by Jeanne Rose
Cassie raised her brows but Iphigenia said nothing. She'd wait until the evening to see how things went. She had a feeling that Ginnie wouldn't be the only disgruntled person, but she didn't care.
The morning and early afternoon passed quickly. Since Stephen and Monte had chosen to take "grub" with the men in the bunkhouse, Cassie and Iphigenia shared a light lunch of cheese and tortillas and got to know one another better. Before and afterward, they rinsed the china and silverware, dealt with the tablecloth and napkins, set the table, made out menus, gathered greens and helped Carmen.
Later in the afternoon, Iphigenia found time to unpack a few of her things. Cassie insisted on helping. The young girl oohed and awed over the beautiful clothing.
"I wish I had something like this." Cassie held up a silk tea-gown.
"Are there dressmakers in Texas? Perhaps we can have something made up for you."
"Do you think so?" The girl looked thrilled.
Again, Iphigenia felt touched. Cassie seemed so sweet and open. It seemed that the smallest nicety pleased her. "Maybe someone could even cut down one of my gowns," Iphigenia offered, rewarded by the girl's dazzling smile.
"Would you really let me have a dress? Oh, that's too much. They're so beautiful!"
"But I have many. One less wouldn't hurt." And would obviously give the girl a great deal of pleasure.
Though Iphigenia wasn't certain how much a dress would ease the pain once Cassie's new "mother" was gone.
After spending two days together, she was getting an inkling of how high the girl's expectations were, and she couldn't help feeling guilty that she didn't mean to stay. Perhaps she should keep more distance between them. For the moment, she decided to send Cassie away by asking her to find some pretty greenery or flowers for a centerpiece. The girl agreed happily, saying she'd look down by the creek.
On her own for the first time that day, Iphigenia searched a trunk for her little Swiss music box. When she found it, she held the wooden box for a few moments, running her fingers over the carved lid, then placed it on the bureau at the foot of her bed. The tune would no longer play but the item was dear, since it had belonged to her mother.
Motherhood.
Both the music box and Cassie's anticipations reminded Iphigenia of her baby. Mourning her separation from Hope, she thought she recalled seeing a map of Texas on the wall above the rolltop desk last night.
She crossed the corridor and opened the door of Monte's office. There was a map indeed, a big one with the Ryerson spread outlined in red and towns clearly marked in black. Unfortunately, if it were true to scale, the map also indicated some distance between the ranch and Fort Davis. More than seventy miles, since El Paso seemed closer.
And the country was probably rough.
Iphigenia sighed. She'd expected her new husband to gladly help her retrieve her child. But nothing was working out as planned. She had no idea of what Monte had in mind for her -- whether or not he expected to marry her, not to mention whether or not she was willing to marry him now that they'd met. After the unpleasant surprise of her arrival, he surely would not appreciate a second, more shocking one. Undoubtedly, he would refuse to take her to Fort Davis.
Well, she would just have to go it alone, then, find Hope by herself. She would have to borrow a horse or trade a piece of jewelry for one of the animals, as well as cart along her compass and aged muzzle-loading pistols. Still, she would be none too safe.
Nevertheless, to be reunited with her daughter, Iphigenia was prepared to do whatever she must.
"I MUST WEAR A JACKET to dinner?" growled Monte when Iphigenia informed him of the rules that evening. "The hell I will."
She gave him a withering look. "You are swearing."
"And I'm gonna swear more if you keep making me mad."
Miss Iphigenia Wentworth herself was all gussied up in a fancy, silky green dress that matched her eyes. And she was obviously up on her high horse, trying to prove him wrong about how blue-blooded she was.
"Surely you'd like your children to know about the finer points of dining," she said, nose in the air. "Cassie and I have gone to a great deal of trouble setting the table and organizing everything."
Cassie? At least Iphigenia was helping one of his daughters enjoy herself. Monte tried to swallow his aggravation and glanced about, noting some weedy flowers that had been stuck in a vase and placed on the small table in the entryway. Iphigenia had tried to pretty the place up, probably meant well.
