“Well, you look very beautiful. Lilac suits you.”
“Don’t pay her such compliments, Miss McFarland. She’ll get bigger-headed than she already is,” came a teasing voice. Ross Persall walked out of the shop, just behind Marba.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Persall,” I greeted.
“And to you, ma’am.” He grinned, and there was a teasing light in his eyes at my formality.
“Katrina tells me that she has a part in the school play,” Marba said, ignoring Ross’s taunt. She seemed pleased and proud of the prospect.
“An angel, no less,” Ross added dryly. Marba shot him an annoyed glance. She appeared to be very defensive of her daughter.
“Yes,” I answered. “She’s going to sing one of the carols. She has a charming voice.”
“It’s very kind of you to let her be in the play, Miss McFarland,” Marba said gratefully, and I looked at her with some surprise.
“No, Miss Lane. It has nothing to do with kindness. Katrina is an intelligent child with a definite talent. I’m proud to have her in my class and very glad that she wants to be in the play.” Marba’s face was very still and controlled. She smiled tightly. “Even if her mother happens to be a dance-hall entertainer?”
“I don’t see how that should make any difference,” I said, but understanding what she meant. “Besides,” and I smiled, “I happen to like Katrina’s mother very much. She’s a very charming lady.”
Marba’s eyes grew bright. “It’s no wonder Katrina thinks so highly of you,” she said softly. “Come on, Ross.” She looped her arm through his. “We’d better go before other less open-minded people use this chance meeting against Miss McFarland.”
A natural impulse made me reach out and touch Marba’s gloved hand. “Miss Lane?” I redrew her attention. She hesitated. “It’s more important what we think of ourselves.”
“Not always,” she answered, her dark eyes clouding.
Again, I reacted on impulse. “As soon as school is out and the confusion dies down, I’d be very pleased if you’d come for tea.” Marba Lane looked astonished.
“I don’t think... I don’t think that’s a wise idea,” she said. Ross Persall had an odd look on his face. He seemed totally unaware of Marba’s fingers clutching at his arm. He was looking at me.
“I have a few people in this town I would call real friends, Miss Lane,” I said, thinking of Ellen and Charles Studebaker, Elvira Hudson and Ross Persall. “I would like to include you among them.”
Marba’s mouth trembled slightly, then she smiled. “I’ll remember that, Miss McFarland. Thank you. But because I like you, I won’t accept your offer. Good day.”
***
It was well past ten p.m., and my table was still strewn with the children’s homework assignments. I had corrected most of them, but had got caught up in writing suggestions on a few. That lead me on to an idea for a class project, which I jotted down on a separate sheet and added to yet another pile of papers. Stopping, I got up, stretched my aching muscles and went to the stove to replenish my cup of coffee. I stood with a chipped mug in one hand, while the other rubbed mechanically at the small of my back. How I would appreciate a nice, soft chair for these long hours of paper-correcting, rather than the straight-backed wooden one someone had probably discarded years ago.
A tap at the back door startled me. I glanced questioningly at the closed portal, wondering if I had really heard something. Who would be coming by at this time of night? The three discreet taps sounded again.
Leaning against the door, I pressed my ear to the wood. “Who is it, please?” I asked, cautious not to unlock the door until I knew who was there. I had begun locking my door since finding Jordan Bennett in the schoolroom.
“Ross.”
“Ross?” I repeated, then unlatched the door and swung it back in alarm. “Is something wrong with Katrina... or Marba?” I asked, immediately thinking that must be the reason for this unprecedented visit. I checked my pin watch. It was well after ten o’clock.
Ross stood, leaning his hand against the doorjamb, smiling down at me apologetically. “No.” He shook his head. “I was out and saw your lamp was still burning. I thought if you weren’t busy, we might talk for a while.” He looked past me at the paper-strewn table. “I hope I didn’t interrupt something important.”
“I was correcting homework papers,” I answered automatically, but frowning slightly. “What are you doing walking around at this late hour?”
