Jade Star

by Catherine Coulter

  “Wakeville, huh?” Del Saxton said. “It has quite a ring to it. Now, my dear Mr. Hammond, I have a feeling that we need to talk of finance, don’t we?”

  Brent Hammond grinned. “Well, maybe just a bit, Del. Many of our people are quite skilled, but I’m afraid I’ll need a loan to buy seed and machinery and lumber. Buying all the land, and tents to keep everyone out of the rain, about wiped me out. The land is so rich—Lord, I think you could grind any kind of seed in the world into the earth with the heel of your boot, and you’d end up in three months with—”

  “The largest tomatoes,” Byrony continued, “the largest cabbages, heavens, every kind of food! We’ll be self-sufficient in no time at all—”

  “And of course we’ll need to build houses and stores and a church,” Brent finished.

  “That’s quite an act you two have,” Saint said, grinning back and forth between Brent and Byrony Hammond. “I even forgot to buy a ticket.”

  Jules found herself simply staring at the couple. They’d actually transported former slaves to California and were planning their own town! “I wish I had some money to donate,” she said to Byrony. “But I do have a lot of time and I could do something to help.”

  Byrony patted her hand. “I appreciate that, Jules, and you may be certain that I’ll be knocking on your door.” Suddenly Byrony blinked, then broke into surprised, bright laughter. “Brent, he moved!”

  Brent Hammond gave his wife a long, lazy look. “He always kicks up a dust when we’re in company. What do you think, Saint? A spot of brandy to quiet him down?”

  “Nope, let the little devil move about. You feeling all right, Byrony?”

  She nodded happily. “Not even one moment of nausea. But I’ll tell you, Saint, Brent is driving me crazy! You would think that this is the first child ever to be conceived.”

  “By me, at least,” Brent said. “I’m still not convinced that the rest of you could manage it half as well.”

  Jules’s eyes flew to her husband’s face, and she swallowed a knot of unhappiness. He was smiling from his great height at Byrony Hammond.

  “Brent,” Chauncey said to Jules, “believes the rest of the male population adheres to the medieval paintings showing conception through the ear.”

  “Really, love,” Del said over the laughter, “a most unladylike observation. Even Saint is blushing, and Jules’s face is as bright as her hair.”

  Unabashed, Saint said, “I was just trying to picture in my mind how that would work.”

  Jules gasped. “You’re terrible!”

  “I have to be somewhat outrageous to keep up with Chauncey, sweetheart.” He continued to Brent, “Are you going to keep the Wild Star?”

  Brent looked thoughtful. “We haven’t decided yet. I think Maggie’s interested in buying me out, but it’s such a steady stream of income. I don’t want us to starve in Wakeville.”

  “Byrony,” Saint said, “before I forget, do come see me tomorrow. I want to make certain everything is all right.”

  It was the first time Jules realized that her husband, who was a man, was also a doctor, and that he would actually see and touch other women. It was most disconcerting. She heard him continue to Brent, “It occurred to me that besides medical help, your folk are going to need clothing. Tell you what, Brent, I’ll contract with Jane to make clothes.”

  “I’ll get Horace to pay half,” Del said.

  “Don’t forget Bunker Stevenson, Sam Brannon, and I’ll bet we can even enlist James Cora to help.”

  “A ball,” Chauncey said suddenly. “A subscription ball, that’s what we need.”

  “With costumes, love?” Del asked. “Like the first time we met?”

  “Yes, indeed, and I’ll thank you, husband, not to remind me of that evening!”

  “Ah,” Del said, “but there was such wit flowing, at least from this poor soul.” He held his hand dramatically over his heart.

  “We could invite all the upper crust, charge them a fortune, and Wakeville would shortly be on the map,” said Saint.

  “We can even ensure that Lloyd Marks is there,” Chauncey said. “He draws the maps,” she added to Jules.

  “I think,” Del said, “that the Stevensons would be delighted to hold the ball at their home.”

  “Yes indeed,” said Saint. “You can hint to Bunker that we’ll all do our damnedest to find Penelope a husband out of the flock of men who will be there.”

