Blessed Assurance

by Lyn Cote

  Once again her business advisor stood before Cecy in her father’s office. In a prim navy suit, she perused the ledger sheets. Though she knew very little about stocks, bonds, real–estate, and the businesses listed in Mr. Edmond’s secretary’s neat handwriting, she took her time reading the entries. Finally Cecy tapped the sheets together on the desktop. “Did you find out about the ownership of the canneries across the Bay?”

  “Didn’t you see them on page three?”

  The blood drained from her head. “Page three?” She shuffled through the sheaf of paper.

  Edmonds leaned over and pointed to the neat notations. “You own all the canneries there.”

  “Did you know?” Birds chattered in the leafy maple nearby when Cecy confronted Linc at his front door. Not waiting, she pushed past him. When she came face-to-face with Del and two black men, she came up short. “Del, you came home?”

  Linc followed her. “Cecilia, this is Long Jack and Freddie. Del’s been playing ragtime with them.”

  Glancing over her shoulder at Linc, Cecy felt her mouth drop open, surprised by the news and by Linc’s calm tone. With his forefinger under her chin, Linc closed her mouth. Susan stepped forward. “We’re just going into lunch. Will you join us, Miss Cecilia?”

  “I think Cecilia wants to talk with me first. We’ll join you in a moment.” He took Cecy by the elbow into the parlor and pulled the pocket door closed.

  Cecy propped her hands on her hips. “You knew I own every sardine cannery across the Bay, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t know you owned every one.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He had the nerve to grin. “The way you said, ‘I’d like to tell him just what I think of him,’ I knew you’d ferret out who the owner was.”

  “What am I going to do, Linc? Those poor people, those children—babies.” She leaned toward him, his strength drawing her.

  He rested his hands on her shoulders. “What do you want to do about them?”

  She tried to ignore the effect he was having on her, holding on to the thread of her thoughts. “How can I write about the canneries? I’m the guilty owner.”

  “We’re all guilty. All have sinned and fallen—”

  “Don’t quote the Bible to me.” She plumped down the sofa. “I can’t own such a place.” She looked to him. “What am I to do?”

  Linc rejoiced. Oh, Lord, how wonderful are Your ways. I never guessed she would so quickly turn from disgust to action. Energized, he paced. “You need to decide how to change the conditions at the canneries while still making a profit.”

  “Profit? I’m worth millions. I don’t need to worry about profits.”

  Linc shook his head. She was so beautiful to him now—her eyes afire—her face flushed under that ridiculous driving hat and veil. “To start and keep a business growing, one needs profits, profits you can use to help your workers. Those people want and need higher wages and better working conditions, not a closed cannery and handouts.”

  She stared at him, wide-eyed. “What should I do?”

  “The canneries belong to you. You can do anything you want.” He wanted to sweep her up and dance around the room. And laugh. “Have you heard of Jane Addams’s famous Hull House in Chicago?”

  She shook her head. “But I want to right the conditions at my canneries.” Her voice rose. “I can’t bear it when I think of those babies, those little children.”

  “So what would you like to do?” he asked, holding his breath.

  “They should be in their mother’s or a good nanny’s care in a clean place.”

  “Yes.”

  She grinned. “And after I’ve done that, I’ll visit all my factories and mines and make more improvements.”

  “Yes.” Unable to stop himself, he drew her up and held her as though preparing to waltz. “I’m at your disposal.” Glancing down into her lovely face, he paused. “That is, if you want me.”

  She stood straighter. “I do.”

  “Cecilia, you’re wonderful.” He jerked her forward, making her driving veil fly backward, and soundly kissed her.

  Now that he had her firmly in his arms, he found he couldn’t let her go. He saw himself loosing her hair, letting it flow down her back like burnished spun copper. Then he would brush it aside and press soft kisses into the hollow behind her ear…Closing his eyes, he prayed for strength to stop his thoughts from going further. He released her gently.

  She gazed at him, looking dazed.

  “We should go into lunch.” Careful not to touch her and tempt himself again, he helped her off with her driving coat and hat. What had he been thinking? He arranged her wrap on the hall tree, then led her to the dining room. But these mundane motions had nothing to do with his true feelings. An awful realization rammed him hard. He could barely breathe. Dear God, I’m falling in love with this woman.