“It isn’t late by my standards. In fact, this is just about the busiest time of my day. But I felt restless tonight, and I didn’t want to face the crowd at the casino. Look, Abigail, if this will get you into trouble, I’d better be on my way. I only figured I could stop at all because of the lights being out all the way up McPherson.”
Ross Persall knew very well that if anyone were to pass by and see him on my doorstep, my teaching career would be finished. He seemed very sure that no one was about. I smiled and gave a faint laugh. “It will probably land me right in the fire pit, but I don’t really care anymore. Come on in. It’s cold out there.”
Ross stepped into the light and looked around my small room with unveiled interest. He was wearing a heavy jacket, rather than his usual dark suit coat.
“Not much, is it?” he commented wryly.
“What a thing to say about my home,” I teased in mock indignation. “It’s quite adequate really. I don’t need a lot of space for my work.”
“They might have at least got you some new curtains and something besides that same old moth-eaten rag rug.”
“Let me take your coat, unless this visit is going to be so short you needn’t take it off.”
He looked contrite. “I’m sorry.” He removed his coat, but simply tossed it over onto my bed. “I’ll get the other chair from the schoolroom,” he said. When he returned, he set it up against the opposite side of the table. He crossed his arms and straddled the chair.
“Can you finish your work while we talk?” he asked, watching me make a quick check mark next to a wrong arithmetic sum.
I nodded. “I’ve only got a few more papers, Ross. And then I can give, you my undivided attention,” I teased.
“That’s all I came for.” He grinned and then watched me work over the sheets. “What you said to Marba today...” he said and then stopped.
“What about it?” I asked, not raising my head. I shoved the completed paper aside and picked up another.
“That was nice of you.”
I glanced up with a frown. “I didn’t say it to be nice. I said it because I meant it.”
His mouth tilted up at one corner. “I’ve no doubt you did, Abigail.”
“She doesn’t have much of an opinion of herself, does she?” I said quietly.
“Marba has been through the mill more than once in her twenty-eight years,” he said in a bland tone. “She’s hardly going to think she’s a grand lady.”
“I’ve found her very warm-hearted,” I said. He seemed amused.
“Yes. She’s that," he said wryly, reaching into his pocket to pull out a long, slender cheroot. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
I shook my head, still watching his face with curiosity. Just what was this man’s relationship with Marba Lane? And why did he speak of her so disparagingly. As he lit the cigar, he watched my face. His own expression was veiled by the curling smoke.
“What are you wondering about?” he asked after inhaling deeply and letting it out slowly. I shook my head, reverting my attention to the last papers needing correction.
“You know, there isn’t anything you can’t ask me, Abigail,” Ross assured me softly. “If you’re curious about my relationship with Marba, don’t be. There was something between us for a while, but it’s long since over.”
I looked up and directly into his dark, compelling gaze. “I don’t like the way you talk about her.”
His brows moved up slightly. “How do you mean?”
“Critically.”
&nb
sp; “I like Marba. She’s a fine woman.” He drew another deep breath from the cheroot and let the smoke out with a slight tilt back of his head. The smell was not unpleasant. “I just don’t happen to have any interest in her anymore.”
I didn’t say anything, and he smiled at me.
“On the other hand, I find you very interesting. You’re educated, very attractive... and innocent.”
I laughed. “I’ve been warned about you, Mr. Persall. So don’t think you can woo me with words,” I teased him. His gaze narrowed, but he still smiled.
“Who’s been warning you? And what have they been saying?” he asked in a taunting voice.
“I won’t give you my source, but I was told you were an expert when it came to lonely, frustrated women,” I blurted out with my usual unthinking candor. Something flickered across his face. It was there and gone so fast that I couldn’t define it. Then he grinned devilishly.
“Are you frustrated, Abigail?”
“The good Reverend Hayes and James Olmstead are enough to frustrate anyone,” I said with a smile. Ross laughed deep in his throat, a pleasant, wholly amused sound. I wondered what I had said to give him such enjoyment.
