He stared out his study window. “The coming century will be your generation’s time and that of your children where all these truths will be revealed. I thought you understood.”
Rebecca backed away from the desk. “I . . . I didn’t mean to argue, only the man outside, Mr. DeRocha, mentioned something about yesterday afternoon.”
The change of expression on her uncle’s strong, lean face was immediate. A thin, curved smile stretched its way across his taut features. “Sit down, child. Sometimes you’re like a squirrel running back and forth on a tree branch.”
She obeyed and sat down on the wood chair on the other side of the desk. She raised her gaze and met his. “Miss Caldwell and Mr. DeRocha? I don’t understand.”
Uncle Cade looked down at the open pages of the text in front of him as if trying to find something of importance buried in the pages. “There is no mystery here, my dear, I can assure you.” He raised his head again. “I wanted to meet Miss Caldwell for myself to see if she was as exceptional as I had been led to believe by her father and her friends. You know how important it is to attract the proper caliber of person to our cause.” He lifted the cover of the text and slammed it shut. “In particular, women.”
Rebecca folded her hands on her lap. “Mr. DeRocha is under the impression that you spoke to her on his behalf about some very personal matters . . . and that she may have misconstrued something you said.”
Her uncle chuckled and shook his head. “It is Mr. DeRocha who has misconstrued my words,” he corrected. “He has fastened his hope to something that can never be; his engagement and marriage to Gabrielle Caldwell.”
He tapped his fingers on the book cover. “For all the young man’s family’s wealth and prominence, Arley Caldwell would never allow such a union to take place. Any man with a less than desirable background could never marry into a refined bloodline such as the Caldwell’s.”
Uncle Cade slammed his fist down on his desk again. “Only a malicious idiot hell-bent on destroying the perfect opportunity afforded by nature and fate would think to poison the water of life from another man’s well.”
Rebecca jerked back in her chair. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm herself. She pushed her chair back a few inches and straightened her skirt. “Then, if I may ask, uncle, what was your intention to meet with Miss Caldwell in such a manner?”
Uncle Cade folded his arms across each other and leaned forward on the desk. “I may be an older man, Rebecca, but I am not an old man. Do you understand how important the difference is to me and the work we must accomplish?”
Rebecca felt her cheeks flush. She glanced away to hide her embarrassment of knowing there was no proper reply that a young lady could articulate to such a question.
Uncle Cade leaned back and grinned. “Why so shocked, my dear? I have waited a long time to find a woman perfectly suited to help me demonstrate to the world the truth of the words I speak, for after all”—he lifted his head and sat upright in his chair—“the ultimate power and sway of an idea among the teeming masses is only effective if it can be realized in front of their eyes; be turned into something alive, something they can see, touch, and feel.”
Her uncle rose from behind his desk. He stepped over his black grand piano and commenced to play. The sweet, melodic stream of a Chopin waltz bathed Rebecca’s senses, consoling her with its beguiling charm and innocence. She relaxed and sank back in her chair, parting her lips to speak, but having nothing more to say.
Her uncle slowed the tempo and danced his agile fingers across the keys with a feathery touch. “The doctors didn’t say that my war wound would prevent me from fathering children . . . only that it would be difficult.” He finished the piece and gazed at Rebecca.
“Are you sure, uncle? Is she really the right one?”
“Yes, I’m certain of it.”
“And what of Mr. McGowan?”
Her uncle let the piano fallboard drop with a reverberating smack against the keys.
“I have made enquiries. Within a few days I will know all that I need to know about Mr. Bret McGowan, but in the meantime . . .” He stepped over to his bookshelf, ran his index finger along the spines until he stopped at a thin leather-bound volume, and pulled it out. “Did Mr. McGowan visit you as I anticipated?”
“Yes, just as you said he would but why did you tell Edward not to answer the door?” She looked down at her shoes. “Mr. McGowan asked me to attend church with him tomorrow.”
