by Diana Palmer
The Mexican revolutionists were trying to drive out the foreigners who owned most of their land. They didn’t care if the investors, or hacendados, were kind or not, they only wanted Mexico to belong to her people again. The revolutionaries might think that attacking Thorn’s hacienda in Mexico would force him out—there had been dozens of head of cattle run off, and horses as well. Two of his ranch workers in Mexico had been shot. Thorn hadn’t told Trilby that, but Jorge had. As she lived on the ranch, Trilby learned more and more about Thorn’s business, and Jorge was a walking encyclopedia of his deeds.
“He is so good to my people, señora,” Jorge told her, with feeling. “He is el jefe to us, the patrón. He feeds the hungry and makes sure that there is a little land for our families to farm. When the government took away our land, we had not even a way to provide for our little children. Many people went to the cities to live, but there was no work and they had to beg for food.” His face darkened. “I tell you, señora, the wind will sweep over Mexico and tear Díaz from his office. Madero will heal all wounds when he is in power, I know it!”
“For your people’s sake, I hope so, Jorge,” Trilby said quietly. “But if he is good to the people who work on his land in Mexico, why did Mexicans attack him?”
“It was the Federales and the rurales, señora,” Jorge told her coldly. “The peasants who work for Díaz and his predators. They are our enemies. Murderers. Matadores!”
She blinked. “I thought a matador was a bullfighter.”
“There is no Spanish word for bullfighter, señora,” he explained patiently. “Matador means killer.”
She shivered. “I see.”
“Many of my people hate the Spanish and the Americans. They are all white men, you see, those who have power over us. But Madero, may the Holy Virgin bless him, has said that we will drive them all out of Mexico and take back our country that they have stolen from us. No longer will the wealthy gringo mine owners and industrialists make slaves of us.”
“In Louisiana,” Trilby said hesitantly, “there are farmers who work for wealthy men. They are called sharecroppers, because they work the other man’s land for a share of the crop. But it always seems to work out so that the farmer only goes deeper in debt and never gets much for his labors.”
“Sí.” Jorge nodded. “That is the way of things everywhere, is it not, that the poor are enslaved by the wealthy? They keep us hungry so that we must depend on them for dinero. But it will change. These…sharecroppers. Why do they not revolt, as we have, and shoot the wealthy landowners?”
Trilby tried to imagine an armed action like that in her home state and smiled faintly. “I don’t suppose it would even occur to them,” she said honestly. “I hope your countrymen gain their independence, Jorge.”
“As I do, señora. So many have already died. And more will.” His thin shoulders lifted and fell. “It is not right that men should have to kill and die for a little flour and beans.”
For the rest of the day, she considered what Jorge had said. The newspapers were full of the escalating fighting in Mexico. Pascual Orozco, the leader of the insurgents in western Chihuahua, had called all patriotic Mexicans to arms against Díaz. Fighting in Chihuahua was fierce, and agents of the Mexican Northwestern Railroad were hard-pressed to find trainmen to even operate trains in the vicinity. Thousands of men, insurrectos and Federales, were poised to clash, and the border was under constant scrutiny from local troops of cavalry and infantry. Everyone was nervous.
Trilby was so caught up in her thoughts that Samantha had to ask her twice about Christmas preparations.
“Oh, we’ll have a nacimiento, of course,” Samantha said, speaking of the Mexican custom of a nativity scene of carved wood that was placed in the house during Christmas. “But I would love to have a Christmas tree. My mother always had a grand one, but I was never allowed to help decorate it. Could I help you?”
“Of course,” Trilby said, smiling down at the child. It was the first gaiety, the first enthusiasm, that she’d ever noticed in the little girl.
They began the preparations for Christmas with subdued excitement, ignoring Thorn’s irritated mumbling about the mess they were making as they prepared popcorn and cranberry chains and began to cut out colorful paper ornaments.
