Skye Cameron

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  “I do believe,” I said lightly, “that you would do almost anything Uncle Robert asked you to do.”

  “I would die for him, mam’zelle,” said Courtney simply.

  “Would you even—marry for him?” I asked. “I mean, suppose he should pick out a young lady whom he wished you to marry. Suppose it was someone whom you didn’t care for seriously. Would you obey him then?”

  The music had stopped and the dancers paused in couples around the room, talking and laughing. The buzz of sound covered our odd conversation.

  Courtney seemed mildly surprised by my question, though not in the way I might have expected. “But this is not unusual—that one’s elders arrange a marriage. When that time comes I shall certainly seek M’sieu Robert’s advice.”

  “That would be different,” I pointed out. “If you picked the girl yourself and asked his advice, then you would undoubtedly be in love with her. I was referring to an arranged marriage where there might be no love on either side. How do you Creoles feel about that?”

  Courtney’s shrug dismissed the matter. “It is a romantic notion that one marries for love. When our elders choose for us wisely, a more lasting affection is certain to follow.”

  He was parroting what had been taught him, but for the moment at least, he believed his own words.

  “The whole idea seems barbaric to me,” I said lightly. “When I marry, it shall be for love and nothing else. And I would never have a man who was not in love with me.”

  Courtney laughed. “Ah, but you would be most easy to love, Skye.”

  A hand touched my arm just then and I looked up to see Justin beside us. Courtney stiffened at the appearance of his brother.

  “What’s all this about love?” Justin asked, and his glance rested curiously on my partner.

  Courtney’s eyes were bright with challenge. “What else is there to speak of more important than love? Naturally I was confessing my undying adoration of this young lady with the red hair.”

  The music started again and Courtney moved to draw me away, but Justin’s hand clasped about my wrist and held me where I was.

  “It’s my turn to dance with Skye,” he told his brother.

  Courtney might have objected, but I wanted no disturbance that would give rise to more gossip. “It’s all right,” I said quickly to Courtney. He bowed to me stiffly and walked away.

  There was nothing of gallantry about Justin. His fingers were clasped firmly about my wrist, and under cover of dancers sweeping past us, he drew me toward a tall window that opened upon the veranda.

  “We can dance later,” he said. “Right now I want a breath of air and space enough to turn around in. Drawing rooms cramp me. Come along.”

  I tried to draw back, angry at his calm assumption that I would go with him, when he had ignored me until now. And anxious as well not to displease my uncle by slipping away from the dance with this man. But I had little choice. He pulled me quickly along the veranda to a flight of wooden steps. Long patches of light from the windows cut across the lawn, but beyond the garden lay dark and sweet and quiet. Fireflies danced above shrubbery and twining rosa montana, their light more beautiful than the brilliance behind us. There was nothing I could do. I stopped resisting and went with him.

  TWELVE

  As we walked, circling the wide garden that lay between the Law house and its neighbors, Justin spoke absently, as if he thought aloud.

  “My brother would make no husband for you,” he said.

  All the annoyance this man so often aroused in me surged again to the fore. Everything that he did was wrong, as far as I was concerned. After criticizing me earlier, he had not noticed my hair or my dress, and now he had high-handedly plucked me out of that Creole gathering, assuring me of Uncle Robert’s displeasure, when he discovered my absence. He even had the temerity to state that his brother was not for me.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Courtney is a most charming and amiable young man.”

  “I’m sure of that,” Justin admitted. “But he’d be no match for you. You’ll need a man with a strong hand on the reins.”

  I whirled to face him, though light from the house shone in my eyes and I could not see his expression.

  “What do you know of me? How dare you say a thing like that!”

  “I was fond of Courtney as a little boy,” he went on, ignoring my indignation as if it were of no consequence. “He used to follow me around and admire me as a big brother when he was hardly more than a baby. I hated to leave him when I went with my father. But his mother has done a thorough job of turning him away from any resemblance to his father. He is owned by your uncle now. Still, I’d like to do something for him, if I could. Perhaps take him into business with me.”

  The indignation within me began to quiet a little. For the first time I wondered about Justin’s motives in returning to New Orleans. Had he come back, not to make trouble after all, as everyone said, but because he was driven by a longing to retrace boyhood steps, to reestablish family ties?

  “Don’t sentimentalize over me,” he said, as if he read my mind, and I realized that he could see my face in the reflected light and that my expression must have softened. “At least I’m glad you wore your hair loose tonight, as you should always wear it. But the dress doesn’t suit you. It’s better than that brown thing you wear, but it’s too childish for you. I’d like to see you in colors that match your spirit and give you dignity.”

  All the softness went out of me. “I didn’t realize you had noticed me, let alone that you’d observed what I was wearing,” I snapped, and hated my own words because they sounded like absurd feminine pique.

  He laughed out loud at me. “I grew up in a country where a man sees what has to be seen in the twinkling of an eye. But if you expected me to be overwhelmed by the change in you, thunderstruck by your beauty, then I’m sorry—that wasn’t the effect.”

