Violet

by Greenwood, Leigh

  She refused to get out of bed. She didn't want to have to come face to face with him when he was wearing nothing but those shorts. She assumed he'd hauled them up after she'd left last night. The twins hadn't complained of bats when they went to bed. She'd forgotten to tax him with it. Now that she'd forgotten it once, she couldn't very well bring it up later. She'd have enough trouble with his using the bathroom.

  * * * * *

  "Is that man in there again?" Betty Sue asked.

  "He has to take a bath," Violet said.

  "I don't see why he has to use our bathrooms."

  "There aren't any others. What are you doing up so early? You usually don't get out of bed until I've called you at least twice."

  "I couldn't sleep with all that noise."

  "Are you ready to take your bath?"

  "No. I just wanted to know if that man was in there again. My father's going to be very angry when he finds out."

  Violet had been expecting this. It was unreasonable to think the girls wouldn't mention Jeff's presence, but she wished it could have been anyone other than Betty Sue.

  "Nobody's happy about it, but Mr. Randolph can't leave anymore than you or I can."

  "He shouldn't be here."

  "Well, he is, so we might as well do the best we can until tomorrow afternoon. Then the quarantine will be over, he can go home, and we can all get back to normal."

  "I'm still going to tell my father."

  "I imagine Miss Settle has already done that, but you can tell him if you like."

  "I'll tell him about the twins, too."

  "What about the twins?" Violet asked, wondering what they had done she had missed.

  "I'm going to tell him about that ugly little weasel, Essie Brown, too."

  Aha, so that was it. The twins' protection had brought Betty Sue's harassment of Essie to an end, and she was angry.

  "Betty Sue, you have lots of friends in this school. Your father is a rich and powerful man. Your mother is a prominent member of Denver society. Why can't you ignore those girls?"

  "I hate them."

  "You don't have to like them, just ignore them."

  "They think they're so pretty they can do anything they like. They said their uncle was as rich and important as my father. They even say their aunt's prettier than my mother."

  Jealousy. The canker in the bosom of so many girls when brought face to face with a prettier girl. Only this time it was two of them. Violet guessed if she'd been at the school longer, she'd have seen it more quickly.

  Until the twins arrived, Betty Sue had been the prettiest girl with the richest and most socially prominent parents. Even though her friends had remained faithful, she didn't like having her position threatened.

  "I should have thought you were too old to care about anything they said one way or the other," Violet said. "After all, they're only little girls. You're thirteen."

  Violet was pleased her words had caused Betty Sue to stop and think.

  "They're just so annoying," Betty Sue finally said.

  "Little girls often are, but they grow out of it. Now I suggest you go back to your room. I don't hear any more splashing. I expect Mr. Randolph will come out soon."

  "Why doesn't he have somebody make him an arm?" Betty Sue asked. "Mother says people find it upsetting to constantly have to be aware of his stump."

  Violet felt her entire body flame with anger, not just for Jeff, but for any man who fought for a cause he believed in and then was forced to see people turn away because he had to shoulder a burden they had been spared. There were times when she thought people like Betty Sue's mother would have preferred their friends, relatives, and lovers come back dead rather than maimed.

  "I can't answer that question," Violet said, trying to keep her voice a calm as possible. "If it bothers your mother, I suggest she not be around him."

  "Mother says he's too important to ignore."

  Violet tried to remind herself that Betty Sue probably didn't mean anything by what she said. She was merely repeating what she'd heard her mother say.

  "I really don't know what you can do about that. Maybe if you try to remember he lost his arm in a war, it won't seem so terrible."

  "Mother says he fought on the wrong side. She said he deserved to lose his arm."

  Violet realized she was so furious she was shaking. If this was an example of what Jeff Randolph had had to endure the last fifteen years, no wonder he worked all the time. It was probably the only way he could forget the cruelty of people who ought to be grateful that he, rather than they, had been the one to pay the price of such a long and bitterly fought war.

  "I wouldn't repeat that if I were you. It's not a very charitable thing to say, particularly on Sunday."

  "But mother said--"

  "In this instance your mother is wrong," Violet stated flatly. "Mr. Randolph was willing to fight for what he believed. For that alone he deserves your admiration and respect. Many of our gallant men never came home. We should welcome the ones who did, even if their bodies are no longer whole. In Mr. Randolph's case, the fact that he has made such a great success in spite of his disability, is even more remarkable. Your mother should be proud to know such a man."

  Betty Sue had the grace to look abashed.

  "The same thing could have happened to your father or one of your uncles," Violet said. "I'm sure you wouldn't want people to turn their backs on someone you loved."

  "I guess not."

  "I didn't think you would. Now you'd better go back to your room. I'll let you know when Mr. Randolph has gone upstairs."

  Even after Betty Sue had returned to her room, anger continued to burn in the pit of Violet's stomach. She had never seen this kind of cruelty before. No one had ever said anything like this about Jonas. Maybe Colorado was different from Massachusetts. Everyone there was so partisan, had believed so strongly in the justice of the war, they honored their veterans. All of them.

  "Do you always make a practice of defending the enemy?"