"Okay, I'll wear a jacket and tie," he said grudgingly.
"Also be sure to wash up and slick back your hair."
He scowled. "I always wash, woman. Don't insult me."
"I am sorry. I forgot about the insults." She inquired archly, "Whether or not one washes has nothing to do with having Comanche blood, does it?"
He walked away, not even bothering to make a return comment. When he came out of his bedroom a half hour later, he wore the black broadcloth frock coat he'd gotten married in, a white linen shirt that needed to be starched and a floppy silk tie that was probably out of style. Monte read many newspapers but he had no use for articles about fashion.
Stephen emerged from the opposite side of the corridor, wearing the only nice jacket he owned, a brown wool. He'd grown like stinkweed the past year and the jacket was at least two sizes too small. The boy looked very uncomfortable, as well he might, considering the seams of his coat could burst at any moment. Monte forced himself to keep a straight face and accompanied his son to the dining room.
What they found there was pretty impressive, Monte had to admit. China that he hadn't seen in years had been set out on his Grandmother Ryerson's old tablecloth. Cloth napkins had been folded at each plate, on which also rested hand-written menus. In the center of the table, candles burned in silver holders and a glass vase held a pretty mixture of greenery and the same weedy flowers Monte had seen in the entryway.
"At dinner, the host sits at the head of the table." Iphigenia pointed out his place. "I shall sit to the host's right and Cassie on other side. Stephen, you will sit at the foot of the table."
Monte glanced about, looking for the other twin. "What about Ginnie?"
"She has to eat in the kitchen, Pa," said Cassie. "She yelled and said she wouldn't put on a skirt or dress."
Monte started to object, then figured getting banished to the kitchen wouldn't hurt Ginnie any. The girl had been far too sulky lately, and he hadn't liked the way she'd mouthed off at supper the night before.
Cassie herself wore a Mexican blouse or camisa, a full blue skirt and a great big smile. At least someone was happy. Noting the way his daughter's wavy brown hair had been pulled up and pinned to the top of her head, he guessed Iphigenia had worked on it. Suddenly realizing she reminded him of her mother, his stomach knotted.
When Stephen started to sit down, Iphigenia informed him, "A gentleman seats ladies first. Pull out a chair for your sister." Then she turned a challenging gaze on him. "And you may pull out a chair for me."
Oh, he could, could he?
Monte went along agreeably, enjoying a whiff of soap and light cologne as he helped Iphigenia into her chair. He liked the way her upswept hair curled about her pretty neck.
He finally sat down himself and noticed the amount of silverware. "What are we gonna do with three spoons, two knives and two forks?"
"If you'll read your menu, you'll see we are having soup and salad, as well as pudding," Iphigenia explained. "Simply use the utensil that fits the course and work your way in from the outside." She added, "Of course, one of the knives is for bread and butter, the other is for meat."
Of course.
Iphigenia ended up guiding them through the whole meal. Monte just about wanted to yell bloody murder before they even got to dessert, what with all the orders, such as "spoon the soup away from you", "break your bread before you butter it", and "do not pick up your quail -- fowl is not eaten with the fingers."
He gave Carmen a sympathetic look as the woma
n attempted to "serve from the left and remove from the right" and was questioned about the red salsa she served with the sliced eggs. Monte thought the dish tasted odd but ate it anyway.
Iphigenia ran the housekeeper silly by demanding that an empty plate sit before each guest at all times, while platters and serving dishes remained on the sideboard. By the end of the meal, strands of the Mexican woman's gray-streaked hair had escaped its tight bun and she seemed about ready to cry as she poured coffee and tea.
"You did a real good job," Monte told her. "I'm gonna give you an extra day off for all of this."
Carmen's lips quivered but she held herself proudly. "You cannot give me another day off, Señor Ryerson. The children can eat bunkhouse food for one day, but they should have more than beans and bacon for two days in a row. Their father is a rico."
