by Heidi Betts
"Oh, yes,” Hariette said. “We wouldn't tell a soul, would we?” she asked of the room in general.
The others shook their heads emphatically.
Megan leaned close to whisper in Rebecca's ear. “It will keep you busy. And happier."
She blushed, knowing how often she had complained before Nina left that there wasn't enough work around the house to keep her occupied. She'd mended all her own dresses and started a few new ones just to keep her hands from being idle. Megan was right. Another cook would be hired soon, and then what would she do with her time?
"All right,” she gave in, causing a chorus of cheers to fill the room. “But I don't want too many people knowing, or I may get bogged down.” She chuckled inwardly at the thought, knowing there had been many times when the Wednesday Group was the only thing that had kept her from starvation.
For the next hour, the ladies filled Rebecca in on the town's latest gossip. They agreed to keep their regular Wednesday appointments and promised to bring piles of work for her on their next visit.
After the women left, Megan took the serving tray back to the kitchen, leaving Rebecca to continue sewing together tiny patches for a baby quilt she'd decided to make.
A knock sounded at the door, and Rebecca went to answer it, smiling because she expected one of the Wednesday Group to be returning for something she'd forgotten.
Her smile vanished and her jaw nearly dropped to the floor at the sight of the woman standing on the porch. Her dress was a fiery orange-red, a color no decent woman would ever dare wear in public. Black lace edged the hem, sleeves, and low décolletage.
Rebecca raised her eyes to a rouged face surrounded by hundreds of tight sausage curls that very nearly matched the shade of the garish gown.
Rebecca grabbed the woman's arm and dragged her into the parlor. She slid the doors closed, ensuring minimal privacy. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a harsh whisper, praying Megan would stay in the kitchen a few minutes longer.
"Aren't you going to give Mummy a kiss?"
Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest, her whole body as taut as a tightrope. The heavy scent of Kate's perfume was smothering. “Drop the act. We both know you've never been a mother to me. Tell me why you're here, and then get the hell out."
Kate smoothed her skirts and sat primly on the settee, smiling up at her daughter through a thick layer of cheap makeup. “Is that any way to speak to your mother, darling?"
Rebecca felt bile rise in the back of her throat, and her eyes began to sting with the threat of tears. Why did her mother have to show up now, when Rebecca had finally begun to believe there was some hope of putting her past behind her? Why?
Her hands clenched until she felt the nails digging into the flesh of her palms. “I think you should leave."
"Before I meet my son-in-law? That wouldn't be polite, now would it, dear?"
The words stunned her. “How did you know?” she asked raggedly.
"News travels fast, especially through a crowded saloon."
"Whorehouse, you mean."
"Tut-tut,” Kate admonished as her gaze traveled around the room, taking in the crystal tear-drop lamps, thick velvet draperies, and expensive silver and gold fixtures attesting to the wealth of its owners. “So where is this husband of yours? Caleb, isn't it?"
Rebecca didn't answer.
"I suppose he's at work running the Adams Express. Yes, he ought to be quite well-off after he inherits the business from his father. You'll have more money than the two of you could ever dream of spending."
"Is that why you came here? For money? Sorry to disappoint you, Red, but I don't have any.” She took perverse pleasure in voicing the name she had so often heard customers use when addressing her mother.
"No, of course you don't. You've barely made enough to live on these past years as a seamstress. But your husband is a wealthy man.” She paused, as though adding emphasis to her next words. “Does he know? Does your fancy husband have any idea that the woman he married is the illegitimate daughter of one of the highest-paid prostitutes in Kansas City? How did you get him to marry you, Rebecca? Did he knock you up?"
A hand fell to her stomach before Rebecca could consciously stop the action.
"Ah, I see that he did.” Kate cackled, putting Rebecca in mind of a wicked witch. “It seems you're no better than your mother, after all."
Kate got up from the sofa and sneered, causing Rebecca to retreat a step. There was a glow in her mother's eyes that she had never seen before, and it frightened her.
"And after you always acted as if you were so much better than me, you little bitch. Well, look at you now. It doesn't matter whether you spread your legs for one man or a hundred, Rebecca. When they pay you for it, it still makes you a whore. You're being paid with this house, the pretty clothes he buys you.” She laughed. “If you want to see a hussy, take a good long look in the mirror. You're just like me, darling daughter. Just like me!"
Rebecca wished this were a dreadful nightmare that would evaporate when she awoke. She could feel tears brimming against her lashes, fighting to free themselves and run unabashedly down her cheeks. Would that her and her mother's lives could have been different. That, despite her circumstances, Kate had learned something about maternal love. But that had never happened, and Rebecca could afford no illusions that it ever would.
Gathering her strength, she took a deep breath, let her arms drop to her sides, and stepped toward her mother. She spoke slowly, her words so low they were almost menacing. “Get out of my house."
Kate backed up but made no move to gather her discarded gloves and leave. “I will. Just as soon as I get what I came for."
"What's that?” Rebecca asked, afraid she already knew the answer.
"Why, money, of course."
"I'm not giving you a dime."
Kate chuckled. “I think you will. Unless you want your husband and every other person in this town to find out who you really are. And who your mother is."
"You wouldn't dare.” But Rebecca knew she would. “Why do you even need money if you're still the highest-paid prostitute in Kansas City?"
"Things have been slow lately."