“As long as we don’t tuck ornaments into your saddle and rig, I hardly think you have cause to complain,” Trilby told him, with a straight face.
She was trying to tease, but Thorn had weathered too many emotional crises to be lighthearted. He backed away from any attempt Trilby made to come close, and she knew it.
“Do any of the men come for Christmas dinner?” Trilby asked, one further attempt to make conversation.
“Most of them have families and take the day off to spend it with them,” he said. “Naki has no family, and he’s a Christian, so I usually invite him to dinner.”
“He’s welcome.”
“Except,” he added, “that he took off into the mountains right after we married and nobody knows where he is.”
Trilby was almost certain that the Apache’s disappearance had something to do with Sissy. If she and Thorn had been more cordial, she’d have said so.
“If he comes back in time, you won’t mind two savages at the table?” he asked dryly.
She flushed and didn’t look up. “I’ve made a cake for dessert tonight,” she said pleasantly, ignoring the sarcasm. “It’s lemon.”
“I won’t be in for supper,” he said.
When she and Samantha were alone again, Trilby allowed herself to regret the amount of time Thorn managed to spend away from the house these days. For a short time, she’d hoped they might become as close in the daylight as they had that one magical night they’d spent together since their marriage. But as time passed, it seemed less and less likely that anything would change for the better. He thought she was missing Richard. She’d let him, because of his taunt about Sally. Now she wondered if they weren’t both disguising their true feelings to avoid being hurt, each by the other. She tried to approach him, but he backed away from her. He wouldn’t speak of anything personal. She’d given up, not because she didn’t care, but because it was so obvious that he desired nothing from her anymore. He didn’t even want her, and he’d made it obvious.
Just the week before, a man and his pretty wife got lost and stopped by Los Santos for directions. Thorn’s manner toward the woman had been very chivalrous and tender, and Trilby had been out of sorts for the rest of the day remembering it. He’d been like that toward her once, before Richard had arrived to destroy her hope of happiness.
Sissy had written. She mentioned the possibility of coming back with Professor McCollum’s archaeology class later in the spring. She didn’t mention Naki, but Trilby could read between the lines. That night Trilby and Thorn had shared his tent seemed so long ago. Her eyes grew sad as she considered the sudden distance between them.
Thorn had seen the sadness in Trilby’s face and looked over her shoulder to see Sissy’s beautiful, legible handwriting. Further down, there was a reference to Richard and a debutante he’d become infatuated with. He mistakenly thought that the lines about her former beau had made Trilby sad.
“So he’s found someone new, has he? How sad for you, Trilby,” he said coldly.
She went blank for a moment; then she realized what he was thinking. She looked up, furious. “Have you nothing better to do than taunt me?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Forgive me. I’m sure you spend every day of your life comparing the Eastern fellow to me and wishing I could match up to him. Cold comfort, isn’t it, my dear, that he has to depend on the charity of relatives for his livelihood?”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“He travels constantly from one manor house to the other out of choice? I believe Sissy said that her college education was going to be difficult for her people to manage because they were not well-off financially.”
That had never occurred to Trilby. Yes, Richard d
id travel extensively, and always to the abode of some rich relative. She’d never thought of him as a parasite before, but Thorn obviously had.
She stiffened with pride. “Richard’s manner of livelihood is his own business.”
“Fortunately, you don’t have to share it. How would you like being a burden on your relatives to keep up appearances?”
“I should hate it,” she whispered huskily.
He nodded. “As would I. We are alike in that we both have too much pride.” He bent suddenly and caught her hair around one lean hand, dragging her face back so that he could see it. In the back of his mind, it barely registered that she didn’t protest. In fact, she seemed completely at his mercy for once. His eyes fell to her soft, parted lips. “What a waste,” he breathed as he leaned over her and caught her mouth hungrily under his.
She whimpered with unexpected pleasure. It had been so long, so…long!
But when she moved closer, he let her go and stood up, his eyes mocking. “Do you miss him that much?” he demanded. “So much that even I can substitute for him? What a pity you didn’t leave when he did.”
