Relax.
Men had no idea. She would be judged in the same unforgiving light as that elegant English lady. Even her singing. By everybody. By Magistrate Reed. She doubted she could bring herself to call him Colin. Especially in front of all those strangers.
A cryptic note to the Bryants was all she’d heard of him since he’d returned from the north. And nothing was mentioned about Ed.
Surely, by now, Colin had located him.
Perhaps Ed had sent a message with orders for her to join him. That possibility only added to her anxiety.
She jumped at the sound of the carriage wheels clattering to a stop in front. But then she felt the comfort of Emma’s arm around her as her friend led her into the parlor.
“Take a few deep breaths, my dear. This is not the hangman’s noose we’re awaiting. Just a friendly visit with friends.”
Mary could hear the front door open, Pastor Daniel’s welcome, the women’s gay chatter, the men’s robust greetings. . . Colin’s voice.
She and Emma turned as the ladies entered.
Mary’s throat tightened.
Grace Ellen Fitzsimmon was more breathtaking than the afternoon they’d met. The jonquil silk dress brought out the amazing blue of her eyes, its scooped neck accentuating the pale, graceful line of her throat. The trim of lavender silk roses emphasized her full bosom and the matching sash, her tiny waist.
It was the height of fashion, and it undoubtedly cost a king’s ransom.
She glanced down at her own simple frock and felt like a child.
Mrs. Harcourt’s pale orange ensemble was just as fashionable, but beside her tall, stately friend, she seemed an over-ripe caricature of a plump pumpkin.
Daniel ushered in a short, bandy-legged gentleman lugging a cello case as round as he. He had a pleasant freckled face and a fringe of red hair. He could only be Mrs. Harcourt’s husband. Mary suppressed a smile. Two round pumpkins in a patch.
Then her breath caught.
Bringing up the rear, violin case in hand, was Magistrate Reed. . .Colin looking taller and even more magnificent than she remembered.
The cut of his expensively tailored suit made his shoulders seem broad enough to fill the entry, and his skin looked like burnished bronze against his white, starched collar. His helmet of curly dark hair was tamed, save for one eccentric lock that hung rakishly over his right brow.
And his smile. Oh, his smile. It lit into the darkest corners.
Mrs. Harcourt was right. He and Grace Ellen Fitzsimmon would, indeed, make a handsome couple.
And that’s as it should be. So why this sudden stab of sadness?
But that smile, that brilliant, dashing smile was turned, not on Miss Fitzsimmon, but on Mary as he strode into the room.
“Colin, dear. . .” Miss Fitzsimmon stepped out of the shadows—for the whole room seemed to darken in his dazzle—and snagged his arm. “Colin, dear, have you met the Bryants’ house guest, Mary McKinney?”
“McKenzie. Mary McKenzie,” Colin corrected, holding Mary in his warm gaze. “Indeed I have. We’re old friends. In fact, it was I who introduced her to the Bryants’.”
Oh, good heavens. He wasn’t going to tell Grace Ellen how they’d met, was he?
“You look lovely this evening, Mary,” he said.
Weak with relief, Mary felt a flush creep up her cheeks.
“I understand you and Grace Ellen are going to sing for us this evening.” He turned to the woman on his arm.
Mrs. Harcourt, who had joined them, gave Mary a pleasant smile. “You have a sweet voice, Mary. It should accompany Grace Ellen’s nicely.”
Condemned with faint praise. “Thank you, Mrs. Harcourt.”
“We heard Mary the other afternoon when we came to visit Emma,” the woman said to Colin. “Her contralto will blend well with our Grace Ellen’s divine soprano.” The little woman clasped her hands to her bosom. “Wait until you hear her. I declare, Colin, Grace Ellen has the voice of an angel.”
Mary’s stomach turned to quivering jelly. She feared she might throw up. Blending her nice voice with a soprano of pure perfection.
She seriously wondered if she’d make it through the evening.
❧
As the clock chimed nine times, the last strains of “I Dream of Jeanne” ended to the enthusiastic applause of the gathered friends.