  “If,” Byrony said, “we could just convince Tony Dawson to be a bit mean, he’d make a perfect husband for Penelope.”

  Planning the Wakeville ball went on for several more hours. Lydia served all the food in the house and cleaned out Saint’s liquor supply. When the last of the guests had left, Jules sighed and walked back into the parlor.

  “What a scene of devastation,” Saint said ruefully, following her.

  Jules was silent a moment, then turned to her husband, blurting out, “What will you do to Byrony?”

  “Do? What do you mean?” He cocked his head to one side in question.

  “I mean, she’s pregnant!”

  “Ah,” he said. He walked to his now thoroughly embarrassed wife and took her hands in his large ones. “Yes, she is pregnant. Yes, I will examine her, thoroughly. She is a patient. I want her to go through childbirth with as little difficulty as possible, and I want her child to be as healthy as possible. That’s all there is to it.”

  “You don’t . . . that is, you won’t touch—”

  He broke off her pitiful string of words. “Come sit down, Jules.” She did as he bid her, and he moved to stand by the fireplace. “You may be certain that I am not a slave to lust, my dear. As I said, Byrony, outside my office, is a good friend. Once inside my office, she is a patient.”

  “But she’s so beautiful!”

  “True. And it bothers you that I will be touching her intimately?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s straight talking. In medical school, a long time ago—”

  “Not more than nine years!”

  “Well, then, nine years ago, when I ws a young man rather than a doctor, I got terribly embarrassed, more than my female patients, I’d wager, when I had to examine them. Embarrassed, not lustful. I remember once that my hands were actually shaking, and my face was red as a beet. But, you see, Jules, that young girl I was examining was very ill. She hurt. She trusted me to make her feel better. The fact that I was a young man made no difference. Pain tends to dissolve embarrassment, you know.”

  Jules lowered her head. “You must think I’m an awful fool.”

  “Not at all . . . well, just a bit, sweetheart. As my wife, I realize it must be difficult for you to understand that a female patient has no more sexuality to me than a male patient. But it’s true.”

  “But I’m not your wife,” she said, and bit down hard on her lower lip.

  “Of course you are,” he said sharply, disregarding the true meaning of her words. “Now, do you believe me? Trust me?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Michael.” She fingered the beautiful emerald necklace about her throat that he’d give her two weeks before. He was so generous to her, so kind, and here she was questioning him like a silly shrew. She wanted to apologize again, but instead she heard herself asking, “Have you gone to see Jane Branigan?”

  “Yes,” he said simply. “I would have taken you with me, but I wasn’t certain that it would be wise.”

  Jules swallowed a bit painfully. “Did you kiss her?”

  “No.”

  “Did you want to?”

  Yes, he thought, he had wanted to. He hurt from need. And he didn’t know what to do about it, because he’d promised Jules he’d be faithful. He lied easily: “No.”

  “And if Jane got sick, you wouldn’t feel anything if you had to touch her?”

  “Of course I’d feel things. I am fond of her, Jules. I would be frightened that she would be too ill for me to help her.”

  “And if I were ill?”

>   He smiled at that. “I’d be scared silly. So don’t get sick, all right?”

  Jules felt as though she’d dug a hole a good ten feet deep and leapt into it. She fought to get out. “Thomas should be here soon,” she said.

  “Yes, he should,” Saint said, relieved at her abrupt change of topic. “I’ve been thinking about him, and probably the best thing for him would be to go back East, perhaps to New York, to medical school.”

  “But he’s so young!”

  “Not at all. He’s twenty-two, isn’t he?”

  She nodded.

  He found himself looking at her closely. She looked beautiful, he was used to that, but she also looked a bit pale and too thin. He frowned. Surely she couldn’t be lonely. Chauncey and Agatha both spent a good deal of time with her—she was always visiting Chauncey to play with Alexandra. Now that Byrony and Brent were back, he was certain she would become friends with Byrony.

  He had forced himself not to touch her. He couldn’t bear it. When he went to bed at night, he was careful to keep his door closed. It was another tangible barrier that kept her safe from him. Even when he woke up during the night, his breathing harsh, his groin aching, he’d see that closed door.

