by Holly Bush
Jennifer turned her head, looking out the long window of Jolene’s home to the wintered gardens, and envisioned herself unbuttoning her blouse that night in the bunkhouse, slowly pulling her chemise out of the waistband of her traveling skirts and lifting it up and over her breast, to see if the massive bruises she’d seen in the mirror on the train had faded at all, touching the center of the yellow and black flesh and drawing a deep painful breath as she did. That is when she’d realized Zebidiah Moran was no longer fevered and sickly but awake and staring at her in such a way as to make her shiver. Jennifer looked up to find him staring at her now, realizing that she’d spent minutes, maybe five or more, remembering and reliving those horrid days.
“Are you unwell, Jennifer?” he asked quietly. “You are peaked and you cried out.”
“I am fine,” she said. “Thank you for asking.”
He narrowed his eyes, holding her gaze. “I didn’t ask that as a pleasantry. I saw your side that night in the bunkhouse, no matter how much you deny it. I saw the bruises and heard your cry of pain when you touched them. Has he hit you again?”
She swallowed and looked away. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“I am talking about the fact that someone hit you hard enough to bruise you and maybe even break a rib. I am worried it has happened again.”
“Mr. Moran. Please do not be so familiar when speaking to me. Gentlemen do not bring up such a subject, especially over a lady’s objection.”
“Bullshit,” he said. “Whoever the gentleman was that hit you was more than familiar.”
She looked down. “I do not need to be harassed.”
“Is it your father, Jennifer?” he asked. “Has your father hit you?”
“How dare you? How dare you imply that my father would ever lay a hand on my person,” she hissed as she leaned forward in her chair.
“How are the cakes, Jennifer?” Jolene said from the doorway, Max just behind her.
“I do not know,” she replied, and looked up with a quick smile. “Dinner was so delicious I haven’t room for one more morsel. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Moran?”
“Yes,” he said, and stood. “It has been a lovely evening, especially becoming reacquainted with your sister, Jolene, but I have a very early day tomorrow and will make my good-byes now. Thank you for having me.”
“You’ll be a guest here often, I imagine,” Jolene said. “There will be no need to stand on formality here any more than there was at the Hacienda.”
“And you shouldn’t find me wandering around the Capital in chaps, boots, spurs, and a layer of Texas dirt, so there’ll be no need for you to remind me of the correct dinner attire.”
Max laughed, and Jolene smiled a wry smile. “Let’s hope not, Zebidiah. We can thank your sister for that, I suppose.”
Zeb turned to Jennifer. “It’s been very good seeing you again.”
She smiled. “And you as well.”
“I’ll see you out, Zeb,” Max said, and the two men left the room.
“It is very late and I am—” Jennifer began.
“What is this about Father hitting you? Why did Zebidiah ask you that?” Jolene demanded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jennifer said.
“When I came in the room you were very upset and said something about Father laying a hand on you. What is going on, Jennifer?”
Jennifer smiled and kissed her sister’s cheek. “You are imaging things, Jolene. I am off to bed.”
Jennifer climbed the steps to her room weary and furious that Zeb Moran had nearly given her away, and as equally confused as to why she cared if he did. She’d intended to tell Jolene, hadn’t she? But Jolene was expecting and Max was very busy. She would not interrupt their lives with this small matter. Jeffrey Rothchild was gone from her life and most likely charming some other unfortunate young lady at this very moment.
* * *
“I still cannot believe we are finally here,” Julia Crawford Shelling said to her sisters, now that she was settled in Jolene’s sitting room after arriving from South Dakota late in the morning. “Traveling with children can be an adventure.”
“I’m sure it can,” Jolene agreed. “But I am very, very glad you made the trip. It means quite a bit to me and Maximillian.”
“Jillian seems to be doing very well, especially considering she is fifteen years old,” Jennifer said. “I did not think it was possible for her to be more beautiful than she was as a child, but she is. She is lovely.”
