Galveston: Between Wind And Water (A Historical Literary Fiction Novel Filled with Romance and Drama)
Page 17
“Yes Miss. But they ain’t a gentleman caller neither.”
“You’re still young, Verna. Sometimes a lady needs to look and feel her most attractive for precisely that reason.” Looking in the hand mirror, she saw Verna rolling her eyes and smirking.
Gabrielle leaned back on her seat, while Verna slowly piled one above the other, a mass of small curls. Verna twisted and teased them into soft waves until the smallest ringlets encircled Gabrielle’s face and hung down the nape of her neck.
“Ouch!” said Gabrielle, stamping her shoe. “You’re not pulling out dandelions from the garden!”
“Sorry, Miss, but if you wasn’t in such a rush to be dressed to the nines . . . there.” Verna stood in front of Gabrielle and looked her up and down as though appraising her work.
Gabrielle brushed off a few specks of lint from her delicate, violet skirt and bodice.
“Well, Miss Caldwell, you do look beautiful in your new lilac skirt. That soft shade really sets off your hair and complexion.”
“Thank you. How do my eyebrows look?”
Verna nodded and smiled. “You look just like one of those ladies in Vogue magazine, Miss Caldwell, but even prettier.”
Gabrielle raised her head and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. And why not? Perhaps this guest imagined her to be a vain woman of drooped and fading beauty with wine red splotches beneath her eyes, prattling on and on about her petty emotional disturbances, but this would never come to be as long as Gabrielle’s reflection in the mirror kept smiling.
The front door bell chimed and Gabrielle regarded herself in the hand mirror with a last quick look of nervous vanity. “Verna, please show our guest in.”
“Would you like me to stay, Miss Caldwell?”
Gabrielle took two deep breaths then exhaled in a single steady stream. “No, thank you, I’ll be fine.” She sat down again on her upholstered reading chair.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, Gabrielle turned and saw the person standing in the middle of the sunroom entrance, looking about with a faint, polite smile.
“Hello, Miss Armstrong,” said Gabrielle, rising from her chair and extending her hand to greet her guest. “Your uncle sounded most concerned on the telephone but he didn’t tell me why.”
Rebecca Armstrong’s gaze didn’t move from Gabrielle’s. She shook Gabrielle’s hand in a courteous manner. Withdrawing her hand swiftly, she took a step back from her hostess. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Miss Caldwell. This won’t take long.” She removed a red lace scarf from the hair.
“Please,” Gabrielle motioned toward the guest chair. “Have a seat by the window. It’s a beautiful view of the garden this time of day.”
“I’m fine, thank you. I’ve already admired my own garden this morning.”
“Have you had lunch?” Gabrielle asked, “I can have Verna bring us some—”
“No, I appreciate your offer but I’ve already eaten and I don’t want to take up any more of your time. You look like you’re about to leave for an important engagement.”
For a few moments, Miss Armstrong appeared to be more interested in the intricate design of the Persian carpet than acknowledging that another person was in the room. Gabrielle studied her guest, savoring her small victory in the young woman’s discomfort.
It was apparent why men might have found this brisk young lady to be an alluring siren at Bret’s party, but standing in front of Gabrielle this morning, she looked plain, almost frumpish with her figure pressed flat underneath her austere black dress.
Her long, flowing red hair was tucked in a tight matron’s bun so as to give no indication of its actual length. The dark circles under her unmade eyes gave the impression of little sleep or crying, or both.
Miss Armstrong looked up from the carpet. “You’re an old friend of Bret’s, aren’t you?”
Gabrielle’s pulse rose at the sound of the surprising familiarity in this strange woman’s voice. “Are you speaking of Mr. McGowan?”
The woman nodded once.
“I had no idea that the two of you were on a first name basis, Miss Armstrong.”
The woman smiled for the first time since entering the sunroom. “Yes. You could say we are on more intimate terms since I sang at his party last Friday night.”
