Wild Flower

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Feeling cold inside, Taylor supplied the words that he’d obviously meant to use. “The savages? Why would they live among the savages? Pretty, light-skinned people sleeping and eating with Indians?”

  “I didn’t mean that, Taylor. Not like that.”

  She retreated back into her Cherokee reticence and her impassive expression. “You call me a liar. And yet you call me Taylor. You speak my name, but you do not respect me. You do not know me. I will go away from here. And this time, you will not stop me … white man.”

  Chapter Eight

  Grey spent the late afternoon in seclusion in his library downstairs. Seated in his favorite leather-upholstered chair, his elbows propped atop his knees, his head in his hands, he mourned. There was no other word for it. He was in mourning. No one had died. And not one thing was wrong anymore in his world. It had all been put to rights, including his domestic situation. All was quiet out in the horse barn and the carriage house. And inside, Mrs. Scott had somehow rounded up the maids and got them to come back. So, by late afternoon, the house had been depressingly clean and quiet. Bentley was terrifyingly chipper and lucid. And Cook had prepared a wonderful lunch. But much to that autocratic and forbidding little woman’s disapproval, Grey had hardly been able to eat.

  Other than that, he had bathed, paid the bills, attended to the mail, had the tailor in to begin the fittings for the formal wear he’d need for Franklin’s wedding, and even signed a sheaf of business papers sent by courier to him from Franklin. Grey had surprised himself by actually reading the legal documents until he understood them. Following that, he had turned down three social engagements—and one summons from his mother—because tonight, this very evening, he intended to repair to his favorite club for activities he could understand. Drinking and cards. Laughter and male camaraderie.

  In fact, Franklin had sent word that he’d join Grey for a space of time before he went round to Amanda’s. The Stanley Jameses were entertaining Franklin, as well as his and Grey’s mother, tonight, so even she was accounted for. Grey could see that dinner now with Taylor in attendance, assuming she would be. If she was, if she wasn’t stashed in an upstairs bedroom at the Jameses’, or hadn’t been thrown out on her ear, then his mother could quite possibly become a candidate for an early grave. The poor woman would believe she was losing her mind. It would seem to her that Taylor was everywhere.

  And poor Charles. Somehow, Franklin had talked him into joining him and Grey at the club. Admittedly, that invitation had been extended before Charles had got his upsetting message. So he may have already begged off to Franklin. Grey figured he’d find out soon enough.

  Even so, with all those possibilities multiplying like rabbits, Grey determinedly declared that life … at least for the next few and blessed hours, until the repercussions of Taylor’s presence were felt … was back to normal. His social calendar was full. The day had become uneventful. The sun was going down. The night’s activities promised to be merry—

  And Grey had never been unhappier. Or felt more empty. Taylor was gone. She’d saddled her horse and left, without taking the first things he’d bought her, except for the clothes on her back. She’d certainly made good on her promise.… She was gone. And he missed her.

  No, he didn’t. He couldn’t. He refused to. It was insane. He’d only known of her existence for less than twenty-four hours. How could he miss her? Well, he didn’t. What he meant, when he said he missed her—he tried to convince himself—was that he feared where she was and what havoc she was wreaking with her lies. He felt as if he’d lost control of a dangerous situation when he should have been able to quell it at its source. He felt as if he’d had it in his power to stop a tornado or an earthquake and he hadn’t stood up to the challenge. Just as he hadn’t done in the whole of his rich and idle life. It was as his mother had said. He’d never been challenged.

  Well, look what happens when I am, he berated himself. I completely failed to contain this disaster. And because I didn’t, or couldn’t, Taylor is gadding about town and spewing her lies and ruining people’s lives.

  “No!” Grey jumped to his feet, his fists raised to the ceiling. He could no longer lie to himself or keep his emotions inside. “She’s not lying. I’m lying to myself. She’s telling the truth, and I know it. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense.” He was bellowing now. “I believe her. And I miss her. I let her go, and I want her back. God, it’s true.”

  He took a deep breath and found himself facing row upon row of placid and innocent-looking leather-bound books stacked intimately together on their wooden shelves. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

  The door to the library opened. Grey jerked around. Bentley’s rounded little bird-face was poked around the door. “Did you call me, sir?”