  “Jules,” he said suddenly, “are you happy?”

  He saw her quiver, but she didn’t look up at him. No, I feel like I’m living a half-life. I’m frightened that Wilkes will take me every time I leave the house. I’m afraid that Wilkes will send men after you.

  “Of course,” she said, forcing her head up. He flinched at the haunted look in her eyes, but he didn’t know what to do. Dammit, he thought, so frustrated that he wanted to yell. How much longer could they continue living like this? He knew she had to have time, time to forget, to heal, but God, it hurt. He heard himself say in a tight, very controlled voice, “I want you to be happy.”

  “Yes,” she said, “I know that you do.”

  The day before the subscription ball, Thomas DuPres arrived in San Francisco. He looked fit, handsome, and darkly tanned, and Jules didn’t want to let him out of her sight. He limped only slightly. Saint, pleased to see his wife laughing, chattering like a magpie, her face flushed with pleasure, sat back drinking a brandy, watching the two of them. Unlike Jules, Thomas had brownish-red hair and his eyes were brown. But, he saw, they both were possessed of the same stubborn chin.

  “I must say, Thomas,” he said during a brief lull in the conversation, “you’re looking much better than I thought you would. No more pain?”

  “Narry a bit, Saint. Reverend Baldwin gave me a clean bill of health three weeks ago, said my leg was mending just fine, then told me to fatten up before I came here. He said you’d blame him, Saint, if I showed up on your doorstep looking like a scarecrow. Jules,” he continued to his sister, “we’ve both been disowned by our father, but I didn’t think you’d mind particularly.”

  “No, not really,” Jules said. “Thomas, is Sarah happy now? Is she all right?”

  “If you mean by that is she pregnant,” he said in a hard voice, “the answer is no, she isn’t. She is the most godawful female, and now with John Bleecher gone, she’s become a total shrew.”

  Saint saw that Jules was upset, and said quickly, “Perhaps things will be better for her soon.”

  Thomas threw his brother-in-law an incredulous look, but said nothing.

  It was nearly midnight when Jules yawned loudly. “Time for you to go to bed, sweetheart,” Saint said, rising with her. “Thomas and I will be up shortly. You can take him about tomorrow.” He gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek. Thomas squeezed her tightly, and held her a moment.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Thomas,” she said. “Oh, you’ll be in the spare bedroom, second door on your right upstairs.” With those words, she left the two men alone, one smiling, the other staring after her, the meaning of her words like a death knell in his mind. He’d been an idiot not to realize that Jules would have to move back into his bedroom. He closed his eyes a moment, picturing her in a pristine, virginal nightgown, curled up beside him.

  “Saint, you want another brandy?”

  He shook his head. Thomas kept him up another hour, discussing medicine. If Thomas noticed that his brother-in-law was distracted, he was polite enough to ignore it.

  Please let her be asleep, Saint thought when he very quietly opened the bedroom door. She was, and sprawled in the middle of the bed on her stomach.

  He sighed, undressed quickly, and slipped in beside her. Too late he realized he should have worn one of the nightshirts Jane had made for him. She didn’t awaken, but before he fell asleep, she was curled up next to him, her slender arm thrown over his chest.

  Saint, a light sleeper, awoke immediately at the sound of knocking on the front door. It was barely dawn. He rose instantly, and dressed more quickly than he ever had in his life. He took one last look at his sleeping wife, now curled up on her side, before he slipped out of the bedroom.

  There were three scruffy-looking individuals, two of them supporting the third, whose face was pale and drawn with pain. “Limpin’ Willie told us to bring you old Sam here, Doc. He got hisself knifed in the back.”

  Saint sighed, wondering if the knife wound, which turned out not to be too bad, was the result of a victim fighting back. Sam pressed fifty dollars in his hand an hour later, and staggered out again, supported by his friends.

  Jules was so excited she could scarcely sit still in the swaying carriage. Thomas, his costume that of a pirate, complete with a black eye patch, looked dashing. Saint wore a black broadcloth suit and a long black velvet cloak and a black velvet mask.