  Violet jumped at the sound of Jeff Randolph's voice.

  Chapter Nine

  Jeff grinned as Violet stared at him, her mouth slightly open to accommodate the quick intake of breath. Her gaze traveled from his face to the triangle of skin showing through his open robe. She swallowed. "Will you never learn to give me some warning before you step out into the hall?" she asked in a faint voice.

  "Blame it on your eloquence. It made me forget."

  "I'm sure it did no such thing. I didn't say much."

  She looked embarrassed he had overheard what she said. But her agitation couldn't be any greater than his own surprise. Not that he had expected her to feel as Clara Rabin did. Clara was a selfish bitch who drove her husband to make more and more money to fuel her social ambitions. Jeff didn't give a damn what Clara thought of him, and Clara knew it. After one heated encounter several years ago, Clara had given Jeff a wide berth.

  But he was surprised Violet would defend him. He didn't know for sure, but he had the feeling she harbored a deep resentment against the South.

  "I've never heard anyone say as much," Jeff said. "Most of the time, people prefer to ignore my arm or pretend there's nothing wrong. Even my family would like to forget."

  "It's hard to remember and forget at the same time."

  He hated riddles. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  She smiled. It was remarkable how her eyes seemed to change color with her moods. Not change color exactly, but go from a deep blue, almost black, to a lighter shade more akin to a deep mountain lake drenched in summer sunlight. It would be easy for a man to forget she was a Yankee and remember only that she was a beautiful woman.

  "I don't pretend to know as much about Southern belles as you, but I imagine you're going to have to acquire some manners before you'll be able to convince your paragon to marry you. You're abrupt, rude, and given to cursing when anything annoys you."

  "I doesn't seem to bother you."

  "Would it make
any difference if I did?"

  "No."

  "Then it's a good thing I don't."

  He wasn't about to get into a verbal exchange with her. She'd already proved she was more than a match for him. "You still haven't explained your remark."

  "You won't like what I have to say."

  "I rarely do."

  She leveled a dubious look at him and took a deep breath. "Your disability has put your family in a very difficult position. I know because I was there myself. It's impossible to forget a wound such as yours. It would be unfair and unkind. Truly forgetting would mean forgetting your sacrifice, not giving you the credit and respect you deserve for what you did. It would also mean ignoring the added effort you must make to do things others do more easily, to ignore the extra effort that went into your success, to ignore the hurts and slights you endure from people like Clara Rabin. It would also mean they would ignore the added depth of character you have developed to deal with all of this."

  "Don't make me sound like some kind of saint."

  She smiled again. She was going to have to stop that. It played havoc with his control. All he could think of was that her mouth looked wonderfully inviting, to wonder what it would be like to kiss her.

  "I'd never confuse you with a saint. They're too fragile to survive long in this world. Sour-tempered bears like you endure."

  He felt like smiling back at her, and he didn't understand why. She disagreed with him. Called him a sour tempered bear, and he still wanted to smile. The woman was a witch. They used to burn women like her at the stake a hundred years ago. He wasn't sure it was wise to have given up the practice.

  "Finish explaining what you meant," he said. "Why should people forget?"

  "You're not going to like this part."

  "I haven't liked any of what you've said."

  "You can't go around making people feel guilty for the rest of your life. They'll grow to resent it. Finally they'll hate you. The loss of your arm is one of the risks that comes with being alive. It could just as easily have happened to someone else. It could have been worse. People have to be allowed to forget so they can begin to treat you like a normal human being."

  "But I'm not normal," Jeff said, waving his empty sleeve. "I can't forget it."

  "But you must, or you'll become crippled emotionally. My brother did that. He looked at himself and saw only the ruin. He didn't see the wonderful person that was left, the person who hadn't changed just because he had lost part of his body. You didn't let misfortune destroy you. You channeled your energies into your work. You made something of your life."

  Jeff didn't feel like smiling now. He felt a bit angry Violet would dismiss his disability so easily. She couldn't know how it made him feel less of a man. She didn't know what it meant to have to continually fight people like Clara Rabin to keep from being considered a social leper. He didn't like society, but he'd be damned if he'd let anybody push him out of it. Arm or no arm, he was as good as they were.

  At the same time, he felt a little ashamed of himself. Violet had given him more credit than he deserved. He had never let anyone forget what happened to him -- not his family, not his business associates, not even his customers. He fanned the flames of memory at every opportunity. He'd never let anyone forget he hated every Yankee who ever drew breath.

  Yet he didn't hate Violet, even though she irritated him, even though she reminded him of two bitter years of imprisonment.

  He smiled. He knew he did. He could feel the muscles tighten in his face. He could feel the gentle rise of the corners of his mouth. He could feel a change in his mood, even though it wasn't a happy mood. He didn't know why he did it, it just happened.

  "You've got a rosy view of the world, Miss Goodwin."

  She smiled back. He was going to have to ask her to stop doing that. He didn't think as well as he ought when she smiled. It encouraged that awful pink color to invade his own view of life, and he had more than enough evidence to prove life was at best a dark grey.