  Grey stared at the old man … and wondered if he’d ever be able to look at Bentley without seeing the childlike wonder he’d witnessed in Taylor’s expression as she’d gazed upon her man-bird. He could still hear her trying haltingly to explain to him what this event meant to her. Grey roused himself, thinking it did no good to think of such things now. “No, Bentley, I didn’t call for you. Not unless your name is God.”

  Bentley blinked, as if startled. “Oh, I hardly think so, sir. Sorry to interrupt, then. But, sir…” He stopped, looked Grey over, and then began again. “There’s something I’d like to say, sir. May I proceed?”

  Grey waved a hand at him, giving permission. “Carry on.”

  “Thank you, sir. Forgive me … but you look a positive fright.”

  Amused, in a fatalistic way, Grey looked down at himself and chuckled. “A fright, eh?” He reeked of cigar smoke, and he’d already helped himself to the whiskey. His wrinkled shirt was all but untucked. His boots were scuffed from riding earlier this afternoon. And he’d been running his hands through his hair. No doubt, it stood on end. “I suppose I do.” He met his butler’s waiting gaze. “It’s not been a good day, Bentley.”

  “No, sir, I don’t suppose it has. Not for any of us, sir.”

  Then it got quiet. Grey stared at Bentley staring at him. “Was there anything else, Bentley?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir. Only, first, I must say … it’s awfully quiet around here now, isn’t it, sir?”

  “Except for my occasional outburst. Yes. I suppose it is.” Grey hadn’t meant to bring her up, but somehow talking about Taylor to Bentley, someone she had adored, seemed only natural. “I should think you’d be glad that Miss James is gone.”

  Bentley nodded his head emphatically. “Oh, I am that, sir. A most frightening time we’ve had of it. Most frightening.” Then he shook his head no just as vigorously. “No. I’m not being truthful, sir. I must confess that, to my horror, I actually miss her. I rather enjoyed, in retrospect, my stint as a sacred man-bird. It does something for a man to be so looked up to. No doubt you know what I mean, sir.”

  Though relieved to hear that he wasn’t the only one to miss her, Grey shook his head. “No. I don’t know what you mean, Bentley. I can’t say that anyone at all looks up to me. Nor should they.”

  Bentley’s expression puckered, as if he was angry and not about to put up with such nonsense. He came fully into the room, closing the door behind him. Grey’s eyebrows raised at this uncharacteristic behavior. “Sir, that’s not true at all. Everyone in your employ looks up to you. Indeed, the entire city. You’re a fine man. Philanthropic. Charitable in your nature as well as in your finances. You’re also civic-minded and a real force in this city’s development.”

  Grey made a sound of bemused protest and shook his head. “You’re confusing me with my younger brother, Bentley.”

  Bentley stepped farther into the room. “No, sir, not at all. You’re a good man in your own right. You simply choose to stay behind-the-scenes in most matters. You’re the force behind the family, sir.”

  Increasingly amused, Grey said, “I had no idea you thought so highly of me, Bentley.”

  “I do, sir. I couldn’t s
tay in your employ if I did not. And this … this Miss James situation has simply thrown you. As it would anyone. But you’ll recover, sir, and see it through to its end. It just seems hard right now because you’ve never before been challenged in such a way by life, sir.”

  “Well, that’s absolutely the truth, Bentley.” Several things were obvious to Grey. One, Bentley wasn’t the least bit doddering, as he sometimes gave the impression. Two, earlier this afternoon, while his mother had been here, his butler had been eavesdropping far longer than Grey had suspected. And three, judging by Bentley’s last comment, Grey surmised that his butler knew the crux of the dilemma, too. “I’ve not been challenged. You’re the second person to say that to me today.” Then Grey recalled Taylor saying he’d never walked in her shoes. “Or maybe the third.”

  Bentley pulled himself up to his full five feet of height, his pose rigid and classically that of a proper butler. “Am I, sir? The third? I say, that can become tiresome, then. I hope I wasn’t out of line.”