A rich man. Though that term might soon refer to past glories, Monte thought. Texas had been flooded with new ranchers and herds of cattle over the past ten years. The prices on beef might never go up again.
Monte made another suggestion, "Miss Iphigenia here can cook for us. That way, you oughta be able to get some rest."
Iphigenia looked startled. "I do not cook."
"Learn," said Monte, a satisfied grin splitting his face at her chagrined expression.
"I'll help," Cassie hastened to say, acting as sweet and helpful as usual.
Monte hadn't wanted to ruin Cassie's expectations, but now he started worrying that the girl would get too attached to Iphigenia, a woman he didn't know enough about to trust even half-way. And that temper of hers -- the blonde seemed to be doing a slow burn.
Stephen leaned in low and reached for the sugar bowl sitting in the middle of the table.
Iphigenia spoke sharply, "You should ask to have items passed to you, Stephen, not prostrate yourself across the tablecloth."
Stephen got red and lost hold of the delicate china bowl. "Darn!" Trying to catch it before it hit the floor, the boy grabbed, made the thing flip up into the air, then nearly fell out of his chair as it crashed anyway, spewing sugar and bits of china everywhere. His color deepening, Stephen bent over, ripping the entire shoulder out of his jacket. "Damn!"
"Don't go on about swearing," Monte warned Iphigenia before she could open her mouth. "The poor kid could say a lot worse in this miserable situation."
"Miserable? That's what you call having a proper dinner?"
She was itching to fight, he could tell. But Monte didn't want to have another set-to in front of the kids, who didn't have his sense of appreciation. Another quarrel would be sure to make Stephen and Cassie uneasy.
"Let's step into my office and talk about this." He got up, throwing his napkin down on the remains of his flan, whether or not he was supposed to. "We need some privacy."
She made no objection and rose to flounce off ahead of him. Cassie and Stephen merely watched.
Head high, Iphigenia strode through the entryway, turned down the corridor and went into the office. Monte followed and slammed the door behind them. She turned, expression resembling a cornered cat's. Did she think he meant to harm her?
"You don't have to be afraid." He'd seen fear flicker in her eyes before. "Half-Comanche or not, I don't beat kids and I don't hit women."
"I'm not afraid. I am furious that you have no care for all the time and trouble I have taken today."
"Proving you know all the social rules? You might have demonstrated something, I guess, but you did it at the expense of everyone else's comfort. Carmen was about ready to cry and you made Stephen feel about two inches tall."
"Aren't you going to add that I forced your other daughter to eat in the kitchen?"
"That's different. She sassed you. The rest of us made an effort -- we don't deserve the sharp side of your tongue."
"Sharp tongue? Hah! You sat there and ordered me to learn how to cook --"
Which was what had gotten her going in the first place, he suddenly realized. He supposed he could have asked and been nicer but he didn't feel like apologizing.
"You showed no concern for Carmen. She's a hard-working woman."
"I have concern for Carmen -- I helped her all day long. And I would be most willing to help her again. I also care about Stephen, who is a nice young man. You are the person who does not care about other people's feelings." Iphigenia tossed her head. "You have been rude and offensive toward me from the very beginning. Your first words were to accuse me of playing a trick on you. Then you threatened to run me off your property." Her voice rose an octave. "And, then, you insinuated I wasn't even a decently-bred lady!"
"Which was the reason for this damned dinner."
"Yes, this damnable, miserable dinner."
Her eyes glistened -- with tears?
But still she wasn't done. "I am so sorry that I cannot seem to please you!"
She started to leave but he caught her arm, trying his best to be gentle. "Hold on." Now he was beginning to feel sympathetic. Though he didn't really believe pleasing him was so important to her. Impressing him sounded more truthful. "Settle down. We could clear everything up here with some honesty."
She shook off his hand but didn't try to flee. "I told you the truth about who I am, about who my father is."