Flushed with delight at how well the evening was going, Mary dipped her head shyly in response, while Grace Ellen Fitzsimmon gave a sweeping curtsy in Magistrate Reed’s direction.
Whether Mary wanted to admit it or not, she had begun to suspect it was she, Mary, who might be the reason for the woman’s clinging possessiveness of the magistrate.
She could hardly believe it. For certain, she had given Grace Ellen no reason. And there was no doubt Magistrate Reed had treated Mary with no more gentlemanly consideration than he always treated her—than he treated all the ladies. That this stunningly beautiful, high-born, English woman should be jealous of a nobody like herself—well, it was just unbelievable. A married nobody, at that. If Grace Ellen only knew. And Mary was taking a wicked delight in not being the one to tell her.
Emma swiveled around on the piano stool. “Now, everyone, I think it’s time for an intermission.” As she rose to lead them into the dining room for refreshments, a wild scream pierced through the open French doors.
Grace Ellen let out a squeal, nearly as shrill, and ran into the protective custody of Colin’s arms.
“Just some lonely night hunter expressing his appreciation for your singing,” he laughed.
“Odd. Sounded like a leopard.” Henry raised his brows. “Not many left this far south. I’ll wager half the men in Johannesburg are reaching for their hunting rifles as we speak. Poor beast.”
“Poor Emma. You must be in a constant fear, living so close to the wild.” Grace Ellen nestled deeper into Colin’s embrace, shivering with fear.
It did seem a little excessive.
“Speaking of wild, Daniel,” Colin said, discreetly removing his arm from around the woman’s shoulders, “one of these days you’re going to have to explain how Noah, in your Bible, managed to convince all those animals to get along in that one little boat. He must have been some zoo keeper.”
“I’d be delighted to discuss it at length,” Daniel offered. “When did you have in mind?”
Henry guffawed. “You asked for it, Colin.”
“You’re welcome to join us, Henry.” Daniel shifted his falsely benign smile to Henry, and everyone laughed.
Everyone but Mary.
Was it possible that an educated man like Colin was not familiar with the significance of Noah and the ark? Why, that was one of the first stories Emma had her read.
He must be jesting.
She added her small laugh to the rest.
As she watched them all troop out of the parlor, two by two, Grace Ellen clinging to Colin’s arm, Mary felt like odd-man-out. If Ed were here she’d have her own partner to accompany her.
And feel even more at odds.
She couldn’t imagine an uneducated braggart like Ed ever fitting in with these refined people.
Braggart?
When had she started thinking of her husband in such an unflattering light? She turned toward the French doors. Right now fresh air attracted her far more than food anyway.
As she stood on the verandah, she peered into the darkness toward the north. Ed was out there somewhere, and someday he would return for her. Then evenings like this would be gone forever. Ed’s world was saloons and card rooms. She sighed. But he was the man she’d married. And the father of this precious new life inside her. She placed a hand on her, as yet, flat belly. Maybe when Ed learned about the baby he’d change. Maybe he’d be willing to make a proper home for them. Go to church.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
Grace Ellen’s trilling, high-pitched laughter cut through Mary’s thoughts. It grated on her nerves more than any old wildcat’s scream.
By
now, the “clinging vine” probably had both of her beautiful arms wrapped around Magistrate Reed’s neck.
ten
Tricky business, Colin thought, trying not to show his irritation as strawberry punch sloshed from his cup onto the front of his vest.
Using his arm as a swivel base, Grace Ellen turned from him to Sylvia and back, exchanging the latest gossip. As if it interested him in the least.
“Carolyn Wilkins knows for a fact that Reggie Carson is keeping company with the daughter of one of his foremen. A Boer. Can you imagine?”
“A Boer? Really?” From Sylvia’s shocked expression, one would almost have expected they’d found a dead body pinned to the wall. “Did you hear that, Henry?” She turned back to Grace Ellen. “I hope he doesn’t expect us to take her into our circle.”
In warning, Colin cleared his throat, and Sylvia shot a guilty look at Daniel.
