Gabrielle looked back at him and he stared directly into her eyes. “Ahh, but a beautiful, intelligent, and compassionate woman is always the aristocracy of her sex . . . and forever a lady before all men.” Bret winked at the colored girl. “Now, you remember that, Verna, next time your young beau comes a courtin’.”
Gabrielle drew in a sharp breath and stamped her foot. “The nerve of you, Bret McGowan!” She put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. Verna looked quickly up at Bret and grinned before lowering her head once more. Gabrielle turned away again, a sneer obscuring her beauty. “Goodbye, Liam. It was a pleasure to see you again. I’m glad to see you still display courtesy and manners in the presence of a lady and a young girl.”
Liam accepted the compliment with courteous nod. He had been jealous of her affection for Bret in the past but was now overjoyed to see the tables had turned in his favor. Surely Bret was too old for her now anyway. “Thank you, Gabrielle, and I apologize for our friend. He’s been away too long from the civilizing influence of our fair city. I’m sure our next meeting will be more conducive to genteel conversation.”
Bret bowed his head in a contrite gesture. “Then, please, accept my apologies, Miss Caldwell, for my inconsiderate behavior, and let me make amends to you at the McGowan ball. Your father and you have enjoyed them in the past and it’s been quite a few years since I’ve last had the pleasure of your gracious company.” Bret extended an envelope to Gabrielle.
Gabrielle stared at the envelope for a few moments. She glared at Bret and snatched it from him. She handed the envelope to Verna. Gabrielle snapped her veil back into position. “Come, Verna. We’re going home.” She swirled around, and marched away without saying another word. Verna hurried after her.
Bret watched her step across the street. Lord, but that was one stubborn woman. So be it then. Let her go on blaming him until they were both so old and foolish neither one could remember the reason why. He wouldn’t reproach himself or add more guilt to his burden.
Liam patted the side of the automobile. “It seems two years may not have been time enough for our Miss Caldwell.”
“We all have to get on with our lives. I’m surprised she didn’t marry while I was away.”
“And not for lack of suitors and eligible bachelors.” He adjusted his gold cufflinks. “Even Timothy DeRocha thinks he has a chance with her.”
“DeRocha is a good man, but he tries too hard, as though he’s ashamed of his background.”
“Being half Cuban isn’t his greatest asset, but the main obstacle is Gabrielle’s own heart. She already gave it to one man.”
“And I gave it back to her.” Bret extended his gloved hand to his friend to help him into the vehicle.
Liam pulled back. “I thought you would have tired of your toy by now, like you do your women.”
“A 1900 Panhard et Levassor is no toy, mon ami. She’s a design and engineering marvel, the toast of the continental racing circuit for the last ten years.” Bret blew his breath onto his suede glove and buffed the side of his door. “Caesar and his legions had their chariots, and we will have ours to carry us forth into the new century.”
Liam stepped to the front of the vehicle. “These two brass lanterns ogle me like the eyes of some prehistoric monster ready to pounce.” He walked back to the driver’s side. “And the clattering and clanking coming from the engine sounds like an old civil war bomb about to explode.”
A small chill ran up Bret’s spine. Best to stop by the druggist on the way home. “You sound almost superstitious about a common machine.”
“No, sir. These horseless carriages were more like hearses waiting to drive you to your own funeral.” Liam tapped the thick wooden spokes of rear tire. “I really don’t understand you sometimes. I’ve trusted your business judgment in the past, but this? How could you possibly think these frivolous gadgets will still be around in another year or two? Why would you waste your money on something like this when there’s so many reputable American carriage and buggy companies?”
Bret slid his suede driving gloves tight on his finger. “Tell that to the Studebaker Brothers. The New York Times said in two years they’ll be switching over all of their buggy manufacturing to the horseless variety. See if the rest of country doesn’t try to keep up, if they can catch them at thirty miles an hour.”
Liam shook his head and chuckled. “We can talk more about foolish business ventures over fine cigars and cognac at your party on Friday. You did bring a few boxes back from the Riviera, didn’t you?”