“Jake says he is dreading when young men begin to come around,” Julia said with a laugh. “He will be standing on the porch with a shotgun much of the time.”
“Maximillian will be the same with Melinda. Perhaps that is why he and Jake seemed to get along well right away. They are together in Maximillian’s study now with trays of food and coffee,” Jolene said.
“Thank you so much for arranging extra staff to take care of Jacob and Mary Lou, Jolene,” Julia said. “I have help with laundry and cleaning at home, but otherwise I am with the children all the time. Which I love, of course, and Jillian does help, but this is a rare treat and I am going to enjoy the peace while I can!”
“Melinda and Jillian seem to be enjoying each other’s company,” Jennifer observed. “I saw them in Melinda’s room, their heads bent over a book.”
“This is good for them both, I believe,” Jolene replied. “Perhaps they will begin writing to each other.”
Jennifer watched Jolene and Julia smile at each other, and it was astonishing considering their shared past. Jennifer was glad that they seemed to have let their hurts and agonies go and were now able to be happy for each other.
“Someone has to tell me—what is going on with Mother and Father?” Julia asked, then turned to Jennifer. “Your last letter said that Mother wasn’t feeling well. What is it?”
“I don’t know. But I know of two times that she has been in so much pain that she has been bent over at the waist.”
“What does Father say?” Jolene asked.
“Nothing. He said he does not know anything and will not press Mildred for details.”
“Mildred would never reveal any information. She is completely loyal to Mother,” Jolene said and took a deep breath. “As much as I dislike the idea, I’m afraid I need to go to Boston.”
“Really, Jolene? You will go back?” Julia asked.
Jolene nodded. “Maximillian’s family is in Boston, and his father is not doing well according to his sister Eugenia’s letters. I know he is worried about him and I want to meet them both, and Melinda has not seen her grandparents since she was very small. And now Mother is ill and Jennifer is concerned for Father. I feel I must go.”
Julia’s eyes filled with tears. “I cannot. I cannot go.”
“Then you must not,” Jolene reassured. “It would be a difficult enough time without forcing your husband and children to be subject to Mother’s machinations. I will settle Melinda at her grandmother’s or her aunt’s and stay at Willow Tree. What do you think, Jennifer?”
Jennifer stared at Jolene in shock. She did not believe either of her sisters would voluntarily go back to Willow Tree. “But why Jolene? There will be nothing but heartache and anger.”
“Perhaps. But maybe it is time for some honesty. I wish to see how Mother fares, and I realize I am missing my own father after being so worried about Maximillian’s.”
“Maybe I will begin writing Father. He has written me recently to apologize, and on several other occasions as well. I miss him dreadfully, too, even after all the troubles he caused Jake and me,” Julia said, and wiped her eyes. “I cannot say the same of Mother. I am sorry to say I hope I never see her again.”
“It is understandable,” Jennifer said. “I will convey your regards to Father, Julia. He wanted me to tell you how sorry he was to not be able to make this trip. That he is very proud of Max and Jolene and that he misses you and would have wanted to apologize in person and meet his grandchildren. I think he particularly wa
nted to see Jillian again.”
Chapter Six
“I have not danced like this in ages!” Julia said to her husband, Jake, and Jennifer as they stood to the side of the ballroom on the evening of Max’s swearing in.
“And you look as pretty as a picture in that new dress,” Jake replied, and dropped a kiss on his wife’s cheek.
“We had an exceptionally enjoyable time at Jolene’s dressmaker,” Jennifer confessed with a smile. “The seamstress must have thought us ridiculous with all of our laughter and giggling.”
Jennifer looked around at the ballroom as she tapped her foot to the music. Two-story windows graced one entire side, with layers of cascading draperies in yellow and blue. Dozens and dozens of couples twirled their way around the gleaming wood floors to the sounds of the orchestra’s music. She was wearing a new dark red gown with a daringly low neckline and lace sleeves, and enjoying herself immensely at the celebration ball for Max’s election. She knew very few guests and would never remember all of the men and women Jolene had introduced her to, but she would remember the admiring gazes from some of the young men she’d been introduced to. She’d been asked to dance every dance so far.