“I’m sorry, Daniel. They’re not all of them bad,” Sylvia hastened to acknowledge. “But you must admit, they are a different breed. Most of them are uneducated farmer types, speaking some aberrant version of German.”
Colin saw Daniel’s expression stiffen and wondered what precisely chosen words of admonishment would follow. And not necessarily all that tactful. Americans, especially those from their northern states, were particularly sensitive about that “all men are created equal sort of thing,” after fighting a civil war to free their own slaves.
“Dr. Shultz, my German instructor, is a Boer. And highly educated,” Emma mused. “So I guess one never knows.” She shrugged prettily. “Bye the bye, Sylvia, I just received some photographs of mother and my sister Margaret that I’ve been wanting to show you. Do come along, too, Grace Ellen.”
Colin felt as if a hundred-and-fifteen-pound weight—or thereabout—had been removed as Emma looped her arm through Grace Ellen’s, drawing her toward the archway leading out of the dining room.
“You know how anxious I am to get Margie over for a visit, Sylvia,” she continued, as the three ladies strolled out of the room.
Confrontation skillfully defused. Chalk one up for Emma.
Colin knew his friend well, and although Daniel was supremely tactful as a rule, there were some issues that set his rhetoric afire. And justice for all was one of them.
Putting down his libation, Colin attempted to brush out the wrinkles Grace Ellen’s clutch had ironed into his sleeve. The woman had a grip of steel. He shook his head and ladled punch into a fresh cup. “Perhaps Mary would like something to drink.”
“Good idea,” Daniel said.
Henry swallowed one bonbon while reaching for another. “She certainly has a strong, rich contralto for such a small, little person,” he observed, popping a third into his mouth. “Quite a surprise.”
More of a surprise than you know, my friend, Colin thought, strolling out into the starlit darkness.
A shaft of light from the parlor bathed Mary in an amber glow, tinting the tips of her auburn curls with gold.
Colin paused, enchanted.
Perhaps some would consider Grace Ellen the more beautiful. But it was Mary’s quiet strength, so reminiscent of his mother, that called to Colin and was so restful to his soul.
As he moved toward her, she turned. “Oh, it’s you, Magis. . . Colin.” A genuine smile lit her face as she accepted the proffered cup. “Thank you. You are most kind.”
“The night cries don’t frighten you, I see.”
“I much prefer these night cries to them—those of New York.”
“Or downtown Johannesburg,” he murmured.
Mary’s newly schooled words held not a trace of her New York accent. Emma had done a wonderful job, and in less than two months.
He had certainly brought Mary to the right place. Had he taken her to the Harcourts, no doubt by now all the spirit would have been sucked out of her. Sylvia would have treated her like a servant or, at best, snubbed her like the un-fortunate Boer girl Reggie Carson was in love with.
Yet, here Mary was, hobnobbing with Sylvia and her English crony, with no one the wiser.
He couldn’t help but smile.
Mary tilted her head. “What is so funny?”
He realized he’d been staring. “It’s just that. . .I’d hoped to get you alone—I mean—” She was doing it again. How could this sweet, simple girl turn a sophisticated man-of-the-world like himself—leastways that’s how he liked to think of himself—into a bowl of mush? “What I mean to say is, I wanted to speak to you privately. About your husband.”
Mary’s eyes widened. “You have spoken with him. Where is he? When—”
Colin placed a stilling finger on her lips. “Unfortunately, no. I’ve found no trace. I’m wondering if he might be using an assumed name? Can you think of any reason he’d want to do that?”
He could see her withdraw, wounded by his implication.
“Are you saying he’d want to escape from me so much he’d change his name? I’m sure I never gave him no—any reason to do such a thing.”
“I’m sorry, Mary, but I have to ask these questions if we’re going to find him. It seems his name and the description you’ve given just aren’t enough. Is there anything you might have overlooked—a scar, a particular habit or mannerism?”
Mary looked thoughtful. “Well, there is one thing. He had this medallion that he was especially proud of. I don’t know where he got it. He said it was worth a lot of money—”
“Yes?”