Her uncle grinned. “Good . . . and will you continue to do as I’ve asked?” He opened up the book and flipped through the pages. “Edward requires a few more days before I have all the facts at my disposal, then I will finalize my plans.”
Uncle Cade returned to the piano and began another piece. The somber tone and haunting melody were unfamiliar to Rebecca. “Have you discussed your intentions toward Miss Caldwell with her father yet?”
He closed his eyes as he played. “You haven’t answered my question, my dear.”
Rebecca’s pulse quickened. Uncle Cade had been the only father she had really known since her parents died and all he was asking was to charm Bret McGowan until such time as . . . what? She didn’t know but she would have to trust him as she always had. “Of course, Uncle. Anything you ask.”
“Splendid,” he answered without looking away from the piano. “Arley Caldwell is one of my most devout followers. When I am certain the seed of my logic has taken root then all I will have to do is offer Gabrielle the water and light and to make it grow.”
Rebecca pursed her lips and stood. “Is there anything else you wish?”
“Yes. There is an empty medicine bottle on my desk. Please make polite enquiries at the city pharmacists as to the supplier. I’m not familiar with the brand or medicinal contents.”
Rebecca turned and spotted a small, brown bottle at the back corner of the desk. “Are you ill, Uncle?”
He laughed and increased his tempo. “Quite the contrary. I’ve never felt more vital and alive in my life.”
She picked up the small brown bottle and noticed the cap was missing. “Then . . . where did you get this?”
Uncle Cade did not reply for a few moments. “Did Edward tell you how beautifully you sang last night at Mr. McGowan’s ball?
Rebecca blushed. “No, but why should—”
Her uncle dismissed her question by finishing the piece with a single, thunderous chord. He opened his eyes and gazed at her, gleaming with an inner ferocity, an embittered force so penetrating in its depth, she felt transfixed under its power. “Now, listen carefully, for everything depends on what you do and say next. I will be away on Tuesday and Edward has been instructed to . . .”
Rebecca picked up the brown bottle carefully as though handling a vial of poison. Her uncle’s words drifted on the air like the voice in a dream.
“Alcohol will hasten the effect. One more week is all I ask, then my business with Bret McGowan will be finished . . . forever.”
Rebecca looked up and shivered at the dark menace in her uncle’s eyes, a piercing force that chilled her soul more than the singular purpose of his unyielding judgment.
CHAPTER 13
Sunday, September 2
After the service was over, Gabrielle tried her best to engage in light-hearted banter and gossip with her friends outside St. Patrick’s church, but her mind was still filled with the self-satisfied face of that woman—and in church of all places! Has he no decency?
She glanced up at the top of the tall brick steeple and snickered as she imagined a certain gentleman having an unfortunate accident should a certain lady happen to stumble and mistakenly push him out of the belfry.
The friendly, talkative congregation lowered their voices. Everyone turned to watch Bret emerge from the church with Miss Rebecca Armstrong at his side. Gabrielle couldn’t stop herself from glaring at the pretty red-haired woman in the shapely dark blue skirt and white blouse. Lord, and she’s at least five years younger than you . . . or m
ore.
Bret escorted Rebecca to a waiting buggy with the silent and grave Mr. Wallace at the reins. As Bret helped her up the steps, the younger woman turned and arched her brow at Gabrielle as if giving notice that Bret would be paying attention to her now.
The driver pulled gently on the reins and the brown mare trotted forward. As the buggy departed, Rebecca glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Gabrielle.
Feeling a sudden weight in the pit of her stomach, Gabrielle sighed and stared at the ground. You have no reason to feel like this. He’s not yours anymore and maybe . . . he never was in the first place.
Bret turned back from the street and tipped his hat to Gabrielle to get her attention. She knew exactly what that meant. Damn him. I don’t want to discuss business on the steps of a church! And what does he think I’ll say after being embarrassed like that?
Timothy touched her arm. “Gabrielle, the driver is waiting.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her toward her father standing by the surrey. Gabrielle paused before gathering her skirt and taking the first step.
