by Holly Bush
Max grumbled.
“You will, Melinda,” Jolene said. “You will be managing the Shelby family’s considerable holdings in property and investments, and preparing the next generation, and your sister or brother, to help you.”
“That is not the same,” Melinda whined.
“What would you like to do when it is time to decide?” Jolene asked.
Nothing in this conversation or in the energy surrounding it was anything like the family dinners at Willow Tree, now often just Mother, Father, and her, and done mostly in silence, other than when Mother berated someone in her sphere. The great knot in Jennifer’s stomach was slowly unwinding. How calming it would be to not have constant tension, to relax and not be so wary. She awoke from her thoughts when Max spoke to her.
“Jolene says that according to your father, a certain gentleman has become a favorite of yours. When will we get to meet him?”
Her peace was interrupted even without his name being mentioned. How would she ever escape him? Would she ever have this comfort that she felt with Jolene’s family as her own? She looked up at Max.
“He is not my favorite, and I have recently told Father so.”
Jennifer concentrated on her meal then and keeping her hands from shaking as she reached for her wineglass. Max excused himself early to meet with a fellow senator, and Jolene gave her an extensive tour of the house, from the attics to the staff quarters. Melinda held her hand and swung their arms between them as if they did not have a care in the world. When they came to Melinda’s rooms, she asked if she could stay behind from the rest of the tour as she was still arranging them to her liking.
“Of course,” Jolene said to her and kissed her forehead. “Young ladies like to have their things just so.”
“You and Melinda seem quite affectionate,” Jennifer said as they settled themselves into comfortable chairs in Jolene’s private rooms.
“We are. It is quite astonishing to you, I imagine, knowing how we were with Mother growing up.”
Jennifer nodded. “It seems as though that is the way it is supposed to be. I remember going to my friend Ruth Edgewood’s house and sometimes eating dinner with them when Mother allowed it. The Edgewoods talked about all kinds of interesting things and there was always laughter and . . . well, it always made me wonder why our family dinners were not like that.”
“I am very fortunate to have found Maximillian. He has drawn me into viewing life from a much different perspective. He is happy that he is alive and that Melinda is well and that he married me . . . although sometimes I wonder.” Jolene stopped and dabbed her eyes. “I am an emotional mess with this impending motherhood.”
“I am glad for you.”
Jolene nodded. “It all makes me think of little William, and makes me alternately joyful and terrified. But Maximillian is my bulwark. He tells people about our son William and that we lost him to the influenza. He acts as if he was William’s father, and when I questioned him he told me that I birthed and loved William and therefore he loves him because he loves me. He said that I consider Melinda my daughter, and why shouldn’t he consider William his son? What am I to say in the face of that resolve?”
“He is a very special person.”
“He is,” Jolene agreed and sipped a cold tea, and then turned in her chair to face Jennifer. “Your response to Maximillian at dinner when he mentioned Jeffrey Rothchild leads me to believe he is less than special.”
Jennifer sat in silence, listening to the crack of the fire as logs broke and watching their sparks fly. “He is not special at all. In fact, he is not a pleasant man.”
“In what ways, Jennifer? Has he been unkind or ungentlemanly?” Jolene asked with a keen eye.
She did not know why but she was unwilling to share this humiliation with Jolene, as she had planned. She was embarrassed, for certain, but that was not the whole of it. Ghastly as it seemed, there was a small voice whispering to her that perhaps she deserved whatever punishment Jeffrey saw fit to deliver. Perhaps she was in the wrong. Perhaps that was the reason that everyone in her family had deserted her in one way or another.
“He is not a good person, Jolene, but it is unnecessary for you to be concerned. Maybe I have given into hysterics.”