  “No. You’re not out of line. I’m the one who is. Now, if that’s all, Bentley?”

  “Actually, sir, Mrs. Scott would like a word with you. She says there’s something troubling her. And she does appear to be quite distressed.”

  Grey rubbed distractedly at his forehead, telling himself the last thing he wanted to hear was some petty something to do with the newly rehired maids. But, “All right. Send her in. And tell Cook I’ll be eating out tonight, not to prepare anything for me.”

  “Yes, sir. I hope you have a wonderful evening, sir.”

  Grey believed his answering smile to be a weak one. “I’ll try. Oh, and, Bentley?”

  The older man had turned away to leave the room. But now he again faced Grey. “Yes, sir?”

  “Thank you. For everything you said.”

  Bentley smiled and bowed formally. “You’re welcome, sir. And thank you for the twenty percent increase in my salary. I shall endeavor to put it good use.” With that, Bentley turned and marched, all but scurried, out of the room.

  That left Grey to stand there alone and frowning. Twenty percent increase in salary…? Then he had it. This morning. He’d promised Bentley a raise if he’d just spit his words out. Why, that sly old dog intends to hold me to it, too. Just as Grey chuckled at that, his good spirits restored, there was a knock on the library door. “Come in, Mrs. Scott!” he called out.

  The housekeeper did … and she’d been crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her cheeks and nose mottled with color. She dabbed a hankie to her eyes as she faced Grey. “Thank you for seeing me, sir.”

  “Good heavens, Mrs. Scott,” Grey said as he strode toward her. “Are you all right?” A silly question, one not requiring an answer beyond the vigorous shake of her head in the negative. Grey took her by her stout arm and steered her toward the leather chair he’d been keeping warm all afternoon. “Here. Sit here and tell me what this is about.”

  Mrs. Scott again shook her head vigorously, loosening a wisp of gray hair that hung from her usually tidy bun at the back of her neck. “I’ve done a terrible thing, sir. And I wouldn’t blame you if you simply let me go.”

  Frowning, again wondering when this eventful day would be over, Grey propped himself against his desk’s edge and crossed his arms. He looked down at his housekeeper. “Why don’t you tell me what you mean and we’ll go from there? Would you like something to calm you? A brandy, perhaps?”

  Mrs. Scott, a widowed and childless woman on the far side of fifty years, glanced up at him before sliding her gaze back to her hands, which knotted and twisted her hankie in her lap. “No, sir. Thank you. I’d just like to say what I came to say and get it over with.”

  Grey was quite concerned now. He’d never seen this efficient, no-nonsense woman be anything but calm and practical. “All right, then. Proceed. I take it this has nothing to do, then, with the maids? Or the household expenses? Have you uncovered some thievery?”

  She looked up at him now. “No, sir. None of that. Well, yes, sir, I suppose it could be about the maids. In a way. Or their leaving earlier. But not really, sir.”

  Grey wondered if he’d have to give her the same 20-percent raise he’d been frustrated into giving Bentley to get her to speak her mind. Had Bentley passed the word among the staff and now they all, one by one, meant to employ the same tactics until he was completely mad and beggared? “I beg you, Mrs. Scott, in the interest of time and sanity … proceed.”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir.” Then, heaving in a huge breath and speaking on her exhalation, she blurted, “I’m afraid that I’m partly responsible for Miss James’s leaving today, sir. Upstairs, earlier, when I was with her and going through the clothes you had me purchase for her, I was…” She stared again at her hands, now speaking more slowly. “Well, I was less than nice, sir. In fact, I was rude and insulting. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never spoken that way before to anyone. In my own defense, I can only say that I was very upset with the maids’ leaving and having everything thrown into my hands, as it were, sir, and I—”

  Gray’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. His stomach knotting, he peered down into Mrs. Scott’s unhappy face. “What happened—exactly?”

