by BJ Hoff
Obviously, he felt no urgency to see that his dismissal was carried out but turned sharply and started back inside. “Get yourself in here, woman!” he shouted over his shoulder. “You’ve enough to do without standing out there blathering to some busybody.”
The woman darted a look at Samantha, who realized for the first time that Maura Shanahan seemed to have either an injured or perhaps a withered left arm; the entire time she’d been standing there, she had kept the arm drawn up against her side, slightly crooked at the elbow but motionless. Her mouth trembled as she started to back up toward the door. “I’m sorry,” she stammered, again glancing behind her. “You’d better go now. I—have you seen my Willie?”
“No, I haven’t, Mrs. Shanahan. But I’ll be glad to see that he gets a message from you, if you like.”
The woman lifted a hand to her hair. “Just tell him…that his mother said to take care of himself.” She brushed the hair away from her face, and Samantha saw it then, the ugly bruise mottling her temple. Her stomach knotted, and she fought against the nausea welling up in her. There would be similar bruises on her arms, concealed by the long sleeves of her dress, and perhaps others as well over her body. And that arm, that poor thin arm the woman had been favoring throughout their exchange, was no doubt stiff or injured from being wrenched…
“I’ll tell him,” Samantha choked out. She swayed slightly, fighting off the weakness that threatened to seize her. She had to get away from here before she was ill. On impulse, she dug down inside her bag for a pencil and paper. “Mrs. Shanahan,” she said, trying to stop the shaking of her hand as she scrawled on the paper, “here’s my name and an address where you can reach me if you should—” she glanced up, then handed the paper to Maura Shanahan—“if you should want to talk with me about Willie…or anything else. I teach a class there every Tuesday and Thursday evening until eight. And on Friday afternoons I’m at the new Negro school on Mercer Street. Please, feel free to come and see me.”
Samantha gave the woman a quick, forced smile, then turned and practically ran up the steps. She knew she had to get out of there, had to get away from Maura Shanahan before she lost the last remnant of her self-control. She could not endure the woman’s obvious pain, her humiliation, a moment more.
When she reached the front of the building, she scarcely noticed the same group of men who had jeered at her only minutes before. She had all she could do not to take off running. The entire distance to the church, she felt as if the dogs of her past were hot on her heels in pursuit.
The first person Jack saw when he entered the church basement was Samantha Harte. She was standing with Amelia, near one of the serving tables at the far end of the room, looking absolutely splendid in a simple frock of a dusky rose hue, her only adornment a bit of frothy lace at the throat. She was just as lovely, her bearing as coolly elegant, as he remembered.
Just inside the door, he caught Rufus by the arm to stop him from going any farther. “What’s Samantha Harte doing here?”
Rufus glanced across the room, then at Jack. “You know Mrs. Harte? Isn’t she a fine woman, though?”
Jack nodded, not taking his eyes off Samantha Harte. Three rows of long banquet-length tables stood between them, and he took advantage of the distance to study her.
“How is it that you know her, Jack?”
Jack turned to look at him. “Actually, I don’t know her—at least not very well. She’s an employee.” At Rufus’s look of surprise, he went on to explain. “Mrs. Harte proofreads for me on a part-time basis. I met her through Sheridan, my driver. She’s the instructor at the night school he attends.” Jack returned his attention to the woman across the room. “You didn’t say what she’s doing here.”
“Why, Mrs. Harte is one of our volunteer teachers,” Rufus said. “She donates her Friday afternoons to the school. Yes, indeed, she is a fine woman. A good woman,” Rufus said pointedly. “Amelia thinks the world and all of her.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Jack said, his attention still diverted as he watched Samantha Harte now turn to survey the room. Her gaze locked with his, and Jack smiled and gave a small bow when he saw her look of surprise.
“Rufus,” he said, not taking his eyes off Samantha Harte. “A favor?”
“Why, anything for you, Jack. Anything at all.”
“Seat me beside Mrs. Harte at the table, would you?”