  "Don't you think it's time we stopped calling each other Miss and Mister? I realize you'll be leaving in a few days, but I'd rather you called me Violet."

  "My name is Jeff. Thomas Jefferson Randolph. You can guess my namesake."

  "Thomas Jefferson! How wonderful to be named for one of the greatest minds in the history of our country."

  "Actually he was a distant cousin."

  He didn't know why he told her that. He and his brothers had always made it a point never to let anybody know their father had named them for presidents. They'd also avoided claiming connection with their famous relatives. Half the people didn't believe them. The other half liked them only because of it.

  Violet stared at him in disbelief, then a look of amazement bloomed in her eyes. "You're telling the truth, aren't you?"

  "I don't know why I told you that. I shouldn't have. But now that I have, you might as well know I'm related to General Robert E. Lee as well."

  He saw the warmth and pleasure fade from her eyes to be replaced by a steely quality he had only seen hinted at before.

  "Generally my brothers and I don't tell people much about our family. It seems to do more harm than good."

  She tried to smile, but it wasn't much of a success. "Don't worry. I won't hold you responsible for the misdeeds of your relatives. Now, before the girls start waking up, I suggest you go upstairs."

  Jeff hesitated. He couldn't imagine why learning he was related to Robert E. Lee should have caused such a reaction, but there was something there, something buried deep, something she didn't want to tell him. It obviously made her very angry.

  She had started to walk away, but she turned back. "You're welcome to go to chapel with us."

  "No."

  "If it's because of your arm, it's time you made your peace with your maker."

  "And if it's not?"

  "You still ought to go. There is a great deal of unresolved anger inside you. You'll never be happy until you get rid of it."

  "And you think going to chapel will help?"

  "Maybe. I keep hoping it will help me."

  With that, she turned away and began knocking on each of the doors. "Time to get up, girls. We're due in chapel in an hour."

  Jeff wanted to ask what she meant, but she was clearly through talking for the time being. He started up the stairs. Maybe he would ask her tonight. She might want him to believe she was more at peace with her life than he was, but something clearly bothered her.

  He didn't like to see the kind of brooding anger he'd lived with so long in her eyes. He knew what it had done to him. He didn't want it to do the same thing to Violet.

  * * * * *

  Essie poked her head through the doorway. "Miss Goodwin wants to know if you're going to chapel with us."

  Frowning, Jeff looked up from his notes. "I have too much work to do." He pointed to several stacks of papers in front of him.

  "My daddy's coming. He sent me a letter." She showed it to him. "He's here already."

  "Then you certainly don't need me," Jeff said, preparing to go back to work.

  "He'll be far away. They're going to put us in the balcony. It's way high. I'm afraid of the balcony."

  "Then you hold on to Miss Goodwin's hand."

  Essie didn't move.

  "You'd better get dressed, or you'll be late."

  "I'm already dressed," Essie said. She stepped into the room and pirouetting so he could see her dress.

  Jeff told himself he was going to have to pay more attention to what he was saying. If he'd made that comment to a woman who'd just spent considerable time getting ready to be seen, she'd probably be mad enough to rip his papers to shreds. At least scatter them over the room.

  "You look very nice. I'm sure your father will be very proud of you."

  "He's coming tomorrow, too."

  "You already told me. Now you'd better get back downstairs. It'll soon be time to go."

  "Are you sure you're not going?"

  It was Aure
lia. Her angelic face was matched by Juliette's.

  "What are you two doing up here?"

  "We came to find out if you're going to chapel."

  "I already told Miss Goodwin I wasn't going."

  Both twins looked delighted. "Good," they said in chorus.

  Jeff instantly felt uneasy. He had a gut feeling danger loomed ahead. "Why is it good?"

  "We don't want to go to chapel, either. Miss Goodwin says if you're not going, we can stay with you."

  Blackmail. She had turned his own game on him. He wouldn't have a moment's peace with these two hellions downstairs.

  "Betty Sue doesn't want to go either."

  Great! Leave those three by themselves for an hour, and the consequences were liable to start a war that would involve every female in Denver before it was done. Jeff slammed down his pen. "Tell Miss Goodwin I'll be down in ten minutes, dressed and ready to go to chapel. You may also tell her the last time I was in a church, blackmail was still considered unchristian, not to say illegal."

  "Miss Goodwin didn't say anything about blackmail," Juliette said.

  "No, I don't expect she did."

  "What's blackmail?" Essie asked.

  "Making people do what they don't want to do."

  "That happens to kids all the time," Aurelia said, obviously disappointed in the mysterious word.

  "Can I stay while you get dressed?" Essie asked.

  "Of course you can't, silly," Aurelia said. "Girls don't ever watch men get dressed."

  "Why?"

  "Because you'll get a baby."

  "How?"

  "I don't know, but Corrine says that's what happened to some lady her mother knew. She said everybody got so mad the lady had to go to another town."

  Jeff decided there were pitfalls to being around young girls he'd never suspected. This was a particularly deep one. He hated to think what Denver society could do with this conversation!

  "All three of you are going downstairs this very minute."

  "Don't you want to read my letter?" Essie asked.