  Cecy noted Linc frowning again. The same group they’d seen The Mikado with had come to see Bonnie’s friend Effie Bond in Little Princess. Now in her cluttered dressing room, Effie stepped behind a trifold black Chinese inlaid screen. When Effie began discarding clothing over the top of the screen, Cecy couldn’t believe she was undressing with them all standing around. “Bonnie,” Effie called. “Come back and help me with these buttons.”

  Bierce offered his help and was rebuffed. A little shocked, Cecy grinned. The past two days had been so serious, so dark—though in a way strangely satisfying. But tonight she could look forward to another lovely night of laughter and champagne. “Everyone,” she announced, “I’m officially now a journalist. Today, I finished my first article.”

  Everyone applauded. Bonnie LaRoux stepped from behind the screen. “If I were filthy rich like you, I’d eat bonbons all day and dance all night.”

  Bierce lifted his glass to Cecy. “I’m proud of you. What’s the article about?”

  “It’s an exposé of a sardine cannery and the terrible conditions. Linc and I worked there a day last week.”

  “A sardine factory?” Effie exclaimed, still hidden. “Why would you go to such a disgusting place? You journalists are insane.”

  Linc said nothing. It wasn’t the time for a stern lecture about social responsibility. And guilt over kissing Cecilia and betraying his love for Virginia tangled around his heart.

  Cecy held her glass up to be refilled. Linc nearly snatched it away from her. He’d helped her grapple with the conditions at the cannery and write about the changes she’d already thought up. But that didn’t give him the right to dictate to her.

  Effie stepped out, dressed in a low-cut blue gown studded with rhinestones. “So, darlings, where are we off to for supper?”

  “Why not Cliff House?” Bierce’s wicked smile glinted.

  Linc held Cecy’s fur wrap and helped her into it. The Cliff House was a notorious restaurant that had a particularly unsavory reputation. Linc would bind and gag Cecy and carry her home before he let her go to such a place. “I made reservations at the Poodle Dog.”

  “Let’s be off.” Cecy drained her champagne glass.

  Feeling grim, Linc gave her his arm. Unable to help himself, he leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Go easy on the champagne or we’ll go home early.”

  Cecy giggled. “Go home if you wish. I’m off to ‘see the elephant.’” “Seeing the elephant” was the San Francisco term for touring its nightspots.

  Outside, the March breeze blew deceptively warm around Linc’s ears. In front of the theater, Linc arranged everyone in his Pierce Arrow, but inside himself, he fumed. Miss Cecilia Jackson was going home after supper—if it was the last thing he ever did.

  When he walked into the Poodle Dog with Cecilia on his arm, the restaurant rang with tipsy laughter. The head waiter barely seated them before Cecilia ordered more champagne. Over the past few days, Linc’d been so impressed with Cecilia’s desire to change her canneries for the better. Why hadn’t these meaningful experiences satisfied her instead of champagne?

  Strugglin
g not to glance at his watch, Linc couldn’t think of anything more boring than watching other people get tipsy. He’d get Cecilia so busy she’d have no time for any more of these “champagne” evenings. Finally, the crème brûlée had been consumed over a discussion of the great Caruso, who would appear in San Francisco in less than a month. Cecy invited everyone to dinner after Caruso’s performance. Linc’s head ached. Cecy sipped the last of her champagne. Linc summarily signaled away the waiter who’d come to bring another bottle of champagne. He pulled out his watch. “Cecilia, it’s nearly three A.M.”

  “And I have a matinee and an evening performance tomorrow.” Effie rose. “Will you drop me at my hotel please, Lincoln?”

  Linc could have kissed the blonde.

  Bonnie stood also. “I have an early rehearsal, too.”

  “So you won’t be going to ‘see the elephant’ tonight, Cecilia?” Bierce asked in a taunting tone.

  Over my dead body. Linc steamed.

  “If you’ve seen one elephant, you’ve seen them all.” Effie waved her hand.