Jack wasn’t so distracted that he missed the smile in Rufus’s voice when he replied. “I surely will, Jack. I surely will.”
With a quick check of the carnation in his lapel, Jack started to make his way across the room.
Samantha was just beginning to put the visit to Maura Shanahan behind her and relax when she saw Jack Kane standing next to Rufus, looking directly at her. There was no accounting for the sense of panic that slammed into her at the sight of him.
He caught her eye, gave her a roguish smile, and bowed. As Samantha saw him start toward her, she whipped around to Amelia. “What is he doing here?”
Amelia followed the direction of Samantha’s gaze. “Jack? Why, land, he and Rufus have been friends forever.”
Samantha stared at her. “Jack Kane…and Rufus? You aren’t serious?”
Amelia smiled as if she understood Samantha’s surprise and was completely unoffended by it. “Not exactly what you’d expect, I reckon, but they do get on. Always have.” She looked at Samantha with a puzzled frown. “I didn’t realize you knew Jack.”
Samantha shook her head. She could almost feel Kane closing in on her and tried to ignore the frantic clamoring of her heart, the sudden dryness of her mouth. “I—I’ve been working part-time for Mr. Kane from my home, proofreading. His driver—one of my night-school students—introduced us.”
“You’re working for Jack?” Amelia beamed. “Well, now, isn’t that nice, Samantha! He is such a fine man!”
Samantha stared at her. “Jack Kane?”
Amelia laughed and ran a hand over her perspiring brow before bending over the table to rearrange a few of the dishes that had been moved too close to the edge. “Oh, I know all the stories about Jack, but I don’t pay them any heed. This town don’t know all there is to know about Jack Kane—nor half of what it owes him, and that’s the truth!”
Samantha’s eyes widened still more in disbelief. “Are you serious, Amelia?”
“I reckon no one knows Jack Kane any better than Rufus and me, and I can tell you that man is not the devil he’s made out to be. No, sir,” Amelia said emphatically, straightening. “Not at all. He’s just a man who made some mistakes when he was young. Don’t we all?” She shook her head. “Some folks can’t seem to get past the man he used to be long enough to get to know the man he is today. Jack, he’s just a lonely man who’s got nothing much in his life except money—and maybe too much of that.”
“Lonely?” Samantha parroted. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Kane and Rufus stop to speak to one of the deacons in the church. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same man, Amelia?”
Amelia nodded, the satin sheen of her black hair catching the light from the lamps flickering around the room. She, too, was watching Rufus and Kane as they stood talking. “Oh, Jack’s lonely, all right—not that he’d admit it.” She looked at Samantha. “He was married once, you know.”
Samantha hadn’t known.
Amelia gave a long sigh. “They weren’t married all that long before Martha took sick and passed away. Jack did love that woman. I think he still misses her, though she’s been gone a long time now.”
Samantha swallowed against the thickness in her throat. Somehow the thought of Jack Kane as a loving husband or a lonely widower was almost impossible to grasp. “But what is he doing here?” she asked again.
A head taller than Samantha, Amelia smiled down at her. “Why, Samantha, honey,” she said, “if it weren’t for Jack Kane, we wouldn’t be havin’ this supper tonight! There wouldn’t be a school. Jack, he put up almost all the money for it, don’t you know?”
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She stopped, eyeing Samantha with a peculiar expression before slowly turning to Jack Kane with a big smile as he reached the two of them.
“Jack! I knew you’d show up!” Amelia said, laughing. “And won’t you be glad you did, once you see the dessert table!”
Stunned, Samantha watched Jack Kane draw Amelia’s ample frame into a brisk hug and kiss her lightly on the cheek. “How are you, my beauty?” he said, grinning as he set her at arm’s length to admire her. “How did an old dog like Rufus ever win such a woman?”
Then he turned to Samantha. “Mrs. Harte,” he said, his voice low as he gave that quick, mocking bow again. “My elusive employee. I’m delighted to see you again.”
Samantha swallowed with difficulty. For one insane moment she half feared he was going to embrace her as he had Amelia, and she took an involuntary step backward.