“Good evening, Jennifer,” Zeb Moran said just as a waltz was forming. “May I have this dance?”
All the good humor and gayness drained from Jennifer’s face as she was reminded of her shame, and her secrets. She had tried not to let herself think of Zeb, even though she compared all of the men she met that evening to him and found them lacking. Not every young man could be thin-hipped and broad shouldered like Zeb, she said to herself. Not many men had his light brown hair that melted to blond at the crown or pale blue eyes that focused completely on her as he spoke.
“Yes, of course,” she replied, and handed her glass of lemonade to Julia, who winked at her.
Zeb was a good dancer, and just the right height for her, swinging her around the dance floor with ease, maneuvering them through the throng and past older sedate couples who were moving slowly, without taking his eyes off of her.
“Are you enjoying Washington?” she asked.
“I miss Texas, but yes, I am enjoying Washington. I have the greatest regards for your brother-in-law, and am honored to serve him.”
“I imagine you are very good at your work.”
“I like to think so, but . . .”
He stopped midsentence as he pulled her close to his chest as a very large man stumbled by, knocking other dancers out of the way.
“What a clumsy fool!” Zeb groused, and released her to her natural dance position. “Too much whiskey, I’d say.”
Jennifer took short breaths and concentrated on not fainting. Zeb had pulled her close by reaching around her and grabbing her by her side, exactly where Jeffrey had hit her the night at the theatre. It was all she could do not to cry out, but even still she winced in pain. Within moments, she found herself whisked through double doors and on to the side patio. Zeb immediately took off his jacket, set it about her shoulders, and led her to a stone bench.
“I am so terribly sorry, Jennifer,” he said as he knelt before her. “I’ve hurt you. Tell me what I can do?”
She shook her head. “I will be fine. I just need a moment to catch my breath.”
“Did I step on your foot? I’m a clumsy oaf in these new boots and was in a hurry to get you out of the way of that lumbering drunk.”
“You did not step on my foot, Zeb,” she said, and willed herself to smile. “It is nothing.”
He stared at her. “Did I hurt you when I pulled you out of the way? When I touched you here?” he asked and gently reached under her arm.
She took in a quick, halting breath as his finger touched her ribs and closed her eyes.
He picked up her hands from her lap and held them in a loose grip. “Easy,” he whispered. “Take your time and breathe through the pain. Easy.”
Jennifer concentrated on the quiet soothing rhythm of his voice, taking shallow breaths and allowing her racing heart to slow. “Is this how you calm horses when they are agitated?”
Zeb chuckled softly. “It is, but I’d never in a lifetime compare you to a mare.”
“I am glad to hear that,” she said, finally opening her eyes and seeing that his face was inches from hers.
“How do you know how I talk to horses?”
“I watched you from my room at the Hacienda when you were in the corral. I saw you get close to a bucking, agitated horse and rub its head and soon the horse was calm and putting its nose in your palm.”
“I’m flattered you paid such close attention.”
Jennifer’s breathing quickened but not from pain. His eyes had dropped to her lips as they parted, allowing her to survey his face, his tan skin against the white of his collar, and the gold flecks in the blue of his eyes. She smelled shaving soap and lifted her hand to his cheek. He sucked in a breath.
“How did you chip your tooth?” she asked as she ran her thumb over his lower lip. He smiled.
“Fistfighting,” he said, bringing his eyes to hers. “I was a hellion.”
She met his gaze, feeling the heat of his look down to the pit of her stomach, and lower. She licked her lips, and Zeb stood abruptly.
“Would you like to go to your rooms? Are you able to walk?” he asked.
“Just take me inside,” she said, recovering her composure, and realizing how very close she had come to kissing him. She nearly touched her lips to his! And she had touched his lip with her thumb and found it warm and soft as compared to the bristles of his beard on his cheeks. Zeb Moran is all that is solid and right, she thought to herself, unbidden.