  “Your stays too tight, little sister?” Thomas asked her. “You’re jumping about like one of those Mexican beans I read about.”

  “Oh no, I just can’t wait to get there. Michael, we’ve never waltzed together before. And Chauncey told me that the orchestra is all the way from Sacramento. Do you really like my costume? Agatha said I look the perfect shepherdess, and if she had any sheep, she’d give—”

  “Lord, do you run on, Jules!”

  Saint took her hand into his. He wanted to tell her that she looked so exquisite in the draped white gown that he wanted to touch and kiss every inch of her, dressed and undressed. “You are perfect,” he said in a light voice. “I also like your hair piled up like that—most effective. Ignore your brother. Brothers aren’t supposed to appreciate their sisters.”

  “Everyone will know who you are, Jules,” Thomas said, eyeing her hair, “even with your mask on.”

  And everyone did, of course. But Jules didn’t care. Even if she’d been completely disguised, Saint’s size would have given her away.

  They waltzed, chatted with friends, admired costumes, mentally counted the money the ball was bringing in, and drank champagne. Saint had watched Bunker Stevenson very closely when they’d arrived. If he had been one of the men at the Crooked House that night, he didn’t show it. Even when Saint looked him straight in the face, his eyes hard and flat as he introduced Jules, Bunker showed no sign of recognition or embarrassment. He hadn’t been at the Crooked House, Saint thought. As for the others, doubtless many were here and they would recognize Jules. But they would say nothing. They wouldn’t dare. He grinned at Penelope, gowned in a dampened Regency-style dress, her very nice nose in the air, as was her wont.

  But Penelope was excited, even though she had no trouble disguising the fact.

  Until she met Thomas.

  “Well,” said Penelope, eyeing Thomas without much interest, “I understand that you are Mrs. Morris’ brother. Good evening, Mrs. Morris.”

  Jules merely nodded.

  “Yes,” Thomas said pleasantly to Penelope, “quite a curse, wouldn’t you agree? But then again, she’s such a beautiful curse and she makes me laugh.”

  Penelope, who had been ready to dismiss the young man, retrenched, deciding to give him just a bit of her attention. “I have decided I will waltz with you, Mr. DuPres,” she said, offering him a dazzling smile. />
  “Your decision is gratifying, Miss Stevenson, but I haven’t asked you, ma’am. I do believe I’m thirsty. Jules, would you like a glass of champagne?”

  It required all Jules’s efforts to keep from bursting out laughing. Penelope, red-faced, was staring at Thomas, her hands clenched at her sides.

  “That was marvelous, Thomas,” Jules said softly as they moved away. “Chauncey Saxton told me Penelope was such a snobbish twit, and so full of herself.”

  “True, but she’s very pretty,” said Thomas. He tossed down his champagne. “She just needs a man to teach her manners. Now, Jules, I want to do some dancing.”

  “With Penelope?” she asked in an impish voice.

  “Not yet. Let the girl suffer for a while. By the time I ask her, she’ll be appropriately chastised, and eager.”

  Jules, who had never seen this side of her brother, blinked up at him. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, brother?”

  Penelope didn’t appear to be suffering at all, Jules thought. As usual, there were many more gentlemen than ladies, so her hand was claimed for each dance. Still, her eyes sought out Thomas, and glittered. Thomas ignored her.

  “Finally,” Brent Hammond said to Jules a while later. “A waltz, ma’am?”

  “I’d like that,” Jules said.

  He was a graceful dancer, and Jules quickly found herself following his lead with ease. “Michael said your wife is in fine health, sir.”

  “Yes,” he said, his eyes searching out Byrony in the throng, “but I told her not to tire herself. It appears, however, that she’s doing just that.”

  “It’s so exciting! I can’t blame her. I’ve never been to a ball before,” she added.

  Brent looked down at the lovely girl in his arms, really seeing her for the first time. “You’re a natural dancer,” he said, smiling at her. “Saint’s a lucky man.”

  “That, sir, is what I keep telling him!”

  “I don’t suppose I can convince you to tell me Saint’s other names? ‘Michael’ is inoffensive enough. Come, tell me.”