"Well, yes."
He leaned back, obviously satisfied he had made his point. But it wasn't the same with her. "I don't have any reason to stay in Colorado. I have no family, no financial empire. Your family hasn't been in Virginia for twenty years. Everything must have changed." She didn't ask him about his home. She had a feeling it had been destroyed.
"Now tell me why you aren't married."
Clearly he'd said all he was going to say. She should have known he wouldn't be sidetracked for long. Bankers were persistent, chasing bits of information with the same tenacity they used to chase errant pennies.
She wasn't sure why she wanted to tell him except that every time she got close to him or looked into his eyes, it was the same as being put under a spell. She ought to be ashamed, but as long as his undivided attention made her feel like she was the only person in the world, she didn't care.
She wasn't sure what to tell him. She could say I didn't want to or No one asked, but they would be lies. She was certain he would know.
"I guess you could say the time never seemed right," she said. "Then when it was, it was too late."
"Don't be ridiculous. You're an attractive woman, still relatively young. How old are you anyway?"
Didn't this man have any sensitivity? Didn't he realize a woman of her years had no desire to discuss her age? "I told you earlier."
"I forgot."
People usually did when it came to old maids. "I'm twenty-nine. Well past prime marrying age."
"I'm thirty-seven, and I consider myself to be of prime marrying age."
"I doubt a woman of sixteen or seventeen would think so," she responded with some asperity.
He looked genuinely startled. "Good God, I don't plan to marry a child."
"That's the prime marrying age for women."
She didn't know what he'd been thinking, but clearly she had surprised him. Good. She was glad she wasn't the only one being unnerved by this interminable meal.
"If you don't want a wife still in her teens, just what are you looking for?" Violet asked.
He looked at her like she imagined he'd look at a novice clerk who'd just bungled his first task. "You're not to ask me any more questions until you've answered mine."
"It's a long, sad story," she said, reluctant to begin. "You'll think I'm looking for pity."
"I never pity people. It only encourages them to wallow in their own helplessness."
She hoped no woman would ever truly love him. Her life would be a misery of unfulfilled hopes. She wondered why he cared she wasn't married. He wasn't the kind of man to indulge in idle curiosity. He certainly wasn't interested in her. Maybe it was loneliness. She could understand that.
"My brother joined the Union army when I was nine. My father was a doctor. He was drafted to tend the wounded. He was a brilliant doctor, but he didn't have a strong mind. He always depended on mother. She helped nurse prisoners, but she caught dysentery from one of the men and died. They let Daddy come home then, but he wasn't the same. He used to talk about the piles of arms and legs that collected outside the medical tents after a battle, of the men who died in the fields because no one could get to them, of the men who were beyond helping, who screamed in agony until death finally brought peace. He could forget only by drinking."
"What about you?" Jeff asked.
"I was thirteen. What can a girl of thirteen do for a man suffering like he was?"
Not even her mother could have helped him. His gentle soul had seen too much.
"He might have recovered if my brother hadn't come home an invalid. Jonas lost his legs, but there was something wrong inside him. No matter what my father or the other doctors did, he wouldn't heal. He grew weaker each year until he died. After that my father had no desire to live. He quit going to the hospital or seeing patients. He was drunk most of the time. One night he fell down some stairs and broke his neck."
"Don't you have any other family?"
"I came out here to be near my uncle." She had no intention of telling him about her uncle's death or the loss of the mine. She just didn't want to go into it.
She was relieved he didn't start saying how sorry he was, how her loss would grow less painful with time. It would never go away. She would simply get used to it.
"What are you looking for in a wife that makes it impossible for you to find her outside of Virginia?" Violet asked.
"I already told you."
"You can find gentle, soft-spoken women able to manage a household just about anywhere. What makes one born in Virginia so special?"
She thought at first he wasn't going to answer her. Then she realized he was slipping off into a world all his own. She wasn't certain he still knew she was there.
"It's a question of quality," he finally answered. "Diamonds and pearls come in all grades, from flawless to useless, but you always search for ones of the finest quality. A true southern woman is like a flawless gem. She's as gracious as she is beautiful. She instinctively knows how to act, what to do for every occasion. She orders her household for the comfort of her husband. His word is law, and she will never question or contradict him. Her love is as unfailing as it is limitless. She knows when to speak up and when to remain silent.
"She will see the servants and children are trained to show her husband the respect and deference she herself gives him. Her home will be a haven for his rest, a welcoming spot for his friends. She will do her best to give him many strong, healthy sons and will never withhold the comfort of her body. She will find no higher joy than his happiness."
He might as well be talking about a slave or a concubine! She couldn't believe an intelligent men still thought like that.
"Are there many women like that in Virginia?" she asked in apparent innocence. "I dare say you could find just as many foolish -- or should I say spineless -- females in the North. In fact, I doubt you would have to look very hard."
Jeff looked surprised, shocked, and absolutely furious. "I should have known a Yankee wouldn't be able to understand what I was talking about.”