  “I don’t quite remember, sir. I believe I said something like ‘heathen savage,’ not realizing she spoke our tongue, and—”

  “Son of a … gun,” Grey muttered, but loud enough for Mrs. Scott to stop her narrative and stare wide-eyed up at him. Grey ran a hand over his mouth and stared back at the woman. What could he say? How could he reprove her when he’d as much as done the same thing—and more than once? “Tell me, Mrs. Scott, are you sorry only because she understood you, or—”

  “Oh, no, sir. I’m sorry because I said it at all. It was a very un-Christian-like thing to do. Why, I never suspected I was capable of saying such a thing, sir. I feel awful about this. And that poor girl. How she must feel now.”

  “Indeed.” Grey cocked his head at a questioning angle. “What did she say when you … said what you did?”

  To his surprise, a grin tugged at Mrs. Scott’s mouth. “Well, it wasn’t the least bit funny at the time, sir. But now it strikes me as so. She said she had no need of the, uh, particular undergarment I was holding. And that she would wrap the—forgive me, sir—corset around my own head and pull the strings tight until I could no longer breathe, if I didn’t clear out of her room right then. I don’t suppose I need to tell you that I did as she suggested, sir.”

  Grey couldn’t stop his own chuckling reaction to this fantastic story. “She does have a way about her, doesn’t she?” And Taylor was right. From what he’d seen, she had no need of corseting.

  “Yes, sir. And I dare say she was quite within her rights to make such a threat. I behaved abysmally to the poor girl. And I fear my behavior helped drive her away. Can you forgive me, sir? Or should I clean out my—”

  Grey’s raised hand had stopped her talking. “Please stay, Mrs. Scott. If you left, I’d only have to find you and rehire you. I do thank you for telling me of the incident when you really didn’t have to. That speaks to your character. And try not to fret. I don’t think your … harsh words with Miss James had anything to do with her leaving, no more than did Bentley’s undignified shrieking whenever she appeared. Or my own behavior toward her. The truth is, I told her to leave.”

  Mrs. Scott’s dark eyes rounded. “You, sir?”

  Despite the sudden guilty flush in his cheeks, Grey wasn’t about to explain his reasons to his housekeeper. He figured Bentley would do that. “Yes, and I’m living to regret it. We’ve all learned a lesson today about employing kindness and a bit of understanding with people unlike ourselves. All we can do is hope they will do the same with us.” Grey held a hand out, indicating she should precede him. He followed her to the closed door, reaching around her to open it. He then held it for her, adding, “Let’s endeavor to put the lesson to good use from today on, shall we?”

  “Yes, sir.” She turned an imploring
expression up to him. “Are you certain there’s nothing I can do to, well, get the young lady back? If that would be appropriate, I mean.”

  Grey smiled, seeing the need for a second chance in her eyes. He knew all too well that life did not often give one a second chance. “I thank you, Mrs. Scott. But I’m afraid there’s nothing anybody can do.”

  Grey closed the door behind his despondent housekeeper. Then he stood there, scanning the orderly library but not really seeing it once his attention directed itself inward to his own churning thoughts. He pondered his plans for this evening and those of everyone else who mattered to him. Lost in thought, he wandered over to the narrow floor-length windows behind his desk and stared out at the twilight. He crossed his arms, rocked back on his heels, and saw the face that tormented him. Jet-black hair framed a face resplendent with jewel-like blue eyes. High cheekbones and a generous mouth mocked him … dared him to accept the challenge that she was.

  A smile found its way to Grey’s face, a smile that said he accepted that challenge. “No, Mrs. Scott,” he muttered aloud in the otherwise empty room. “There’s nothing anybody can do. Except for me, that is.”

  Suddenly galvanized by his newly made decision, with renewed energy coursing through him and reflected in his determined stride, Grey crossed the library and opened the door. He left the room that had been his self-inflicted torture chamber and stalked across the narrow foyer to the stairs and sprinted up them.

  * * *

  An otherwise deserted but grassy bluff overlooking the wide and mighty Mississippi River afforded Taylor a panoramic view of the riverfront activity below her. As twilight fell, so did her strength and determination for her mission in St. Louis. Dismounting from Red Sky, she stood next to the paint gelding and held the long reins loosely in her hand, allowing him to graze. While he did, she turned toward the setting sun and slowly raised a hand to it, as if she could capture in her palm the warmth and solace this eternal source of light shed on its people. Finally, she lowered her fisted hand to her side.