Gabrielle swallowed hard. The thought of Bret and this woman—with all the terrible, hidden aspects of his life that had only recently come to light—was pushed into the back of her awareness. Surely her uncle has informed her about the appalling things he discovered about Bret?
Gabrielle smiled, wanting nothing more than to appear unflustered by anything this woman might now say about the unfortunate situation.
She felt her eyelids flutter in the uncomfortable silence. Gabrielle raised a hand to her mouth and cleared her throat as discreetly as possible. “Bret is an old family friend, but since his trip abroad we’ve lost touch.”
Miss Armstrong strode past Gabrielle toward the window overlooking the garden. “Your vines need pruning,” she commented. “Before you realize, they will overrun your walls and garden and cut off the sunlight to the smaller flowers.”
“Thank you for your advice. I’ll be sure to have Verna attend to them this afternoon.”
“Yes.” Miss Armstrong turned around. “Sometimes only the strongest poisons are effective once they’ve taken root where you don’t want them to be.”
“Having my garden overwhelmed by vines is easily remedied with a few snips and cuts. It is so much more difficult to remove other unwanted creatures once they get inside your house. Wouldn’t you agree Miss Armstrong?”
The young woman took a few steps toward Gabrielle. “Have you seen Bret much since his return?” she asked.
“Miss Armstrong.” Gabrielle clasped her fingers together in front of her skirt. “As a courtesy to your uncle I agreed to meet you on such short notice, but frankly, I cannot understand the purpose. What is it that is so urgent to—”
“Bret,” interrupted Miss Armstrong, with a half-suppressed sigh.
“Indeed. And what is your concern with him?”
“You’ve known him for many years, Miss Caldwell. What kind of man is he really?”
Gabrielle felt her throat going dry. She swallowed before speaking. “Is your family thinking of undertaking a partnership with him? I wouldn’t risk investing in his oil drilling venture if you were considering that.”
Miss Armstrong ran her fingers across the top ridge on the back of Gabrielle’s reading chair. “Not business per se, although it will figure prominently in our relationship.”
Gabrielle moistened her dry lips and felt her skin redden through the rouge on her cheek.
“Yes. I believe Bret will ask my uncle for my hand in marriage soon,” she continued.
Gabrielle felt no impulse to cry. She was too angry imagining what Bret might have done to this poor, foolish girl to convince her of such a ridiculous proposition or that his intentions were, for once, honorable.
She remained silent trying to control the heaving motion of her blouse and relax the strained corners of her eyes, but she knew they were betraying her moment by moment in the presence of this threatening woman: the last person she ever expected would expose her vulnerable heart. “How . . . sudden for both of you,” Gabrielle said, at last breaking the silence.
“I’ve always dreamt that this is how love should be. Being swept away by an ocean of desire and joy.” She whirled like a schoolgirl at play. “Do you know what I mean, Miss Caldwell? The impulsive, divine kind of love.”
Gabrielle gazed at this beautiful young woman, as if lost in a mood over which she had no control. There was a time, she was certain, her love for Bret would have been as long as life and stronger. “Then, I must congratulate you.”
She tried to steady her nerves and extended her hand to Miss Armstrong. “For succeeding where others have failed. Having a man like Bret McGowan declare his love and devotion to you must be a wonderful feeling.”
She let Gabrielle’s hand drop. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, Miss Caldwell, to find out all that I can about him. He can be so intense sometimes, as I’m sure you well know.”
Gabrielle drew in a long breath. Perhaps Bret hasn’t declared his love for her yet. She lifted her chin and spoke. “For all his public bravado and devil-may-care attitude, Bret has always been a very private person, very guarded about his emotions and thoughts.”
She held her breath, fearful of what might yet be revealed. “Most women would find that difficult to tolerate in a friend, let alone a husband.”