"I understand perfectly," she said as she folded her napkin and pushed back her chair. "I can only assume the deteriorating quality of the Southern woman was the reason you lost the war. Southern men must be truly remarkable to have compensated for their deficiencies for so long. Are you sure men like George Washington and Thomas Jefferson weren't smuggled in from the North as babies?"
She thought he really would explode now.
She got to her feet. "Thank you for dinner. Give your brother my compliments. I can't wish you well in your search for a wife. I'd hate to think such a woman exists. However, if she does, and you should find her, I hope you will take good care of her. She obviously won't be capable of taking care of herself."
"Miss Goodwin, you have a very peculiar notion of Southern women." His voice was cold, the tone cutting.
"If I do, you have given it to me. I never dreamed an intelligent woman would turn herself into such a caricature, or that such a caricature would interest a man of your intelligence. Maybe you have a blind spot when it comes to women. I guess that's why you're not married. You're certainly handsome enough." She executed what she thought would be a Southern lady's curtsy. "Good night, Mr. Randolph."
* * * * *
He'd be damned if he ever invited that female to eat with him again. Jeff practically threw the dishes onto the lift. If Tyler sent a five-course banquet again tomorrow, he'd invite Miss Settle.
What did Violet know about Southern women? No Yankee could understand what it meant to be born in the South. They lived an entirely different kind of life. They were always in a hurry, always trying to get the upper hand over their neighbor, always trying to get something they didn't have, to become something they weren't. Nothing was ever enough. They always wanted more; they had to have the most.
They didn't understand that Southerners didn't care if everybody else was richer. They helped each other. They shared. They would rather die or endure poverty than be dishonored.
> He shouldn't be getting so angry. He never expected her to understand anything so foreign to her nature. Maybe she could learn, but he doubted it. It was something one needed to be born to. It was like learning to stand the heat.
He told himself it didn't matter what she thought, but it did. She irritated him. Maybe it came from being locked up together. Maybe he couldn't stand to see a woman that attractive go around with a head full of such wrong ideas.
And he hadn't helped matters. He'd choked up when she appeared at the top of the stairs looking like a vision in a deep blue gown that made her eyes glisten like sapphires. He couldn't think of anything to do except put more food on her plate.
When he finally did recover the use of his tongue, he'd started badgering her about her past. And he'd been worried she couldn't carry on an interesting conversation! A child could have done better than he had.
But it had taken him a while to recover from the shock of discovering he was thinking things that were contrary to everything he'd said and believed for the last twenty years. He had admitted he thought Violet was pretty, that he was attracted to her. Now he realized he liked her, that he found her interesting.
He had to remind himself that even if she had been a Southerner, she would be an impossible female. She might appear soft-spoken and agreeable, but she was the kind of female who kept her real opinions carefully hidden. He wanted nothing to do with a woman like that. He couldn't imagine Violet Goodwin's husband being happy unless he agreed with her.
It undoubtedly came from being allowed to order the lives of two grown men since she was fourteen. She couldn't know what it was like to be protected by a man strong and capable enough to shield her from the uncertainties of life.
You're nothing but a miserable little coward. You ought to be ashamed to call yourself a man. I'm ashamed to call you my son.
Jeff could feel beads of perspiration pop out on his forehead. It had been years since his father's words had broken through the barriers he had constructed in his mind. Only during sleep was he vulnerable.
Don't call yourself a man unless you're willing to act like a man. But you can't. You're weak as a woman.
Jeff shook his head. He wouldn't allow himself to remember those cruel taunts. He didn't know what could have happened tonight to cause his guard to collapse. It hadn't happened in years.
Gradually he lifted the barriers back into place. He didn't want to think of his father or Violet. He had work to do. Work had always kept his demons at bay.
* * * * *
Violet woke to the sound of a loud clanking noise that seemed the shake the building down to its foundations. She didn't know what it was, but she did know it come from Jeff Randolph's room.
She didn't have to look at her watch to know it was early. The sun was just coming over the horizon. 6:47 am! She could have killed him. The man had only been in the building two nights, and he'd waked her at a disgraceful hour both mornings. She was sure the girls were awake, too.
Violet got out of bed, put on her robe, and stepped into her slippers. Even though she knew he'd make some comment about her hair, she didn't bother to cover it.
She nearly fainted when she reached his open doorway. He was in the process of lifting that bar with all four iron disks over his head. With one hand. He used the stump to steady it. His only clothing was some kind of short, tight pants. He might as well have been naked.
Violet had been around men all her life. As a nurse, she had become accustomed to seeing them in nearly every possible condition, but everything felt different now. She clamped her hand over her eyes. "Mr. Randolph!" she exclaimed, "have you no shame?"
The bar dropped the floor with a terrifying crash. The entire building shook. Violet expected the girls to come running up the stairs any minute, wanting to know if they were having an earthquake.
"Don't ever shout at me when I have weights over my head," he said, anger throbbing in his voice. "If anybody had been in the room with me, they could have gotten hurt."
"I should fervently hope that in your present state of undress, no one would venture to enter your room."