She swallowed, her body trembling. “What a pity you seduced me!”
He considered that. He shook his head very slowly. “No, I won’t agree with that. It was beautiful. The only regret I have is that a child didn’t come of it.”
She flushed and looked down at her lap. She toyed with her skirts. “I…would not have minded a child.”
He hesitated. She was less withdrawn than she had been. For a moment, he almost believed that she was warming to him.
“I could give you a child, if you wanted me to,” he said slowly, and then held his breath waiting for her to reply.
She bit her lower lip. The temptation was shattering. She wanted that, wanted a child of her own to hold, to love. But would it be fair, when she and Thorn barely spoke, when he obviously resented her very presence?
She looked up into watchful dark eyes. “You—you still love Sally,” she said slowly, sadly. “I—I do not want a child born because you used me to substitute for her.”
He caught his breath. She couldn’t believe that! But she could, and did; he saw it in her face. He’d played his part too well.
“Is it that?” he asked. “Or is it because I’m not the Eastern dude?”
She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him the truth. Her eyes softened. But before she could get the words out, Samantha danced into the room with more colored paper, still a little shy around her father but quite at home with Trilby as she sat down beside the woman and began to chatter about decorations.
Thorn sighed heavily and left them there. He wondered for the rest of the day what Trilby might have told him.
“I like red, don’t you, Trilby?” Samantha asked when he was gone, bringing Trilby’s dizzy mind back to the task at hand. She put glue on the paper to make chains while Trilby cut out the pieces for her.
“I like it very much,” Trilby replied. “It’s colorful, like Christmas, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes.” Samantha chewed on her lower lip and finally looked up at Trilby with troubled eyes. “Trilby, do you think Cousin Curt will come on Christmas Day?”
“I’m certain that he and your aunt will come if you want them to.”
“No, I don’t!” the child cried. “I don’t want him to come! I don’t want him here!”
Trilby’s heart seemed to stop in her chest. She laid down the scissors. “But why, darling?”
The child’s huge eyes brightened with tears. “Because she locked me in the pantry.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I saw them kissing. My mama and Cousin Curt,” Samantha said miserably. “They were in the bed and they hadn’t any clothes on. I opened the door and my mama screamed at me and hit me, and then she locked me in the pantry! She made me stay there for a whole hour, Trilby, and there was a rat in the pantry!” The child shivered. “It bit me and I screamed, but she wouldn’t let me out. See, look!” She pulled down her long stocking and showed the scar on her calf. Judging by the size of it, it must have been a bad bite.
“Oh, my dear,” she said softly, and gathered the child into her arms. “My dear, I’m so sorry!”
Samantha wept her heart out. It was nice, for once, to have a grown person listen to her and hold her. She’d had so little affection from the grownups in her life.
“Didn’t you tell your father?” Trilby asked when the tears slackened and she was drying them with her handkerchief.
“She said I mustn’t,” the child explained, with a sniff. “She said she’d do much worse than lock me in the pantry next time, and Cousin Curt was looking at me as if he disliked me very much. He still does. He asked me last time if I said anything to my father. He scares me.” She wiped her eyes again. “I hate having to stay with Cousin Curt. I don’t like him, and he doesn’t like me, either. He’s forever telling me not to dare tell my father what I saw.”
“You never shall have to stay with him again,” Trilby promised. “Not ever!”
“My father said—”
“Never mind what your father said,” she replied. “I shall speak to him.”
“But you can’t tell him!” Samantha begged. “You can’t! He loved my mommy, Trilby.”
As he doesn’t love me, Trilby thought, but she didn’t say it. She lifted her chin. “Samantha…”
“You mustn’t,” the child persisted. “It’s a secret.”
Trilby’s eyes went to the scar on the child’s leg and she wondered how many other terrible punishments had been endured while Sally pleasured herself with her husband’s cousin. Having experienced Thorn’s mastery in bed, Trilby found it almost unbelievable that Sally could prefer another man.