Her father held out his hand. “What is it my dear?”
“It was so stuffy in there. I need to clear my head. I’d like to take a stroll on the boardwalk.”
Timothy smoothed back his hair with his palm. “Certainly. With your father’s permission I’d like to—”
Gabrielle pressed down her skirt with her hands. “No, Tim. Thank you. I’d like to be alone. I’ll take a cab home later.” She hurried away from the bewildered men and disappeared into the bustling weekend crowd on the sidewalk.
Gabrielle strolled along the boardwalk, taking easy, sure steps along the planks. She was aware that there was just enough sway in her walk under the rustling of her sheer, black muslin skirt and petticoat to make every passing gentleman smile and tip his hat, even if it meant risking the scowl of his shrew wife.
Let Miss Armstrong have him. She would choose from her stable of gentlemen suitors and be done with it once and for all.
Gabrielle stopped a short distance from a boardwalk vendor selling fresh, hot cherry cobbler by the slice from his pushcart. The sweet aroma of the dessert wet her lips for a moment. Another woman—tall with substantial girth and a Northern tourist by the sound of her—was busy ordering her second piece while her shorter, gaunt husband paid the vendor.
Gabrielle was so fortunate that she didn’t have to worry like so many other women. She touched one side of her slender waist for a moment. It was discipline that kept her worry free. She inhaled, filling the fabric of her petticoat with her bosom.
“I don’t know which would be sweeter,” a familiar voice chuckled behind her. “A piece of that cherry pie or—”
“Don’t you say another word Bret McGowan.” Gabrielle whirled around. “What were you doing? Stalking me like a common pickpocket? Or are you that cloaked maniac who has been assaulting young, unfortunate women at night?”
Bret tipped his hat in greeting. “I’ve read about that despicable animal and I hope the police shoot him on site but until then I’m certain your treasures will be forever safe, my dear. There isn’t a man strong enough, nor stupid enough in this town to try and steal anything from you.”
In the silence that followed, Gabrielle felt the blush rising in her cheeks. She stared into Bret’s penetrating eyes as though waiting for him to break the quiet. Her lips parted, still, she was almost breathless.
Pressing them together, she took a few steps toward him and stopped. “Of that, I have no doubt, Mr. McGowan, and judging by the way that Armstrong woman cozied herself up against you in the pew, I should think you prefer women who don’t even have the moral decency to restrain themselves in public . . . and in a church, for God’s sake.”
Bret slapped the thigh of his trousers and laughed. “Gabrielle, always so quick to damn me. You even accuse me of being a perverted maniac when I was only helping one of the Lord’s lost lambs to join the flock. The hymns were unfamiliar to her. I was merely showing her the proper—”
Gabrielle wagged her finger at him. “Oh, I know very well what you wanted to show her, and properly too. Such an unselfish and compassionate Christian man you are, Bret McGowan.” She stroked back a loose curl of her dark hair from her forehead. “And I’m sure that’s what all your other ladies with lost souls would say about you.”
Bret removed his hat and grinned. “Can’t I do anything to reconcile the past between us, Gabrielle?” He exhaled his frustration and looked down at his shoes. “Or will I be forever the object of your ridicule and scorn?”
Gabrielle strode across the width of the boardwalk until she was only a few inches from his face. She looked up into his warm, water blue eyes, wishing she could swim in them forever, until a sudden chill from the surrounding icy whites made her shiver. She took a step back and raised her shoulders. “When will you start acting like a responsible man?”
“I thought I was the very model of propriety when I paid you and Cade a visit.” Bret rubbed his chin. “Should I take it as a favorable sign that you didn’t return my prospectus?”
She poked the sprig of rose geranium in the buttonhole of his Sunday suit. “You toy and play with women’s feelings. Don’t you ever think about finally settling down?”
Bret opened his arms wide. “But I am settled, Gabrielle, and Galveston has her favorite son back for good. My entire future depends on the earth she stands on.”
