—” There was horror in Martha’s voice, but he did not even look at her. He stared at Elise instead, watching the fear in her eyes, fear that grew with each moment that passed.
“Daddy—oh, please, God—no—you can’t—” The tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked as she shook her head back and forth. She stepped out of her mother’s arms, her eyes never leaving his, her nails digging into the palms of her hands until he knew they were cutting into the flesh—but still he would not speak. “Please—I—I’ll do anything you say—please, just don’t hurt him. I’ll never see him again—please—”
He stared at her, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the words he had known she would speak—she would learn, just as would any other man or woman on this earth, that he was not a man to cross. He would have loyalty and obedience from a daughter, just as he would have it from any other of his people—and she would learn that lesson, and she would learn it well, before this day was over. She would destroy Janson Sanders with the very love she professed to hold for him, destroy him and drive him so far away from her that he would never come back again. If the boy cared anything for her at all, it would be the best way to hurt him, the best way to make sure he never healed—and, if he cared nothing, then William would be rid of him anyway, and would have taught him in the process that the Whitleys were no fools, even though Elise had made a good show of herself as one. Either way, the relationship would be over, the boy gone, and Elise would be back under William’s control—and she would never again forget that her foolhardy passions had served only to destroy the man she had thought she loved.
Behold, This Dreamer Page 43