Bret smiled and surveyed the busy street. “The twentieth century is almost here, Liam, and it will present opportunities none of us ever could have imagined as children growing up in our little piece of heaven.”
As he lowered the goggles over his eyes, he remembered something his mother told him that his father was fond of saying. “The question is: Will we be ready as men to seize the day when the new morning dawns?” Bret yanked back on the brake lever, easing it slowly forward. The vehicle jerked and rolled ahead, its engine roaring louder by the moment.
Liam stepped aside and watched Bret turn in a semi-circle and drive back the way he’d arrived. He followed the plume of thick, dark gray smoke coming out of the exhaust pipe until the vehicle and turned south at the corner of 17th Avenue. Damn you, Bret. Why did you come back? He kicked a stone across the street. Just when Gabrielle was getting over you.
“They are indeed fascinating to watch, are they not, sir?”
The deep authority of a man’s voice startled Liam and made him twist around awkwardly. Liam looked at the stranger. The man was taller and a few years his senior judging by the lines at the corners of his eyes. It was hard to tell how much older because of his sinewy and lean appearance.
His dark brown hair had a shock of white running through it and was combed back behind his ears. Perhaps one of those health and exercise fanatics that descended on Galveston every summer? How could they vacation in Texas and not want to eat the best steak in the country?
The man straightened the lapels of his trim, light blue suit that seemed perfectly tailored over a strong, taut rack of muscle and bones.
“Why, yes, fascinating, indeed,” Liam agreed out of politeness, “but more the devil’s handiwork than man’s, I think.”
The stranger smiled, his teeth unnaturally white. “Many people said the same of the electric light. Emotional reaction will always be replaced by disciplined reason, and the progress of humanity is always furthered during its periods of scientific enlightenment. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Something about the stranger’s ruddy skin and pointed features made Liam think of someone he’d seen before, however briefly. “Do I know you from somewhere, sir? A mutual acquaintance perhaps?”
The stranger tilted back the brim of his hat. His large black eyes were deep and unfathomable, giving a quiet, stern demeanor to his gaze. “Forgive me. I’ve taken enough of your time. I should very much like to discuss this further, Mister?”
“Ahh, Dawson, Liam Dawson.” He shook the stranger’s surprisingly strong hand.
“Of course. Mr. Liam Dawson, of the Fort Worth Dawsons, of cattle and cotton fame, I presume?”
“Why yes. And you?”
“My card, sir. Please call me at your earliest convenience if you wish to discuss topics that will prove beneficial to both you and your colleagues.” The man lowered the brim of his hat, shading his eyes again. “Good day, Mr. Dawson.”
Liam held the card in his hand as he watched the stranger disappear into the morning crowd on 25th Street. The man’s intrusive familiarity coupled with the stiff formality of his exit struck Liam as disconcerting to say the least. He raised the card to rip it in two when the name in black ink sent a quick nip of frost up his back.
Caden Augustus Hellreich, Ph.D. Doctor of Theogenesis
Liam whistled as he blew his breath out and tucked the card into his vest pocket. If Arley Caldwell was big on this fella, there might be something more to him.
He admired his reflection in the front window of Weems’s Dry Goods and adjusted his tie. Satisfied with his appearance, he stepped inside and asked the female clerk if he could use the telephone.
Gabrielle was certain to be home by now.
CHAPTER 5
Sunday, August 26
Light rain splattered against the open window next to the dressing table where Gabrielle Caldwell primped for church. With a shoulder-heavy sigh, she slammed the window shut and leaned closer to the mirror to examine the damage the morning’s high humidity had wreaked on her perfectly coifed hair.
There it was, the little traitor. Did it really think it could escape her punctilious gaze? With a deft pinch of tweezers, she plucked out an offending gray hair, the second such invader within the year. She smiled at her reflection in triumph then frowned at the fine lines the smile brought out around her eyes.
Bret McGowan was to blame for this. Just the thought of the self-seeking, arrogant bastard’s return would age any woman ten years. She daubed a puff into a box of face powder and hurriedly camouflaged the budding crow’s feet.