  He was mocking me now, and I turned away from the revealing light. Somehow he had stripped all the sham of beauty from me and made me once more so much less than my mother. I felt ridiculous tears sting my eyes and I would have fled back to the house if he had not put a hand on my arm again.

  “What a goose you are!” He shook me lightly. “Don’t you think I can recognize what a woman looks like when I see her, regardless of furbelows? I’ve seen you before—that day on Gallatin Street, and again in the library here in this house. I hope I’ve the good sense to recognize more than a brown dress that doesn’t become you. Your spirit was evident and your intelligence, even if you weren’t doing justice to the woman you are. Tonight you’ve done a better job—but that doesn’t change my first recognition of you, Skye Cameron.”

  Now it was he who faced the light in the shadowy garden. I could see the planes of his face clearly, catch the radiance glinting on his fair hair. There was a strange mingling of emotions in me as I looked at him. There was violence in this man, and rebellion and anger. Everything he stood for revolted me and went against all my father’s sane and gentle teachings, against all that Uncle Robert wanted for me. Yet no one had ever seen me before as this man had seen me. No one had ever spoken to me like this. I was a woman spellbound and only a disturbing wonder filled me. How would it seem to be loved by such a man? Would his hands be hard and cruel upon a woman’s shoulders? Could that grim mouth ever soften to the tenderness of a kiss?

  My face was burning hot and I pressed my hands over it, bent my head in confusion and shame. But Justin drew my hands away and held them in his and I could look nowhere except into his eyes. I saw the change in his face, in the hard muscles of his jaw. The grim lines of his mouth relaxed and he put his hands upon my arms. Once more I sensed the strength that flowed through him. I do not know whether he pulled me to him, or whether I went of my own accord into his arms, but I felt them close about me. His mouth was so very close to my own—I need only turn my head a little.

  There was somehow a sense of surprise in his kiss, as if he, n
o more than I, had meant this to happen. He put his mouth roughly upon my own, bruising my lips. Yet I did not want to pull away. When he raised his head I stood on tiptoe and put my cheek for an instant against the roughness of his own cheek. I did not want him to let me go. I wanted no words, but only sensation. His hand lost itself in the thick fall of hair upon my shoulders and I felt his fingers tighten until there was a tugging at the roots of my scalp. Then he thrust me away from him and there was a look in his eyes that startled me. In it there was no kindness, but something I could not read.

  “So you’re not, after all, the prim Yankee I thought you,” he said. “I should have known no Puritan could have hair like yours. Shall we go back to the dancing now?”

  I did not know how to face him, or what to say to him. His words were like a slap across my face and my cheeks stung with scarlet. I turned quickly away and started toward the house. But once more he halted me.

  “Wait, Skye. I’ve a damnable tongue. You took me by surprise, but still the fault is mine.”

  “You needn’t apologize,” I said. “That is more insulting than the act.”

  He laughed wryly. “You needn’t trouble to tell me that I’m not a gentleman. I know that. But before we return to the house, I must say one thing to you.”

  I shook my head angrily, wanting only to get away from him. “There’s nothing you can say I want to hear.”

  But he would not let me go. “You may not want to hear me, but I’ll have my say just the same. Be as angry with me as you like, but one thing must be made clear. There’s no place in my life for women.” His voice hardened. “I’ve never known one who could be trusted. Neither my mother nor any other. When I play at love I don’t play for marriage. And regardless of your red hair and the way you kissed me just now, I fancy you’re for marrying.”

  I choked with anger and something more. Something that was sharp and hurtful. But there was nothing I could say to him, no answer I could make. He came with me back to the house and I flew up the steps ahead of him, wanting only to escape. But we slipped through the open window together when no one was looking our way and there was nothing I could do but dance with him.

  I know that I can dance well. My mother had sent me to dancing school early and she had taken a hand in training me herself. But always when I danced the picture of myself as tall and awkward beside her lightness and dainty grace was in my mind. Tonight for the first time, I had been able to forget myself in dancing.

  Now, however, I was too angry and wounded to relax and I followed Justin automatically, rigidly. His arm was tight about me so that I could not falter.

  “Miss Cameron,” he murmured and I hated the sound of laughter in his voice, “you would be an excellent dancer if you did not hold yourself as stiffly as a poker. Relax a little and you will find the movement not unpleasant.”

  I let my eyes blaze up at him as they had done once before, and I saw to my surprise that the smile twisting his mouth was not unkind.

  “You’re angry with me,” he said, close to my ear. “Stay that way, Skye. Hate me with all your heart. I’m not a man any woman should want.”

  “As if I did!” I answered heatedly. “Your—your conceit—!”

  “I know,” he said. And somehow he looked as if he wanted to kiss me again right in the midst of that gay New Orleans party.

  At least my anger stood me in good stead through the rest of the evening. It stiffened my spine and kept up my chin. It contributed to the pretense I made at having a good time, when all the while I was sick with angry humiliation.