  Gratefully, Linc squired the ladies to his car and drove them each home in the cool of early morning. Finally, as he helped Cecilia up to her door, he vowed this would be the last “champagne” evening—if he had to lock her up.

  The butler admitted them. Nana waited at the top the staircase, dressed in a plain white flannel wrapper. “You’re home at last.”

  Linc heard the relief in Nana’s voice. Cecy walked unsteadily up the stairs. Nana came down and met her halfway. Taking Cecilia’s arm, she led her upstairs. Since the first nurse had quit, Nana now had to contend with Cecy as well as Florence.

  He bid them a gruff good night. Outside, Linc gazed at the flickering stars. The stars glinted knowingly, almost mocking him—“You’re in love with her.” Virginia was enough for me. I don’t want another love.

  Ring. Ring. Linc surfaced from the deep sleep. He hurried downstairs to the phone. “Yes?” he mumbled.

  “Linc!” Cecilia cried out. “Come, quick.”

  Chapter 13

  Through the shadowy foyer and up the curved staircase, Linc jogged, side-by-side with the butler. The butler opened Cecilia’s mother’s bedroom door but remained outside. Linc stepped into a darkened room. Florence lay perfectly still. Was she even breathing? Wearing a forbidding expression, a gray-haired doctor stood beside the rumpled bed, Millie at his side.

  In the low lamplight, Cecilia, deathly pale, stood opposite the doctor. Her auburn hair flowed around her unbound. The giddy young woman she’d been earlier had vanished. “Linc.” Cecilia’s voice quivered near hysteria.

  Millie spoke up loudly, “Mr. Wagstaff, thank you for coming. Mrs. Jackson took too much of her sleeping tonic by accident. I must have poured out the amount twice without realizing it.”

  Cecilia wrung her mother’s limp hand.

  His voice and expression distinctly suspicious, the grim doctor cleared his throat. “Your mother will live, thanks to her quick nurse’s action, but she should not be left alone.”

  “She won’t be.” Cecilia lifted her mother’s hand.

  The doctor made a strange disapproving noise then gathered up his bag, bowed stiffly, and left.

  Cecilia started to speak, but Millie, with the shake of her head, silenced her, evidently not wanting the doctor to overhear anything. Still in the middle of room, Linc waited in suspense. What had gone so wrong since he brought Cecilia home?

  Within moments, the butler returned. “The doctor is gone.” He withdrew closing the door behind him.

  Cecilia flew into Linc’s arms.

  He caught her and the temptation was too much. He pressed her to him, willing his strength to her. Her sobs ripped at his heart. He kissed her hair as though that could blot out her suffering. Even as he calmed her, his awareness that only a fine silk wrapper separated them alarmed him. He forced himself to concentrate on her misery, letting his sympathy increase, overwhelm his longing. Father, help me say the right words. Leading Cecilia to a love seat, he eased her down. She wouldn’t release his hand, so he sat down beside her. “Millie, please explain what has happened.”

  Millie collapsed on a bedside chair, twisting her hands together. “Since the nurse quit, I’ve been giving Mrs. Jackson her sleeping medication. Tonight, I couldn’t sleep. Tried to ignore it, but the prompting came over and over that I should check on her.” She lifted the small amber bottle from the bedside table. “Thank God, I obeyed. When I came in, I found this empty. I filled this back up with water, so the doctor wouldn’t see it was empty. If it leaked out that your mother had attempted…” The woman fell silent as if the dread of what had taken place sealed her lips.

  Linc let the awful truth sink in. Attempted suicide. Cecilia wept into her hands, hiding the tears.

  Millie continued in a flat tone: “I was able to wake her enough to force her to be sick, then she fell unconscious again. I summoned the doctor. Thought he might be able to do more.”

  “But why did she?” Cecilia choked on her words.

  Millie gazed at Cecilia. “The truth, the facts are hard, but you need to hear them.” Millie paused to wipe her eyes with a handkerchief. “Cecy, you don’t remember much about your parents, do you?”

  Cecilia shook her head. “I’ve wanted to ask you, but I didn’t want to hurt…mother.”

  Linc’s anxiety inched higher.