“It is absolutely necessary for me to be concerned. I had problems and tragedies in my life and managed them alone, with little success I later learned. Julia had problems, too, and she managed them alone and could have ended up married to a man who beat her or killed her. Thankfully she married an honorable man who adores her and all of their children. I have come to realize, like you, that our family did not function as it should have as we grew up. Maximillian would never let someone struggle alone or in desperation. If his sister telegraphed him that she was having a problem he would walk off the Senate floor in that instant, even if President Cleveland himself were in conversation with him. I have found that an outward-looking psyche is healthy, and that constant and never-ending secretiveness and internalization are not.”
“They may not be, but secretively is how we function at Willow Tree.”
“It does make one susceptible to unpleasantness if surrounded by unpleasant people. That is why I have urged you repeatedly to live with us indefinitely.”
“I cannot.”
“But why not? I know that Turner left you a lump sum in his will. Between that and what Father would give you, you would certainly have a comfortable income.”
“It is not the money, Jolene. I live a relatively modest lifestyle.”
“Then what is it?”
Jennifer sat back in her chair and sipped her tea. She stared off into the fire. “It is many things, Jolene, that keep me there. I am very concerned about what Father would do if I left. He has been morose since Jillian left to live with Julia, and Mother is a constant trial for him. I feel terribly guilty because Jeffrey and Mother think I canceled this trip, and I asked Father to let them know when I don’t come home this evening that I have come away to see you.”
“And they will blame Father in some way. I didn’t know you had planned on canceling this trip.”
“The Morgans’ gala is this week and Jeffrey had already replied that we would be there. He was angry that I would not cancel the trip and angrier still that I denied his wishes in front of Mother and Father.”
“What prompted him to think you had canceled this trip then?”
Jennifer turned away, concentrating on the embroidered doilies on the arms of her chair. “I said as much to appease him. I do hate to be the source of conflict, but now it seems I have created more.”
Chapter Five
Zeb arrived home on Seventeenth Street after seven in the evening via a carriage for hire outside the offices that Max had leased for his staff. He was not sure if he’d ever been so exhausted in his entire life, meeting the staff, assessing his duties and responsibilities, and making himself familiar with the current Senate business, mostly involving monetary policy and proposals for a central U.S. bank. The day had begun before dawn and he had several early meetings to prepare for for the next day, but Max had asked him to come for dinner.
Max said his wife was insistent that he come, and although he was not terribly fond of Jolene Shelby, he was indebted to her for setting up his household prior to his arrival, even knowing she had spent a large sum of his money without his approval. He was grateful though, especially after having a taste of the pace that would have to be set in order to keep Max fully familiar with upcoming Senate business and managing the staff. Zeb knew that he would have worn his eleventh Taitlinger suit and have had no time to launder any of the previous ten let alone prepare a meal.
He arrived at Max and Jolene’s home within the hour and took a long look around the massive foyer, with a winding staircase about its edge, as the butler took his coat.
“I thought I heard the door close,” Max said as he came toward him, napkin in hand. “Come. We’ve started eating mostly because Jolene feels better if she eats at regular
intervals.”
Zeb had been shocked when Max told him earlier in the day that Jolene was expecting their child. He was unsure why, but he just didn’t view Jolene as motherly even though she’d had quite a positive effect on Melinda. It was just then that he heard a shriek from the landing above. He looked up to see Melinda racing down the steps. She skidded to a stop just in front of him.
Zeb took off his hat and made a formal bow. “Miss Melinda Shelby. I do declare you are the most lovely young lady I have ever met.”
Melinda curtsied and giggled and then launched herself into his arms. “I’ve missed you!”
“Me, too,” he said and kissed her hair. “Have you had your dinner?”
“I ate earlier with Miss Burberry,” she said.
“Zeb hasn’t eaten all day, Melinda,” Max said. “We’re going to get some food in his belly before he faints. Hurry along now. It’s near your bedtime. Your mother and I will check in on you later.”
Melinda went up the steps, waving to him at every landing, until she disappeared above. “I was concerned she wouldn’t care for city living, having grown up at the Hacienda, but she seems very happy,” Zeb said. “I miss her.”