“What a priceless piece of innocence you are.” He chuckled. Then he noticed that the ash on his cigar was getting dangerously long. He glanced around. “Where’s the little enamel ashtray?”
“What enamel ashtray?” I raised my brows, looking around. “I’ve never seen one.”
He looked momentarily disconcerted, and then gave a laugh. “Doesn’t everyone have an ashtray around?”
“Here, use this,” I said, shoving a saucer across the table to him. He frowned, and then tapped the ash loose to fall into the dish. He didn’t say anything as I finished correcting the last three papers. Ross Persall seemed very deep in his own thoughts.
When I finished my work, we talked about Sycamore Hill. He asked me questions about myself, and strangely, I didn’t hesitate in answering. I told him a great deal about my life with the Haversalls, more than I had admitted to Ellen Greer, my closest friend. I only wondered briefly why it was so easy to talk to Ross Persall. Perhaps it was his eager interest or his quietly receptive manner. Perhaps it was simply the right time for me to talk. Whatever it was, I confided many of my feelings.
We did not spend the entire time talking about me however. I asked many questions, and Ross told me much of his own poverty-stricken childhood in Louisiana. His family had once held a great deal of land and a beautiful plantation house. Much of the property had been confiscated after the Civil War and divided into small 40-acre plots for the slaves. Only a few years after that the land had fallen into the hands of Northern carpetbaggers. Ross’s father had drunk and gambled away whatever money the family had left following the war.
“He had a taste for expensive French brandy,” Ross said in a dry, bitter tone. Cleveland Persall had died drunk, leaving an ailing wife and one young son. Ross’s mother died when he was 14. He hustled small jobs for nickels and dimes, doing anything he could find. He learned that he had his father’s interest in gaming, but possessed a talent the deceased man had lacked. He developed his skill, made some connections in New Orleans and started as a dealer in a casino near the docks. From there, he became a manager with a small percentage of the profits. By the time he was 23, he had amassed enough to strike out on his own. A fight with a jealous husband had made it wise for him to head west.
“It’s not difficult to make money gambling if you use your head. It’s a matter of strategy, knowing the cards and the odds,” he told me, his face animated. I smiled at his enthusiasm. “I’ll bring a deck and teach you to play poker,” he promised.
It was well after one a.m. when Ross Persall got up to leave. My eyelids had begun to feel very heavy, and I had unsuccessfully tried to stifle several yawns.
“I’d like to come back,” he said, standing near the door, pulling on his heavy jacket.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Ross,” I told him, knowing that I had broken the rules tonight, and I did not want to make a habit of it.
He did not respond for a second. Then he smiled. “We’ve been very naughty tonight, haven’t we?” he mocked my guilty conscience. “Breaking all Hayes and Olmstead’s rigid rules. Tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself,” he dared.
“I did. Very much,” I admitted.
“How scandalous,” he teased. “If the good Reverend Hayes knew you had spent five minutes with me, he would be sure that something very wicked had taken place.” He chuckled.
“No doubt he would,” I said thoughtfully.
“His poor little wife is pregnant again,” Ross told me, unabashedly grinning. Then leaned down and looked into my startled face. “That’s why Hayes is so suspicious of everyone ... because he’s so deliciously wicked himself.”
“Ross, you’re terrible,” I said, embarrassed. Then I laughed. Ross straightened, still grinning like a mischievous boy. “Now what do you say? Can I sneak back in the night to visit with you every now and then?” He raised his right hand and looked suddenly solemn, though his eyes sparkled. “Just to talk, I swear.”
“Stop it.” I was still laughing.
“You’ve a right to some relaxation, you know," he drawled. “It’s not as though we’re doing what Hayes is. We’ve just been talking.” He grinned devilishly again. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.”
“Besides,” he dropped his voice conspiratorially, “I can be very, very discreet when the situation warrants it. Trust me.”
“Go home,” I ordered in mock sternness, refusing to answer one way or the other. He studied my face for an instant, and then his eyes glinted. He left without another word.