One corner of his mouth quirked, and his dark eyes danced as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Embarrassed, Samantha felt the heat rise to her face and, for the second time that day, knew the urge to run.
25
A MEETING ON MERCER STREET
And I knew what it meant
Not to be at all.
RHODA COGHILL
Seated at the table to Jack Kane’s left, directly across from Rufus and Amelia, Samantha struggled to swallow another bite of chicken. She knew her anger toward the man at her side was irrational, but at the moment she didn’t much care. Had it not been for Kane, she would have been able to enjoy Amelia’s succulent chicken and dumplings. As it was, every morsel she took into her mouth tasted as bitter as old coffee grounds and seemed to bond with her throat all the way down.
It was evident that Jack Kane was having no such problem. Out of the corner of her eye, Samantha saw Kane attack his third helping of dumplings as eagerly as if it were his first. Between mouthfuls, he and Rufus had been trading stories about some of the more colorful city officials, regaling each other like a couple of schoolboys. Obviously, they found themselves highly amusing.
It was a noisy gathering, partly because most of the families were large, with several children, a number of whom had finished eating and were scampering in and out among the tables, laughing and poking at each other. Rufus had more than once ordered them back to their places, but they obviously knew their good-natured preacher too well. For the most part, they simply waved and went on.
Samantha had actually been looking forward to this evening, and she resented Jack Kane’s showing up to spoil it. She thought she might even resent Rufus for inviting him—and that was irrational. Most of all, she resented herself for letting a man like Kane get under her skin to the point that she couldn’t even enjoy a church supper. She might have found him easier to ignore if Amelia hadn’t confused her with all that talk about Kane’s reputation not being entirely deserved, planting just enough doubt in Samantha’s mind that she now found it somewhat more difficult to dislike him.
But why was she so set on disliking Kane in the first place?
The question unsettled Samantha more than she cared to admit. Up until now, she had found it fairly easy to rationalize her feelings about her employer. He represented everything she had been taught to abhor, everything any decent Christian woman would find anathema. Jack Kane was a known libertine. A gambler, a mercenary, a womanizer. A shark. Before tonight, aversion would have been a perfectly natural response—indeed the only acceptable response—to a man of his reputation.
But now, if the rumors had been exaggerated as Amelia seemed to believe, Samantha supposed she had to consider the possibility that her own judgment of him might have been unfair. After all, she had formed her opinion of Kane on little more than hearsay. Even so, she wasn’t entirely convinced of Amelia’s defense of the man. Wasn’t it just possible that Rufus’s friendship with Kane might have clouded the Carvers’ perception?
On the other hand, she had always known Amelia to be remarkably objective about everything and everyone, even Rufus and the children. That made it difficult to simply disregard her remarks about Jack Kane.
In light of that, why was she still so set on disliking him?
The unsettling reply came roaring in on her like a tidal wave. The truth was that her dislike of Kane amounted to little more than self-deception—because in some perverse way she was actually attracted to him.
The admission stunned her. Samantha had never thought to feel even a vague attraction to any man after Bronson. In fact, she would have thought the very idea impossible. The realization that she had deceived herself, that a man like Jack Kane could actually hold some sort of appeal for her, shook her to the point that she froze with a momentary sense of panic.
Suddenly, Samantha was keenly aware of the shoulders that were too wide to comfortably fit the space between her and Dr. Younger without brushing against her, as well as the faint scent of cinnamon and tobacco she’d noticed the night she had met Jack Kane for the first time. She couldn’t seem to drag her gaze away from the movement of those large, sturdy hands every time he lifted his water glass or his silverware. And when he laughed, the deep, rich rumble struck a chord that resonated somewhere inside her.
Instinctively, she edged to the other side of her chair as much as possible. As if sensing her movement, Kane turned to her, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable. Amusement, Samantha thought, resenting him anew for the fact that he seemed to find her so entertaining.