"Uh, huh, but you didn't say what the disagreement was all about between the two of you. Did it have anything to do with that business matter you won't explain?"
"I told you I will not speak of that."
"Then we're in trouble, because until you do, I don't see as I can trust you. No matter what you say, I've got no idea what a woman like you would be doing in West Texas. I can't believe a New York lady would become a mail-order bride, not unless she was in a predicament of some kind."
She blushed. "I am not in a predicament ...if you are inferring that I am expecting a child."
He hadn't meant that at all but found it interesting that she seized on the subject. "That would be a pretty good reason for coming here all right."
"I am not pregnant."
Though from the look on her face, he would bet she wasn't in the least innocent about the act that made babies.
She glanced away, touching the edge of the desk with a finger. "I do not know everything about you. Why should you know every single detail about me?"
"I've been straightforward enough about the basic things."
"Blunt would be a better word for it."
"I don't know how to talk pretty, like they probably do in New York," he admitted. "But people usually know where they stand with me." Then he took a different tack. "I expect everyone has secrets real deep in their hearts." Including a few he prayed he could forget someday. "That's not what I'm asking you to tell me. I just want to hear a good, simple explanation for why you came out here."
"All right." She paused, seemed to be thinking. "Would you accept that I believed marrying would be the solution for me?"
"Solution as to what?"
"Not being married."
"Uh, uh. That doesn't sound simple. Not unless you and your father got into a big squabble over you're being a spinster. What are you, twenty-five?"
"Twenty-seven."
Close. She was about ten years younger than him, but no spring calf. "Besides, if your old man's as important as you say, he could surely hustle up a husband for you."
"And what if I wouldn't marry the man he had in mind?"
Monte considered that for a moment. Though he wasn't that educated, having picked up reading through a few lessons and lots of practice, he was smart. He was also fairly shrewd when it came to figuring people's motives.
"Nope. Don't think you'd leave New York because of that. Don't even think your pa would try to pull a forced marriage on a feisty woman like you." His eyes raked over her fancy dress. The skin above the lacy, moderately cut bodice was smooth as ivory, had never been cooked by the sun. "You're obviously used to a fine way of living. Texas wouldn't be your first choice of a destination."
Her expression hardened. "Since I cannot
seem to come up with an explanation that pleases you, perhaps you should decide on one yourself."
"I'll settle for the truth," he insisted once more. "If you keep refusing to give it to me, I won't be able to stop myself from thinking the worst."
"Such as my being a woman of ill repute?"
"Given up on that. Now I'm wondering if you committed a crime of some sort."
"You think me a criminal?" Her voice shook.
"You're something all right."
"Enough! No more interrogation." Again, her eyes glistened and her lips trembled. "Furthermore, you need fear no more miserable dinners. That was the last I shall ever foist on you!"
Back straight, she whirled and swept out. She left the office door open but she slammed the one to her own room across the hall.
Shaking his head, Monte stared at her door as he headed back for the dining room. Miss Iphigenia Wentworth was impossible and possibly desperate, though he didn't really think she was a criminal. The only danger she posed was her ability to upset his kids.
Not having been the best parent himself since coming home from the disaster in Mexico, he figured he owed it to them to go back and finish dessert in peace, at least get them settled down for this evening.
HE’D HEARD SPOOK LIGHTS glowed in the windows of the Ryerson ranchhouse at night.
When he asked a cowboy about it, the man agreed, "Yup, witch lights. I saw 'em. There must be some kinda evil stalking the ranch. Some say there's a curse on Monte Ryerson hisself."
Spooks. Witchcraft. Eerie balls of fire.
He thought of the little mirror he had found a few months back, the way it had become cold and then hot. He wasn't sure he believed in anything devilish or supernatural, but the rumors gave him an idea.
"Real interesting." The situation could fit in perfectly with his plans. "Spread those rumors of evil around and I'll see that it's worth your while."
The cowboy grinned. "I'll have 'em shakin' in their boots."
Good. Monte Ryerson definitely deserved to be cursed.