She thought she heard him chuckle, but she didn't dare remove her hand to check.
"Take your hands down. I'm sure you've seen men in less."
"Yes, but he was my brother."
"Well I'm not your brother, but I'm not any different."
"It's not the same."
"I should hope not. We Randolphs are known for our -- how should I put it? -- attributes."
"Mister Randolph! I know you're doing this intentionally to mortify me. I think it's terribly unfair. I can't possibly go away for fear one of the girls might come up to discover the cause of the noise. I refuse to take my hands down and stare at you. You'd have every right to think me the brazen Yankee female you want me to be."
"Then turn around and take your hand down. I'll tell you when you can turn back."
"What are you doing?"
"I'm lifting the weights three more times. I haven't finished my exercise."
"Mr. Randolph--"
"Don't talk. You'll break my concentration."
She needed to talk. She needed to do something to block out the picture of his body from her mind. But she was afraid it was there for as long as she was alive.
If she'd been overwhelmed by the sight of his bare chest, she'd nearly fainted at the sight of his bare legs. He had almost no hair on his chest. The little on his arms and legs seemed to disappear in the morning light leaving the straining muscles of his powerful calves and thighs exposed to her shocked gaze. Even his feet looked strong and muscular.
But it was the almost nonexistent pants that nearly caused her to feel faint. Jeff Randolph was very well endowed. And being a nurse, rather than some weak-minded southern belle, she wasn't plagued by a shadowy notion of the male anatomy. She knew exactly what that endowment was meant to do.
Violet was certain she was beet-red, a horrible combination with her copper-red hair. Worse still, as she listened to his grunts, visualized his straining body, his muscles standing out in clearly defined lines, her own body began to react as it never had before. Her breasts tingled and arcs of white-hot sensation exploded through her. Some landed in her belly and set off a throbbing reaction that left her weak. She trembled from head to toe. She felt too hot and too cold. She longed to sit down before she fell.
She jumped a foot when the metal weights hit the floor.
"I'm putting on a robe," he said. "You can turn around now."
Violet turned slowly. She didn't trust him not to lie to her just to see her reaction. But when she completed her turn, he was wearing a long, white robe that covered him from head to toe.
"Why didn't you wear that yesterday?"
"I didn't have it yesterday. Neither did I have my own towels and soap."
He was going downstairs to take another bath! And there was no chance she could talk him out of it.
"Wait! Let me make certain the girls are in their rooms."
"They should still be asleep."
"Not with you throwing hundreds of pounds of iron about. Don't come down the stairs until I call." She hoped Beth would stay in her room. She didn't need her squealing or fainting.
As she had feared, the girls were up, whispering, wondering.
"As you probably suspected, it was Mr. Randolph," she said. "He's coming down to take his bath, so I want everyone to stay in their rooms until I tell you it's okay to come out."
"What bathroom is he going to use?" Betty Sue asked.
"I don't know," Violet answered, wondering what mischief Betty Sue was up to now.
"I can't use the same bathtub as a man. Ooooww." She made a sound like she had picked up something wet and squishy, but she made a face of a very different character.
Violet tried to ignore her feeling of foreboding.
"Anyone caught out of her room before I give you permission will have to stay in one day past the end of quarantine."
Every head
disappeared. Apparently the girls were feeling the confinement as much as she was. Violet waited a minute, but no one stuck their head out. All seemed quiet.
"Are all your ducklings safely tucked in?"
Chapter Seven
Violet nearly jumped a foot. "I told you to stay upstairs until I could make sure the girls were in their rooms." She was as angry at him for refusing to cooperate as she was at herself for being so jittery. Wondering if he was naked under that robe didn't improve things at all. She didn't think she could stand much more.
"Go ahead and take your bath. No matter what you do, don't come into the hall until I tell you it's okay."
She breathed a sigh of relief when the bathroom door closed behind him. She moved away when she heard the water running into the tub. She walked slowly along the hall, checking each of the eight doors as she walked by. They were all closed, but she felt certain that behind each the topic of conversation was the same.
Jeff Randolph. His presence completely dominated their little group. To the girls he was a curious -- possibly even scandalous -- diversion, but they would forget about him in a few days. By Christmas they probably wouldn't remember what he looked like. Violet would never forget him. She didn't see how any woman could forget that body. Just thinking about it started the sensations and feelings stirring again.
She forced her mind to focus on the view from the window at the end of the hall. A dusting of early morning frost had turned the brown grass silvery in the cold, early morning light. The blustery winds had robbed the young trees of their fluttering leaves leaving bare limbs traced in thin lines against the sky. Denver clustered all around them -- the tall grey buildings of the business community, the massive homes of the silver barons, the muddy streets that teamed with traffic, the noisy streetcars bringing people in from the new suburbs -- an incongruous collection of wealth and beauty.
She could see the snow-covered peaks of the Rocky Mountains in the distance. In a few months they would be completely covered in a thick mantle of snow, their passes closed until spring. Leadville was out there somewhere, Leadville and the silver mine that should have been her hedge against the future.
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