  I did not have to dance with Justin again. My uncle, busy watching Courtney, had not noticed my disappearance. There was reason now to watch Courtney, I saw, for it appeared that my mother had at last succeeded in charming him. I knew he had danced with her several times, but somehow I’d begun to think he would resist her. I should have known that Mama could not bear defeat. Of course her little flirtation was decorous, with glances and words so skillfully veiled that only one who knew her well would see what she was up to. My uncle was her brother and he knew her as well as I.

  When I stood beside Uncle Robert he nodded to me gravely. “I shall have to take this matter in hand. Tomorrow I will speak to Courtney and tell him my wishes as far as you are concerned. Otherwise he will do what many another young fool has done before him. He will fancy himself in love with a married woman.”

  I did not answer. This was my mother’s fault. I could see that clearly and I wondered how far this flirtation was likely to go, with my father in no position to take her in hand. Always before I had been sure that her love for him had never wavered. But how long could he hold her in that cage of a room where he lay? Especially when he had given up all pretense of trying.

  “I shall speak to your mother, too,” said Uncle Robert softly. “It is hardly fitting that she flirt with her future son-in-law.”

  At any other time I might have spoken up. I’d have reminded him of my objection to a planned marriage of any sort—to Courtney or anyone else. But my senses were still in a turmoil over what had happened between me and Justin Law. I had brought upon myself exactly what I deserved. Uncle Robert had done his best to warn me against the man, to make me realize that he was not to be trusted. What would my uncle think now if he knew that Justin had held me in his arms and kissed me only a little while before, and that I had kissed him back? No, this was not the moment to voice objections to anything Uncle Robert suggested. Perhaps he took my silence at that moment for acquiescence. I do not know.

  The party ran very late, as New Orleans affairs were wont to do. Two or three guests sang for us, there were piano solos and always more dancing. Tante Aurore had recovered herself enough to supervise the serving of the lavish supper, and the soirée was not over until well past midnight.

  Uncle Robert’s carriage came for us and after a fond parting with Tante Aurore, we drove back to the Vieux Carré. Such a lovely night it was, with the moon riding high and June scents from all the gardens perfuming the air. Such a beautifully sad night, I thought, and against all reason my spirits began to rise in the very face of this wistful mood.

  At home, when I was ready for bed, I stood for a little while at my windows, looking down into the courtyard where silver light touched the water in the fountain. Strangely enough I was no longer angry and my moments of self-recrimination were forgotten. I could remember only that Justin Law had held me in his arms and kissed me. He had not wanted to, but he had done so. True, he had mocked me, humiliated me later, but more in the manner of a man trying to flee from his own emotions.

  How many times Mama had said that men were seldom for marriage in the beginning. Every one of them tried to escape the silken noose as long as possible. And Justin, perhaps, would struggle more fiercely than some, being more fiercely independent.

  By the time I climbed into bed I was almost happy. All that really mattered was Justin’s sharp awareness of me as a woman. In the end he could not turn away from that. I did not wholly dismiss my uncle’s judgment of him, but told myself this was a matter of misunderstanding between the two men. In the end each would come to recognize the other’s worth. How could it happen otherwise when both were fundamentally worthy? As for that matter of prison—no one had clarified that, and there were undoubtedly circumstances of which I knew nothing, or he would not now be free. This I must believe.

  Of course I would see Justin again—and again. Next time I would be sweet and submissive, never angry or sharp. And in the end I would have him. For I knew now quite surely that I wanted him as I had never wanted any other. Justin Law was the man I would love all my life.

  How rosy my dreams were that night, how childishly buoyant!

  THIRTEEN

  On the following Saturday I made my first bid for freedom since I had come to New Orleans. At home I was accustomed to long brisk walks in the open air and I ached to get out of this tight domestic world that revolved about a small courtyard, ached to push aside the walls that shut
me in. I wanted to think about many things, and my mind always worked better out beneath an open sky with plenty of breathing space. I remembered the way Justin had said he wanted space in which to breathe and turn around. We were alike in that respect.

  Since I did not want to disappear and worry my mother, I told her what I planned. She tried to persuade me that it was out of the question in this house. A well-brought-up young Creole lady who was still unmarried did not, in my uncle’s opinion, wander the streets of the town alone. Perhaps it would be possible for Delphine to go with me.

  But the last person whose company I wanted was Delphine. She would only chain me as the house chained me. So in the end Mama gave up and said that the responsibility was, after all, my own.

  I dressed myself in plain dark green and borrowed a little round-topped straw hat of my mother’s. I’d thought a moment of wearing the fern-colored hat, but somehow the occasion did not seem right.

  When I was ready I descended the circular staircase and stood for a moment in the shadows of the arched recess at its foot. The maids were busy upstairs and I had seen Delphine talking to Aunt Natalie in the parlor. Jasper had taken Caro out to her music lesson an hour before. The yard boy was raking up the court and had his back to me, and the stone passageway stretched empty to the street. I suppressed a desire to run and walked toward the iron gate without a glance toward the door of my uncle’s office. I could only hope that he would not be in a position to glance out and see me.

  Nothing happened, no one called me back, and I reached the gate unhindered. It stood unlatched, for my uncle’s clients came and went by this entrance all day, and I slipped through and turned onto Chartres Street.