A bottle of hair coloring or a daub more powder and rouge in the right places, and she would look as young and desirable as ever. She touched the beauty spot on her neck with a reassuring gesture and dismissed her worries over what Bret might think of her now. The bastard!
Although she would be twenty-nine in two months, Gabrielle knew she was still desired by men of any age. Among them was Liam Dawson, whose family cattle business had expanded across Texas with plans for the rest of Southwest in the new year.
At thirty-six, Liam had a bright future and would make an impressive husband in spite of his faults, including his less-than-dapper appearance. Though too much time spent with bovine company tended to make men dullards, Gabrielle was sure she could cure his shortcomings through constant exposure to refined culture and good taste.
Then there was Timothy DeRocha. His importing and exporting business was growing at an astonishing pace, turning him into what he liked to called a “self-made twentieth century entrepreneur.” Gabrielle knew Timothy’s family background was a concern of her father’s, but such worries would fade as the DeRocha fortune increased.
And what about Hadlee Foster and his family’s mercantile shipping line? Gabrielle ran through the list of eligible bachelors once more, reassuring herself in the process that her marriage opportunities were, as always, practically unlimited. All she had to do was accept the proposal closest to her heart and Bret McGowan be damned!
Gabrielle applied a dab of imported skin cream to a dry spot on her face and massaged lightly. Then why was it she often regarded Liam, Timothy, Hadlee, and the others like them with nothing more than amusement?
She sighed, knowing full well the truth that had been her curse since the day they’d first met. Though thirteen years her senior, she still felt that Bret McGowan exuded more passionate force than all of Galveston’s boyish gentlemen put together.
Even if she could not deny her feelings, Gabrielle reasoned, how many more years did he think he could get by on the seductive appeal of his rugged looks before each character line deepened into a crevice on the jowls of a lonely old man?
Gabrielle rubbed harder and used the back of her hand to wipe away a tear. That was her problem; she had to stop thinking with her heart. Was there anyone else she could add to the list? Liam’s excited telephone call about meeting Doctor Hellreich made this mystifying man sound all the more intriguing and filled with a powerful, magnetic personality.
After all, several women, including the young widow Balfour had already been spotted in his company. The nerve of Constance Balfour! Her husband, Charles, not even dead and buried six months and already she’s out gallivanting like some strumpet tourist from New York!
Gabrielle glanced over at the brown legal envelope stamped HIGGINS & LUCAS lying on her bed. How like Bret to say one thing while trying to sweet talk his way into another. She still wasn’t decided about attending the ball with her father and the special delivery business query from Bret only complicated matters. Did he expect her to convince her father to invest in his latest idiotic get-rich scheme? Oh, she should just rip up everything and ignore this irritating fool of a man for the rest of their natural lives.
A gentle breeze from the open window blew across her face and she wiped away a tear with her finger. Try as she might, though, Gabrielle couldn’t deny her mixed feelings of anger and curiosity about Bret’s return. Her throat suddenly dry, she swallowed, remembering how his slightest nod of appreciation thrilled her.
What a foolish, naive girl she had been.
It was ridiculous for a society woman of her standing to fret over such trivial things. Mercy on any woman idiotic enough to lay her hopes and dreams at the feet of a man like Bret McGowan.
Gabrielle dried her tears with an embroidered Chinese silk handkerchief, a gift from Timothy, and stepped to the window. The rain had stopped, and the morning had turned blue and sultry. A knock sounded at her door.
“Gabrielle? Dear? Are you ready yet for church? We don’t want to be late.” Her father sounded more agitated than usual.
“In a few minutes, father. We have plenty of time. Services don’t start for another forty-five minutes.”
“But it’s the new surrey. I want to take a different route, a longer one to help break it in.”
“It rides perfectly well. I don’t find it uncomfortable at all.”
“Gabrielle, please. Do I ask so much of you? Humor me in these small things.”