“We won’t speak of it again, then,” she promised, and smiled. Samantha was too relieved to notice that Trilby hadn’t promised not to tell Thorn.
And she did tell him, graphically, after dinner that night while they spent a few rare minutes alone in the living room. They had separate bedrooms and separate lives. They had so little contact that, despite their marriage, they might be strangers.
“You mustn’t make her stay with him again,” Trilby said quietly. “You do understand that now? She’s really frightened of him, Thorn.”
“I can’t believe it,” he said grimly. “To think that Sally and Curt would both betray me…” he said harshly. “No!”
“I’m sorry that you had to find it out like this,” Trilby said, with quiet anguish, her hands folded primly in her lap. “But Samantha is afraid that you’ll invite your cousin to Christmas dinner and she’s afraid of him. She has a great, terrible scar on her leg from a rat bite she got in the pantry, Thorn.”
“Rat bite!” He looked horrified.
“She screamed and your wife would not let her out,” she said gently. “You never noticed the bite?”
“She showed me a bad cut. Sally said she fell and did it on a piece of tin,” he said stiffly. “I had no idea!”
She felt guilty. He looked tormented, and he did love his child, even if he didn’t show it very much. He’d loved Sally, too. Trilby was jealous of his first wife, but she wouldn’t have told him about Sally unless she’d had to. It was for Samantha’s sake. In a roundabout way, it also exonerated Trilby from the last breath of suspicion—if Thorn had harbored any that she’d ever been involved with Curt. No wonder Sally had lied to Thorn and accused Trilby of being the other woman in Curt’s life!
“I don’t know if anything else was done to Samantha,” Trilby added reluctantly. “Forgive me, but it seems that if your wife was unfeeling enough to punish her by locking her in a pantry with rats—”
“Then she might have done other things,” Thorn added for her. He stared down at the floor. “I’ve been blind.”
“You only loved your wife. I would never have told you except that your daughter is so afraid of Curt.”
“And I’ve left her there so much lately.” He stood up, moving aimless
ly around the room. He picked up the tintype of Sally and stared at it. “She was a beautiful woman. Samantha was never pretty enough to suit her. She hated the child, and me. I knew she was unhappy. But to take it out on her own little girl… It’s heartless!”
“I wish I hadn’t had to tell you,” she said quietly.
“Samantha never said a word.”
“She was afraid you wouldn’t believe her,” Trilby replied.
He grimaced. “Is she afraid of me, too?”
She went close to him, trying to ignore the message her senses were screaming at her. She had an aching impulse to reach up and kiss away his pain. “Thorn, you spend so little time with her,” she said.
“She seems to prefer it that way,” he said stiffly. “She acts as though I’m a stranger to her.”
“But you are,” she emphasized.
“A little girl needs a mother,” he replied implacably. “She and I have nothing to talk about, no common ground.”
Trilby didn’t know how to proceed. He wouldn’t listen. “Curt doesn’t know that Samantha’s said anything,” she said.
“Don’t expect me to keep any secrets, Trilby,” he replied heatedly. “Damn him! He even let me suspect you, instead of telling me the truth. What would it have hurt then? She was dead.”
“You loved her, didn’t you?” she hedged.
“In my way, yes, I did,” he said finally, refusing to elaborate further. His very manner forbade any further discussion. “I’ll talk to Curt. Tell Samantha he won’t be coming here again.”
“You’re fond of him.”
“No man who is a man plays around with someone else’s wife.” His voice was icy cold. “If it—it matters,” he added hesitantly, “I’m sorry for the way I treated you. Sally told me— Well, you know what she told me. Obviously she was only trying to protect herself.”
“I decided that for myself.” She searched his hard face, sad for him now. “Sometimes women do crazy things, Thorn,” she said. “It wouldn’t mean that Sally didn’t love you. Maybe she was looking for excitement.”