Miss Armstrong stepped to within an arm’s length of Gabrielle. Every line and shading of the young woman’s face was as clear as the silent slap of her muted animosity. “And you would not?”
Gabrielle walked toward the window and looked out at the garden. “I’ve come to understand Bret over the years and, lately, why he may be acting differently than he did before.” She turned to her guest. “But that doesn’t mean I approve of his behavior, in fact I condemn it.”
“What are you speaking of, Miss Caldwell? Bret has always been the perfect gentleman with me.”
Gabrielle took a step toward her. “Does your uncle know of your involvement with him?”
Miss Armstrong walked back from the chair toward the center of the room. “I . . . I want to surprise Uncle Caden after Bret proposes to me.” She seemed embarrassed by her curt laughter and covered her smile with her hand. “It may be as early as this weekend. I’m sure of it.”
“And you’re certain your uncle knows nothing of this?”
Miss Armstrong tilted her head ever so slightly and nodded.
Gabrielle narrowed her eyes on the younger woman. Was she lying, or had Cade changed his mind? But why would he after everything he had said to her about that disgusting incident at Weems’s store?
She wanted to accuse this overly confident woman of being deceitful but her determination weakened. If this naïve young lady was telling the truth, then how could she risk causing Miss Armstrong pain and humiliation without revealing her own promise to help Bret?
Gabrielle fingered the white lace of her collar. “To be frank, Miss Armstrong, if I were in your position, I would be discussing this with my family. Events have occurred so quickly that I would need time to think, to make sure everything was really that perfect between us.”
Blushing at her own unrestrained bluntness, she found it impossible to meet Miss Armstrong’s sharp, green eyes. “Sometimes a person who cares for our well-being sees something, or knows something that needs to be talked about first.”
Miss Armstrong remained silent, gazing out the bay window with a pensive expression toward the gulf.
Gabrielle stepped beside her and touched her arm. “But I . . . I am happy for you . . . for both of you.” At the sound of those words on her lips her heart suddenly felt heavier, colder. What am I saying? “But there is only so much a woman can know about a man, so much she only wants to see that—”
“But you’re neither, Miss Caldwell.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not in my position.” She yanked her arm away from Gabrielle. “And you’re not happy for us.”
“But I assure you, I am.”
Miss Armstrong touched her lips with the tip of her index finger and tapped them lightly. “I suspected you would be polite in trying to hide your true feelings, but your eyes give everything away. Just the sound of Bret’s name on my lips makes them crinkle ever so slightly in the corners.”
She turned and started toward the hallway. “And please don’t follow me or send for your girl. I can see my own way out.”
Gabrielle rushed forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “Please, I was only trying to—”
“Goodbye, Miss Caldwell,” she interrupted without stopping. “You’ve given me more assistance than I could have hoped for.”
Gabrielle’s hand slid off her dress. In a few moments Rebecca Armstrong was gone—free to rush into Bret’s open arms—and she, alone, was left, rooted to this place, waiting for the return of her bitter father and his flattering fools like Timothy DeRocha, Hadlee Foster, and Liam Dawson with their dragging feet and trite conversations.
Verna hurried into the sunroom. “Is everything all right, Miss Caldwell?”
Gabrielle parted the curtains and stared toward the cloudy horizon, praying for one memory to remain bright before the encroaching darkness.
Thinking of her wonderful meal at the seafood restaurant with Cade made her heart feel lighter for a few moments but then it was gone. Gabrielle closed her eyes, letting the memory of her last waltz with Bret rise unrestrained from the deepest place in her soul.
She felt herself gliding with him across the floor, the music flowing around her so tender and gracious that her eyes filled with tears and she clutched the drapes for fear she might swoon and fall.
CHAPTER 18
Friday, September 7, 7:00 a.m.
Philip rocked slowly back and forth on the veranda in William McGowan’s favorite pine rocker as he read yesterday’s edition of the Galveston News. He stopped to stretch his stiff legs and rest them on top of his two packed suitcases.