“You’re not enjoying your supper, Mrs. Harte?” he said. “I hope you’re not unwell.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she replied formally, keeping her eyes focused on her plate. Her food was virtually untouched, and she made a quick, almost involuntary stab at a piece of chicken. She could feel him watching her as she lifted the fork to her mouth. Her hand jerked with the motion, causing her to gouge her lower lip. She suppressed a wince and resolutely began to chew the chicken, trying not to choke as she swallowed it.
“I hope Cavan Sheridan gave you my message,” Kane said, matching the formality of her tone.
Samantha glanced at him, not comprehending.
“I asked him to convey to you how impressed I am with your work.”
“Oh—yes, he told me. I—yes, thank you. I’m glad you’re pleased. I’m…enjoying the work, actually.”
“Good, I was hoping you would.”
This line of banal chatter seemed harmless enough, and Samantha tried to cooperate. “Cavan is doing extraordinarily well in his studies,” she volunteered.
He took a sip of water before replying. “I should hope so. I seldom see the lad without a grammar or a dictionary, and I notice the midnight oil is often burning in his room.”
“He’s very dedicated.”
Kane seemed intent on finding at least one more bite of chicken. He managed and, after finishing it off, said offhandedly, “Still sweet on you, is he?”
“I beg your pardon,” Samantha fairly snapped at him. She glanced across the table to see if Rufus or Amelia had heard, but the two of them were engrossed in conversation with their oldest son, Gideon.
“I asked if Sheridan is still sweet on you, or has he recovered?”
“You needn’t make it sound like a disease,” Samantha said caustically. While she wouldn’t want him to think she had encouraged Cavan—she would never have done so—she didn’t particularly like the idea that he considered her something to “recover” from. He grinned at her but, to Samantha’s annoyance, made no apology.
Dessert was a fairly lengthy process, involving a long stroll down the aisle to choose one’s favorites from among the countless varieties lining the table. Jack followed Samantha back to their places, holding her chair for her as she sat down. As he seated himself, he glanced from his own plate, with its two samplings of cake and generous slice of apple pie, to her dainty serving of custard.
“Do you always eat so little?” he said, so absorbed in the way her dark lashes brushed the delicate curve of her cheek that he suddenly lost interest in his o
wn food.
She looked at him, blinked, then turned her gaze back to the custard in front of her. “I…must have eaten too much dinner. I’m really not all that hungry.”
In truth she had eaten hardly any dinner at all, but Jack let the remark pass. “I confess that I’d make room for Amelia’s apple pie, no matter what,” he said amiably. “That woman is the best cook in New York City.”
Samantha smiled and nodded. “Rufus says that’s why he’s always outgrowing those wonderful vests she sews for him.”
Jack looked around, saw Amelia gathering her choir members together on the other side of the room, and smiled. “I believe we are to be treated to some music.”
“Have you heard them? They’re a superb choir.”
Jack nodded. “A performance by the Mercer Street Tabernacle Choir is quite an event, even for a sinner like myself.”
Samantha Harte turned and looked directly at him. Much to his surprise, Jack found himself slightly unnerved by that searching, amber-flecked gaze.
“According to Amelia,” she said gravely, “you’re really not such a sinner at all. Should I believe her…or you?”
The instant the words were out, she flushed slightly. No doubt Samantha Harte was not one given to impulsive remarks. Jack studied her, intrigued and at the same time somewhat amused. “Ah, well, I’d advise you not to pay any heed to Amelia,” he said lightly. “She knows very well I’m a terrible man, but, softhearted soul that she is, she pities me all the same.”
Not quite comfortable with the way she was studying him, he moved to change the subject. “I wanted to tell you that I’ve seen a great deal of improvement in young Sheridan already. Your tutoring is obviously successful.”
She regarded him for another moment, then returned her attention to the custard in front of her. “He’s extremely bright, you already know that. I don’t so much tutor Cavan as make the material available to him and monitor his progress. If you don’t mind my saying so, it’s almost a waste to employ him as a driver. He’s far too capable for that sort of position.”