She did not want to have another quarrel with her father. Their disagreements had become more frequent and severe since Bret’s return. Father would never admit it, but she knew Bret was a worrisome concern on his mind these days. He was always pestering her father’s business partners at the Galveston Wharf Company with promises of oil riches ready to gush out of the holes he was drilling near Beaumont.
Her father was doing his best to ignore him and it was eerie how just the sight of Bret could make her father falter in his step as if he’d seen a ghost. “We don’t have to be concerned about Bret, father, if that’s what you’re worried about. He seldom ever showed up for church in the past, and I doubt his travels have brought him anywhere closer to salvation.”
“That man is more of a fool than William McGowan ever was. Why couldn’t he just stay away?”
Gabrielle opened the bedroom door. Her father stared at her, the dark shadows under his eyes stressing the wrinkles. “You would think a McGowan man would have finally learned to be thankful for what he had instead of losing everything again on some ridiculous notion.” Her father’s expression softened and he smiled. “My, how you remind me of your mother sometimes.”
Gabrielle smiled kissed her father on the cheek then closed her door in silence.
A languid breeze from the Gulf stirred the pink and white oleanders, filling the air with their sweet scent and nearly masking the earthy tang of the horse. Gabrielle’s father tugged on the reigns, guiding her horse, Chestnut, toward the walkway in front of Trinity Church.
Timothy De Rocha, dressed in his finest dark gray English tailored suit, helped Gabrielle step down. “What a vision of heavenly loveliness you are this beautiful Sunday.”
The morning tranquility was abruptly shattered by the clamorous approach of Bret McGowan’s horseless carriage. Gabrielle and the assembled congregation stepped back in astonishment as he raced toward the surreys and horses bellowing smoke from the back of the infernal machine.
Bret raised his goggles and smiled at Gabrielle as he roared by, making the blood in her heart gather speed in time to the acceleration of his passing vehicle. A few moments later, he turned the corner and was gone from her sight once more. Gabrielle took a few deep breaths and steadied herself. How could she still allow Bret to have this effect on her after all this time?
Timothy looked at Gabrielle and her father with an expression of disgust. “Most men become more refined after
they have been abroad. Culture is always wasted on the uncouth.”
“Well put, Mister DeRocha,” Gabrielle’s father said.
Gabrielle held Timothy’s extended arm and walked by his side toward the open church doors. The absolute impudence of the man! She took a deep breath. I should return Bret’s letter unopened. He flaunts his lack of respect in front of God-fearing churchgoers. No self-respecting Christian woman could ever tolerate such behavior in public. Gabrielle raised her chin and smiled charmingly at Timothy. She thanked God again to be rid of her affection for such a selfish, inconsiderate lout like Bret McGowan.
The service over, Arley Caldwell joined the congregation moving in sluggish unison with the sultry breeze wafting in from the Gulf. Gabrielle, with Timothy DeRocha on one side and Liam Dawson on the other, strolled on the sidewalk just ahead of him, shading herself with a pink-striped parasol. How she reminded him of her mother at times. Arley paused and looked down. And Lord, how he missed his Melissa almost every waking moment of his life.
Arley puffed on his pipe and tried to appear unconcerned when Gabrielle glanced back at him. He certainly didn’t want her to accuse him of eavesdropping.
At the mention of Bret McGowan, Gabrielle waved the men away and turned to him. “Oh, Father. Timothy and Liam are terrible. You mustn’t allow them to talk about Bret anymore and you must forbid me to listen if they do.”
Arley sighed. He could no more do that than he could prevent the spreading hollow in his heart, which each year seemed to make it weaker without the solid center of purpose and authority he had carried as a younger, happily married husband and father.
The approaching snap and click of quick-step boots made everyone turn. A local regiment, preceded by its captain on horseback, paraded in two columns down the street. Sunlight glittered on the brass buttons of their blue coats and the varnished, black leather of their boots as the colors fluttered by proudly in the wind.
Galveston: Between Wind And Water (A Historical Literary Fiction Novel Filled with Romance and Drama) Page 4