In the distance, the sky was hidden in dusk like night made visible and the air was thick and sweet with the wafting scent of oleanders.
He looked up at the overcast morning sky and took a sip of his drink. A heavy swell rolling in from the southeast. Part of that trouble they had down in the Keys, no doubt.
Philip took another sip of the McGowan’s best Napoleon brandy, savoring the slow liquid flame of the liquor sliding down to warm his insides and fortify his resolve. He had been up most of the night, dozing only for minutes at a time, hoping to meet Bret when he returned.
Miss Caldwell was right. Bret was in the grip of something evil. He took another sip of the brandy.
So what would Bret gain if he told him?
Lorena lost her husband and he lost his sweet Janeen. If one word had crept out, he would have been lynched. Could still happen if some of these folks ever knew.
He tapped the side of his glass.
Lorena was a good, Christian woman. She lived the Lord’s word the best she could and loved him as a man under the eyes of God. He loved her as his wife and that troubled boy was the closest he’d ever have to a son of his own.
Philip put the glass down on the veranda table. He slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and touched the top of the small vial. He prayed Miss Caldwell was right because this was the last decent thing he could do to help Lorena’s only child.
He opened the palms of his coarse, weathered hands and puzzled for a few seconds over the new indentations added to the years of patchwork lines already there. They were from his fingernails.
No matter. Bret is the only one left now and he’s got to know before he runs off and does something foolish with that Armstrong girl. That bastard Hellreich’s family and the McGowan’s bound together? Not while there was a breath still in this body. No sir! I won’t bow to that son-of-a-bitch ever again.
Philip jerked to his right at the ricocheting backfire of the approaching automobile. He stood and watched Bret turn the vehicle around the corner and weave its way up the street toward the house. The mechanical carriage fired another volley of black smoke as it bounced over the pavement stones from the road to the lane way leading up to the garage.
Instead of driving into the garage as he usually did, Bret made a sharp left turn on the lane way and drove straight up to the front of the veranda. The clanging and clattering of the contraption only stopped after Philip repeatedly yelled and pointed at the motor.
Bret stepped down from the front seat and stumbled, catching his balance, but
still wavered on his feet. He took hold of the handrail and took slow, heavy steps up the stairs. “How thoughtful. I hope you weren’t waiting up all night jus’ for l’il ol’—” He coughed until tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He frantically felt around the pockets of his jacket until he found what he was looking for.
Bret pulled out the brown bottle of cough remedy from his inside pocket, unscrewed the cap, and tipped the mouth of the bottle up to his lips. “Goddamn it!” He shook the bottle and tried again. “Just a taste! All I need is a taste until—” He turned and threw the bottle onto the grass of the front yard.
“Here, Sir.” Philip held out the blue vial in his hand. “I always put some aside in case of emergencies.”
“Good, dependable Philip.” He snapped the vial out of Philip’s hand. “How would mother and I have ever survived without you?” Bret pulled the cork stopper with his teeth and spat it into the palm of his hand. “So why didn’t you leave after the war? You were a free man.”
Philip looked away. What do you want me to say, Bret? That I loved your mother? That Lorena and I lived like man and wife in secrecy while you were away in boarding school or out gallivanting for months on end? Or that you were both the closest I ever had to a real family after my Janeen died?
Philip smiled. “Well, sir, I guess you could say that after all those years I got used the Gulf climate around here. This weather agrees with me and my old bones.”
Bret tilted his head back and took a quick sip, then another. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his hand. After a few seconds, he opened his bloodshot eyes again and put the stopper back into the vial.
“Better now, Mr. McGowan?”
He nodded and put the vial in the pocket of his suit coat. Stepping up onto the veranda, Bret looked down at Philip’s shoes. “A little late in the season for a summer vacation don’t you think, Philip?”
“Trains run out of Houston pretty much the same no matter what time of year it is.”