“She misses you,” Max said, and steered him down a long hall to an open set of double doors, where soft light spilled into the hallway.
Zeb walked into the dining room, knowing at first glance that it was large and elegant, nothing like the alcove where he and Max had grabbed their meals at the Hacienda when not eating in the kitchen. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jolene rise from her place and walk toward him. But his eyes, his focus, had been arrested by a woman seated directly across from the chair a servant now held for him to be seated in. Jennifer Crawford.
They stared at each other, for some long moments, Zeb thought, before he inclined his head and spoke her name. Her lips moved but he could not hear her whispered response. She was as stunningly beautiful and as outwardly delicate as he remembered her, with her golden hair piled casually on her head and her long lashes wafting furiously around sea-green eyes as she returned his regard.
“Miss Crawford,” he repeated. “It is good to see you. You are looking very lovely.”
It was then he remembered someone stood at his side. “Jolene,” he said and turned then to her, taking both of her hands in his. “It is very good to see you again, too.”
Jolene’s eyebrows arched. “Really, Zebidiah? At first I didn’t think you knew I was even in the room.”
Zeb waited until Jolene was reseated and sat himself, spreading the linen napkin across his lap. He looked across the table just as Jennifer glanced at him. She quickly looked down at her plate.
“I want to thank you, Jolene, for arranging a house for me and the furnishings and the staff,” he said. “I would have never had time to make all the arrangements, and I’d be sleeping on the settee in my office. Everything is in perfect order, thanks to you.”
“You’re welcome,” Jolene replied. “I don’t imagine you will be terribly pleased when the bills arrive, but I doubt I’ve beggared you.”
“My sister nearly did that,” he said, and then proceeded to tell them about his morning spent at Taitlinger’s and amused them all with Mr. Taitlinger’s anticipation of all of his purchases. “So I have arrived with a trunk full of suits and ties and shirts and shoes and even something called a tuxedo that Mr. Taitlinger was very excited about.”
Zeb looked across the table at Jennifer, who was smiling at him and at his story. She took his breath away. When their eyes met, her laughter faded, and her cheeks went pink as he stared at her, unable to break himself away from the picture she made.
“What did you think of your first day in the Capital?” Max asked.
Zeb relaxed after his initial shock at seeing Jennifer and he and Max chatted about the day until Jolene cleared her throat and stood. Zeb and Max stood as well.
“Why don’t you take Zebidiah to the front parlor, Jennifer? Dessert and cordials will be served while Maximillian and I check in on Melinda.”
Max met Jolene at the door, leaving Jennifer and him alone. “May I escort you to the parlor?” he asked.
* * *
Jennifer rose and made her way to the door of the dining room, and Zebidiah followed. She knew that at some point she would be together with him while she visited Max and Jolene, but she was not prepared for seeing him this way, in an intimate setting, in his dress clothes and looking handsome and civilized. And now, alone together. She was still unable to stop her cheeks from reddening when she thought about him, and worse still, seeing him, she recalled the embarrassing scene in the bunkhouse at the Hacienda.
Zebidiah followed one step behind and just to her left. He didn’t touch her in any way or even offer his arm, but she could feel him up and down her side as if he were tightly up against her as she escorted him down the carpeted hallway. The parlor door was open, and household staff were stoking the fire, attending the lamps, and laying out pastries and desserts, all quietly leaving when Jennifer entered the room. There was a coffee and tea tray on the cart, and she walked to it immediately.
“Coffee, Mr. Moran?”
“Zeb or Zebidiah, please,” he said. “Coffee would suit me, Miss Crawford.”
Jennifer served his coffee, poured herself tea, and sat in a chair near the fire, across from the brocade couch.
“May I get you some dessert, Miss Crawford?”
“No. Thank you. And you must call me Jennifer,” she said as she sipped her tea, concentrating on the delicate flowered pattern of the china saucer.