Arguing with a man like Ross Persall would have been like arguing with Daniel Webster himself. I was not even going to attempt it. I suspected that anything I might say, any arguments I might raise against his return, would be gainsaid.
I knew Ross Persall would return. And because I was lonely and enjoyed his company, I would welcome him, despite the rules. I had totally forgotten what Reva Gutierrez had said about Ross. He was an expert when it came to lonely, frustrated women.
Chapter Seventeen
My stomach was knotted into a queasy mass of nerves, and a nauseating headache was beginning to develop. I had not been feeling well for the past week, but I knew it was due to this evening. The children were presenting their Christmas play to the parents. I had no worries about them; they knew their parts well, their costumes were finished and waiting, and the refreshments were prepared and ready to be set out by the children and myself following the show. The schoolhouse had never looked so festive, with pine cuttings, painted cones, a small decorated tree, and bright crayon drawings of Christmas scenes and even soap snow in the windowpanes.
What had my stomach churning was the fear of seeing Jordan Bennett again, and having to speak to him. It had been six weeks since he had made love to me on the grass above the river pool. It had been two weeks since I had even glimpsed him in town. He had been coming out of Olmstead’s store as I had rounded McPherson. I had halted, conquering the urge to dart behind a tree and hide. Jordan had mounted his big stallion and started down Main Street. I forced myself to walk on, keeping my head high and face blank of emotion, though every sense I possessed seemed overly aware of him. He rode right by me, casting me one glance that made me remember with renewed and intensified shame every detail of what had taken place between us on that grassy slope.
If such a brief glimpse of him could do that to me, what would happen this evening when I had to face him and talk with him? I prayed he would not come. I prayed something would take him far, far away. Perhaps ranch business. Perhaps he would simply not wish to come.
The children were arriving. Margaret Hudson walked in with her parents and then went into my room to change into her costume. The Hayes boys came with their father and mother. The Reverend Hayes seemed very subdued, but watchful. I suspected
he was hoping for some great blunder on my part so that he could dismiss me. Elizabeth Hayes looked wan and tired. Beside her domineering husband, she seemed almost a nonentity. I pitied her being married to such a man.
Toby Carmichael, Chester and Harold Studebaker and Sherman and Grant Poole arrived next. Their parents wandered in soon afterward. Charles Studebaker greeted me warmly and returned several books he had borrowed. Berthamae seemed impressed with the children’s decorations and moved from arrangement to arrangement, admiring the handiworks. Katrina Lane arrived with her mother and Ross in tow. Marba looked very uncomfortable, but Ross grinned at me with a conspiratorial wink. I couldn’t help but flush slightly, thinking of our conversations after most of the townspeople were long asleep. He had come by twice since the first visit, and each had been as entertaining as the one before.
Every time the door opened, my heart lurched. I felt sick and dizzy with tension. Ellen Greer arrived, dressed somberly, with a simple brooch at her thin neck. She was leaning heavily on her niece’s arm, but raised a gnarled hand in hello and then took a seat toward the back of the classroom. When I saw Reva, I tried to still the trembling of my knees, knowing that right behind her must be Jordan. I focused my gaze purposely on Diego and Linda, who came rushing in together. With a few words to me, they went quickly into the back room to throw on their costumes for the play. I forced myself to look up and meet Jordan’s blue, enigmatic gaze. My hand knotted convulsively at my side.
“Good evening.” My greeting encompassed both Reva and Jordan. Reva chattered gaily, very excited about the evening ahead. Her son had a major part in the presentation, and she was proud. She looked around at the other parents, and there was a definite tilt to her head that dared them all.
Jordan had not said a word, but he was watching me. I wished he would look elsewhere, for his studious gaze was unnerving me more and more by the second. I could feel my cheek fluctuating between tingling heat and cold whiteness. Apparently satisfied by what he saw, he turned away. My relief was short-lived. A gnawing pain ate at my stomach as I saw him smiling and talking with Marba Lane across the room.
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