* * *
Jennifer stopped just before stepping inside the ballroom, and turned to him. “You have been very kind and have asked me no questions. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, gazing down at her. Whatever her reasons, be they right or wrong, she was bearing her burdens alone, and he admired her strength. He’d nearly kissed her as she sat on the stone bench and laid her hand on his cheek. It had taken all his considerable discipline to remember this woman was in pain and bearing some hidden terrors, and he had no right to upset her fragile equilibrium. If she chose to tell him, he would listen patiently, and be her champion if she asked. But then it occurred to him that the bruising he’d seen in the moonlight at the Hacienda months ago would have likely faded. Meaning she had been hit again. How could he allow it to continue?
“Why don’t we find the punch bowl and a place to sit down?” he asked.
Zeb seated her at one of the small tables in the anteroom where uniformed staff were serving lemonade and stronger spirits.
“How have you found Washington?” he asked after being served cold drinks.
“Max took Melinda and me to the Capitol building and to some other sites nearby. I find the history of the city very interesting. And I’ve accompanied Jolene, and my sister Julia, and her daughter Jillian, now that they have arrived, and Jolene’s sister-in-law Eugenia, to some of the famous shops.”
“I am glad you are enjoying yourself. I wonder how Jolene had the time to arrange my house and its furnishings and staff with the festivities she needed to supervise here, but I have seen my sister in action managing my father’s household and our family’s obligations at church and in the community. I stay out of her way unless I am given a direct order,” Zeb added with a smile.
“Jolene is very good at all that. I am not, and thankfully am not called upon to do it often.”
Zeb laughed. “What are your interests? Do you volunteer with a hospital or your church as so many young ladies do?”
“I do not.”
“Do you enjoy music, perhaps play an instrument?”
“No.”
He wondered if the pain in her side had returned as she was sitting very still and looking at her hands where they held a glass of lemonade. He was content to be quiet with her, though, even in the bustle of the festivities all around them. He realized he would
perhaps be content with her anywhere. She looked up at him then, her cheeks flushed.
“I go to my family’s business four days a week, the Crawford Bank that is, and greet important customers as they arrive for appointments with my father and with vice presidents of the bank,” Jennifer said, and then squared her shoulders, looking at him directly. “And I unravel difficult accounts that cannot be balanced by the clerks. I have an assistant, O’Brien, and we tally rows and sheets of figures, looking for errors.”
“You’re an accountant?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never called myself that. I go to the bank to help my father.”
“I am in awe, Jennifer. I cannot remember or add five numbers in a row, and you do pages of them in your head?”
“We also use a new addition machine from the Burroughs Company. It’s very exciting actually. I can tally . . . oh, do forgive me, I don’t mean to prattle on.”
Zeb had never seen Jennifer Crawford as animated and engaged as she was when she began to talk about her work. She was staring at him now with pleading eyes, as if starved to have someone listen to her. He shook his head and reached for her hands. “Please, do go on. I’m very interested. I want to hear about what you do.”
Jennifer told him more about the new addition machine and how she used it to spot errors. She said numbers were natural for her and sometimes she knew instinctively where to uncover mathematical mistakes within a complicated portfolio, and that seeing pages and pages of figures was exciting to her. Zeb was fascinated and surprised; if he were truthful, he would have never guessed Jennifer Crawford had such a hidden passion.
“I was at the top of my graduating class for mathematics at the Ramsey School when I finished my studies there. Oh, dear, I did not mean to be a braggart,” she said finally, as a blush climbed her face. “I really have gone on and on. They are serving supper and I have kept us back.”
“I could always tell you were very clever, Jennifer, but I had no idea you were brilliant. I should have known, though. As my mother would often say when she was alive, ‘still waters run deep.’ Let us go into supper now because everyone else will be seated and I can arrive with the most beautiful and the most talented lady at the ball on my arm. It will do my ego good.”