Gabrielle folded her arms lightly across her bosom. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. What about children?” She lowered her arms and took a step closer to him. “After all the terrible things that . . . that happened to your family, children could bring such happiness.”
She let a tender smile grace her lips. “When you have such joy to look forward to in the future, the past will—”
“Will what, Gabrielle?” Bret’s smile fell into a hard straight line. “Disappear?” He pushed his hat down on his head. “You think a sweet, cheerful wife can give me one magic kiss and make it all go away?” He brushed off the lapels of his suit. “Or that by being a father it could replace the murder of my own?”
Gabrielle rushed forward and took hold of the sleeve of his suit jacket. “You were a child, Bret, how could you have stopped anything that—”
He turned his face away from her and looked out toward the water.
Gabrielle choked back a cry. “Whatever happened, Bret, it wasn’t your fault.”
“The words sound so comforting when you say them, Gabrielle. You make me want to believe them.” He turned back to face her. “Almost.”
She reached out and gently touched his cheek, yet was afraid to say another word to him.
Bret lowered his eyes. “I’m . . . I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this kind of rude behavior.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his sweaty forehead. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me these days.”
He cast his heavy gaze down at the boardwalk. “I’ll understand if you’ve changed your mind about what we discussed.”
Gabrielle shook her head. “No. I didn’t say that, it’s only . . . you laugh and carry on like you’re the most carefree man in the world, but in your eyes you’re trapped by something, haunted by it.” She stroked his cheek again. “I know, I’ve always known.”
Bret lightly pushed her hand away from his face. “You know . . . nothing.” He stared at her for a few moments. Bret coughed and covered his mouth. He turned and hurried down the boardwalk in the opposite direction.
Gabrielle watched Bret weave his way through the strolling couples and families until she lost sight of him behind the happy people enjoying a sunny day at the beach. She wiped the warm tear running down her cheek and turned back for home.
CHAPTER 14
Monday, September 3
Caden rose from his chair in the study and paced back and forth in front of his desk. Since discussing the next step of his plan with Rebecca, he preferred the solitude of his private chambers or the company of his trusted man, Edwar
d.
He needed to consider all options and possibilities. Edward’s private sources had proved correct, so now nothing could be left to fate or chance if he was to finish this McGowan business once and for all.
Pausing on the carpet, he turned and looked out the study window at the uncommonly gray and cloudy summer sky. Clammy chills of the approaching evening pricked his exposed skin. The sharp, stabbing pain in his groin meant more immediate warmth was needed.
He put on his crimson, silk Chinese housecoat and tied the gold belt around his waist. He poured himself another cup of strong black tea and sipped. Feeling his body enclosed in growing warmth, his thoughts turned to the much anticipated visit of Gabrielle that evening.
The long talks with Arley over the last several weeks were beginning to bear fruit. Arley was a sensible man who knew the value of the Society’s contact with the best and brightest men that the future would have to offer. Yes. A concerned father’s obligations were to his children first.
Caden sat down behind this desk, opened his diary, and started his Monday evening entry.
Tonight, the future begins for both of us. As the persistent waves of the tireless sea transform the earth’s jagged shore into smooth rock and sand, so to will my words recast one woman’s uninformed reluctance into loving loyalty.
Caden closed the brown leather cover of his diary and snapped the cap on his fountain pen. He turned to look at himself in the full length closet mirror, wanting to confirm the appearance of a mature man worthy of commanding unquestioning devotion in a younger woman of such refined breeding.
In his opinion, the rosy twilight filtering through the study window gave his patrician and dignified features a subtle warmth and vitality that did much to soften the impact of his imposing appearance.
He lifted his head and spoke as if rehearsing for one of his lectures. “The slaves to mediocrity and myth are bound by more than the fetters of custom and the familiar: they are servants, bonded to sluggish thought and barren dreams, and hence, incapable, by virtue of their self-imposed enslavement, of cultivating anything of intrinsic and lasting value for mankind. Only those with the highest ideals and the strongest character will have the courage to give birth to the new era.”
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