Zeb Moran was all that was masculinity even when deathly ill, she thought, recalling him stretched out on a bunkhouse bed at The Hacienda. She had just arrived at Jolene and Max’s ranch, having survived her maid leaving her to fend for herself as soon as someone mentioned the influenza at the Dallas train station, and the driver it had taken her hours to hire leaving her in the middle of the great open prairie, without a house or a person within sight. She’d seen a rider coming to her across the grasslands, as she sat on her overturned trunk, and had sent a terrified prayer to her maker that she would survive the encounter. It had been Max, thankfully, returning home from Houston on horseback as soon as he’d heard the influenza had hit the Hacienda. He’d hauled her up before him on his massive horse and continued on to find his ranch in disrepair, his staff exhausted or ill, and his daughter on her deathbed.
Jennifer had hurried to help Jolene, who was barely standing as she nursed Melinda. When the child’s fever broke, Max asked Jennifer to check on those who were still sick or recovering in the bunkhouse, especially his ranch manager, while he tended his wife and daughter. And that is when she saw Zeb Moran for the first time, finding him alone and thrashing with fever, sweat-soaked and pale. She’d wiped his face and arms with cool water and changed the top sheet and blankets covering him. When he finally settled into a quiet sleep, Jennifer stepped to the window, unbuttoned her blouse, and removed it.
It had been just five days prior that she stood alone with Jeffrey in a small, rarely used room near the front entrance of Willow Tree. Her bags and trunks were being loaded onto a carriage, and her mother encouraged Jeffrey to say his good-byes to her in private. She was annoyed with her mother for suggesting such a thing, but excited as well. She and Jeffrey had been seeing each other on a regular basis and she was flattered with the attentions of such a handsome, charming man who was the favorite of every Boston debutante. She was wondering if he would kiss her, her stomach fluttering, and hoping he would. She remembered smiling up at him and sobering quickly at the look on his face.
“Jeffrey? What is wrong?” she asked.
“Wrong? What is wrong, Jennifer? You are leaving Boston when I have expressly told you it would displease me.”
“But we discussed this all days ago and I thought—” Jennifer said before crumbling to the floor.
She’d never experienced pain of that intensity and struggled to breathe, finally giving into panic in a
faint. She’d awakened in Jeffrey’s arms as he patted her face with a hanky.
“What happened?” she whispered.
“Oh, my dear Jennifer,” Jeffrey said as he kissed her forehead. “I am so very sorry to have to punish you, but you must learn to obey me. It is the nature of the relationship between men and women.”
Jennifer had been confused, wondering if she’d misheard his speech in the midst of the relentless pain in her side. He had stood abruptly, pulling her to her feet, leaving her nauseous and groaning.
“Shush,” he said. “Certainly you do not want the servants to see you in such a state. Straighten your back, Jennifer. You must hurry or you will miss your train.”
She had let him lead her out to the entranceway, her hand on his arm. She remembered being unsteady on her feet and their butler, Bellings, looking at her strangely. Jeffrey had led her to the waiting carriage and kissed her on the lips softly, staring into her eyes and announcing to all that he would be counting the days until her return, and then had whispered in her ear that he was very, very sorry that she was in pain. Had begged her to believe that he didn’t mean to hurt her, that she was the love of his life, but she’d best be home on the appointed day or he could not guarantee his behavior.
The door had closed on the carriage and then she did vomit, and the maid accompanying her because Eliza had been ill, a silly girl, had merely stared at the remnants of Jennifer’s breakfast on the floor of the carriage, refusing to clean it up. Jennifer had pondered many times since that morning why she did not just cry out for her father or even to Bellings. Even as weak as her father sometimes was and Bellings just a servant, neither would have let her be assaulted in such a way. But she hadn’t cried out. Nor had she told anyone what had happened until she’d returned from Texas and told Eliza. Much of it had seemed unreal, and she’d wondered who would believe her. She’d even let herself think it hadn’t really happened until she’d taken a particularly deep breath and dealt with the ensuing pain.