  Millie bowed her head. “I should have told you.” She sighed. “But I hated to stir up the ugly past. Now I must do so to prevent more happening.” She looked into Cecilia’s eyes. “Tonight, your mother tried to take her life because she was afraid you are following her sad path to alcoholism.”

  Linc, proved right, regretted it. Cecilia crumpled in his arms, her sobs vibrating against him. I put her in temptation’s way. He tasted acid regret.

  Cecilia lolled weakly against Linc’s shoulder. He held her. “Tell me, Nana,” she begged in a whisper. “Please”

  Linc nodded. Put an end to this.

  Millie perched on the end of the tapestry love seat, her face drawn in the low light. “Your mother confided only in me and I kept her trust all these years. It all started when your father went to Boston to find a wife.”

  Linc’s mind went back to the Bulletin editor, Fremont Older, who’d told him one version of August Jackson’s life.

  “Your father became fascinated”—Millie paused to blink away tears—“with your Aunt Amelia.”

  Cecilia sat upright. “Aunt Amelia?”

  Cecilia’s tone echoed his own disbelief. Had the two sisters been romantic rivals?

  Millie nodded. “Your aunt was quite striking in her youth. But very headstrong. Even though strongly attracted to one another, your father and aunt fought—constantly. Then they had one huge argument and broke up.

  “To make your aunt jealous, I think, your father turned his affections to your mother. Your mother was being pressured by her father to marry his wealthiest friend—a man nearly seventy–years old.” Millie drew in air, sounding defeated. “Your mother, only seventeen, accepted your father’s proposal instead and eloped with him. I’ve always thought she married just to get away from the elderly suitor, her father, and bitter envious older sister.” Millie drew in a shivering breath. “Then you were born only eight months after their wedding.” Millie frowned as in pain. “Your father used this against your mother.”

  “What?” Cecilia trembled against him.

  Linc tucked her nearer. “He accused her of being pregnant by someone else when they married?” Linc asked, well aware of the implications of this and how powerless a woman would be in this situation.

  Millie nodded. “It wasn’t true, of course, and he knew it. Anyone could see the resemblance of Cecy to her father.”

  “I wish I wasn’t anything like him!” Cecilia cried out.

  “Was that the reason Cecilia was sent away?” Linc asked as he fought the urge to hate Cecilia’s father. A man who’d turn against his own child.

  Mi
llie continued, “By then, Mrs. Jackson had given in to despair and numbed herself with alcohol. Your father was a violent man. They had dreadful arguments.”

  Cecilia nodded against Linc. “I remember,” she whispered.

  “Was the short pregnancy his only reason for his ill treatment of his wife and daughter?” Linc asked, trying to understand the twisted logic.

  “Was it, Nana?” Cecilia’s voice quavered.

  Millie pursed her lips. “I think he regretted marrying your mother. After all was said and done, I think in his way he’d loved Amelia but had been too willful and stubborn to suffer a woman who wouldn’t knuckle under to him. He despised your mother for the very reason he married her, her compliance.”

  Linc shook his head.

  Millie said, “He used your mother’s attack of delirium tremens as an excuse to rid himself of both his unwanted wife and his daughter. He telegraphed Amelia and she arranged for Cecy to be sent to the Boston school.”

  Cecilia gasped. “My aunt?”

  Millie’s faced turned darker. “She took revenge on your mother for stealing her love by helping to take her daughter from her. Truly, your aunt would have been a match for your father. Both evil.”

  Linc nodded grimly, recalling all the times he’d wondered about the aunt’s motives himself.

  Wiping away tears, Millie sighed. “Your mother was sent to the sanitarium and I was dismissed. I thought my heart would break when I had to leave you.” Millie choked back a sob. “But I had no money, no legal way of stopping your father. I only had my prayers. And I’ve prayed for you every day since your father wrenched you from me. Oh, why didn’t I tell you the truth right away?”

  A tap at the door startled Cecy. She’d been completely immersed in the agonizing past. Linc went to the door and Nana drifted back to Cecy’s mother’s side to check her pulse again. Cecy wrapped her arms around herself, missing Linc’s warmth.

  After speaking to the butler, Linc turned back to face her. “I’ve a phone call.” He left and returned within minutes.