“He used to flip it. You know, when he was standing around, talking, or when he was nervous. It was really distracting.” She looked up hopefully at Colin. “Is that the kind of thing you’re talking about?”
“Exactly. And if anything else comes to mind, no matter how insignificant it might seem, you must let me know.”
“I’ll try to think of more, but—”
As far as Colin was concerned, that was enough talk of Ed for now. “Are you feeling better?” he asked.
“Oh, yes.”
“No more dizziness?”
She shook her head.
Now for the most pressing topic. “Do you still want me to find you another place? I’m afraid I’ll be hard pressed to—”
His voice stilled as she placed her small hand on his, then to his disappointment, withdrew it. “It won’t be necessary. I told Emma about the baby. She insisted that I stay.” Mary’s brown eyes softened to a warm glow. “She called it God’s blessing, come to ease their pain. Can you believe it?”
“They are amazing people,” Colin agreed. “They manage to turn everything in their lives into something good from their God.”
For an instant her glowing eyes sparked bright. “Yes. They do have the most remarkable faith.”
“And you, sweet Mary,” he said, longing to reach for her hand again, “are the most remarkable, bravest of young ladies.”
“Oh, there you two are.” Grace Ellen’s practiced lilt shattered the moment. Silhouetted by the parlor lights, she swooped down on them.
Colin scarcely managed to keep his groan silent.
“I do believe we’re about to begin again,” she said, snagging that same arm she’d overused before, crushing the fabric and Colin’s hope for more time alone with Mary.
He shot Mary a beleaguered look. Suddenly he realized how important it was to him that she understand.
Grace Ellen Fitzsimmon was not his kind of woman.
❧
Daniel closed the door behind their departing guests. “Well, dear girl, your debut was a great success. Didn’t I tell you?”
Mary’s answering grin felt broad enough to crack.
“Perhaps we could arrange for our Mary and Grace Ellen to sing a duet in church one Sunday. What do you think, Emma?”
“I think that’s a superb idea. What a clever man you are.” Emma tweaked her husband’s cheek as the three moved back into the parlor.
Mary stood in the archway. ”Don’t you think I should be consulted first?”
“Of course yo
u should, Mary,” Daniel replied as the pair of expectant faces turned in her direction.
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” she sang up the scale, twirling toward them and ending with a deep curtsy. “Yes.”
Emma and Daniel leaned against each other, laughing and applauding.
“Well, aren’t you full of vim and vinegar at this late hour?” Emma said, sinking down into the nearest chair. “I think it was an especially lovely evening, Daniel, don’t you?”
“Except for—”
“I know what you’re going to say. But basically Sylvia’s a decent sort, and Colin and Henry are such close friends.”
“I suppose it isn’t fair to blame Henry for his wife’s prejudices,” Daniel grumbled. “We’ll just have to pray that the good Lord will remove her blinders.”
Standing in front of the fireplace screen, hands behind her back, Mary had a sudden and unpleasant thought. “Col—Magistrate Reed has always seemed so prudent about mentioning the circumstance of our first meeting. I do hope he didn’t tell his friend Mr. Harcourt about it. I would be so embarrassed.”
“If he did,” Daniel said, resting his hand on Emma’s shoulder, “I can assure you it would be in the strictest confidence and would go no further. Henry may have his weaknesses, as we all do, but he’s an honorable man.”
“Don’t worry, dear,” Emma interjected, “Colin’s concern for your well-being is quite genuine. I know that for certain.”
“He’s given me no reason to doubt that. But still it helps to have your reassurance.” Mary walked over to Emma and gave her a kiss on the cheek, and then one for Pastor Daniel. Under the arch, she turned. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”
“Thank you for helping make it so, dear. Good night.” Emma’s voice followed her down the hall.
But when Mary heard Pastor Daniel mention Colin’s name, she paused.
“Colin has so many admirable qualities, it grieves me he will not accept the one true God. He lumps the relationship we have with our Heavenly Father in with all those superstitious fantasies of the natives.”
Mary didn’t want to hear any more. She slipped into her bedroom and sagged against the door.
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