Rebecca nodded grimly, trying not to care, trying to feel nothing for this woman before her. Feeling anything for Kate would only get her hurt, as it had her entire childhood. “You're getting older,” she said quietly. “Once a girl gets wrinkles on her face and shadows under her eyes, men can't stand the sight of her anymore. That's why you need the money, isn't it?"
"Shut up! Shut up!” her mother screamed, lunging forward and slapping Rebecca hard across the face.
Rebecca put a hand to her throbbing cheek. The tears that had been dammed now spilled over, coursing in long, straight rivulets. The salty moisture stung the flesh that began to bum and swell from Kate's vicious attack.
Kate stood several feet away, breathing hard, her face flushed with fury. Rebecca watched her mother struggle for control of her emotions.
"I want the money,” she said, “or I'll make sure everyone knows who I am. And that you tricked rich Mr. Adams into marrying you."
"I did no such thing."
"Maybe not, but you got the baby before the wedding. That's not the usual way of things, and I'm sure the townspeople would love to hear about it."
"It's not enough that you took my childhood, is it?"
Rebecca said quietly, unable to believe anyone's mother could be so deliberately cruel and hateful. “Now you want to ruin the rest of my life."
"Why should you have it any better than I did? Why should you be happy when I'm still working at the Scarlet Garter? I'm lucky to have even one man a night take a liking to me. So don't you preach to me about how horrible your life was."
Rebecca thought she saw a hint of remorse in her mother's eyes, but it quickly vanished. She tried to just as quickly dampen her own dangerous flash of compassion. “How much?” she asked.
Kate's head popped up as though Rebecca's
response surprised her. “Five hundred dollars."
"Five hundred dollars? Are you crazy? I don't have that kind of money."
Plucking her snagged satin gloves from the table, Kate said, “No, but your husband does."
"He would never give me that much."
Kate took great care in aligning seams and smoothing the gloves over her arms. “He'd better, my dear, or your life will indeed be ruined. Bring the money to the alley behind the Dog Tick Saloon tomorrow at three.” She moved to the double doors, sliding one open and stepping through the portal.
"Why do you hate me so much?” Rebecca whispered.
"I don't hate you, Rebecca,” her mother answered, no emotion in her voice. “I simply need the five hundred dollars."
It was probably true. Kate had never seemed to waste any strong emotions on her daughter. Neither love nor hate. But the threat was there in her words. Rebecca had no doubt that Kate would expose her to Caleb and the whole town if she didn't pay up. Ruining her life—and her child's. And that Rebecca couldn't allow. But where was she supposed to get five hundred dollars? Though these were certainly desperate enough circumstances, her small tea-tin stash from Caleb's insulting payment wouldn't make even a dent in that amount.
Her fingers turning white on the doorknob, Rebecca watched her mother walk out of the house and down the front steps.
"Who was that?"
Rebecca jumped, startled to see Megan standing in the dining room entryway.
"No one."
"You look upset. Is everything all right?"
"Yes. Fine. I'm—” Rebecca stopped short as her stomach lurched. She just managed to reach the porch railing before losing both her breakfast and lunch.
After several long moments of gut-wrenching torment, she straightened and brushed a hand over her straggling hair. Megan offered a handkerchief and glass of water. Rebecca took both, rinsing her mouth and wiping the perspiration from her face.
"Come sit down.” Megan led her to the swing and sat beside her. “Do you want to talk about it?"
Rebecca was amazed by the depth of young Megan's compassion. “No."
She felt a stab of regret that she couldn't talk to Megan about Kate. It would be nice to have someone to confide in. But no matter how much she trusted Megan, the girl was Caleb's sister. The risk was too great.
"We'd better go in,” she said, rising carefully to keep her stomach from protesting. “It's about time to start supper.” She had no idea how she could deal with preparing a meal on top of everything else that had happened today.
Rebecca tensed when Caleb entered the bedroom, not turning to face him. She had avoided meeting his gaze all through dinner, taken an extra-long time to clean up, and sneaked upstairs before he and his father had finished their nightly discussion in the study over a cigar for Holbrook and glass of brandy for Caleb.
He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the side of her neck.
"Something's different,” he said, licking the lobe of her ear. “Flowers."
"Roses,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “Megan let me use her rose perfume."
"Mmm. Then why do you still smell so spicy?"
She leaned back against him, for a moment feeling safe and protected, as she had of late, in his arms. “Because I threw a cinnamon stick in my bath water, as usual."
He groaned and pulled her closer, if that was possible. “The combination is irresistible."
"I don't know if Megan will want me borrowing her perfume all the time, though.” Her heart beat a little faster when Caleb's hand trailed down the outside other thigh. It delighted and excited her that he'd not only noticed her new fragrance but also seemed to enjoy it.
"To hell with Megan,” he said, cupping her breast in his hand. “I'll buy you your own. Damn. You keep smelling this good, and I'll buy you a bucket of the stuff."
She laughed. “You like it then?"
He growled and bit her collarbone, dragging the thin lawn nightgown up to bunch at her hips.
Rebecca sucked on her lower lip, knowing what she must do but dreading it all the same. She had to do it now, before Caleb made love to her and drifted off to sleep. Before she started feeling warm and tingly and guilty as sin.
"Caleb, I need to ask a favor."
"Hmm?"
"Caleb, this is serious.” She turned in his arms, trying to distract him from an overly sensitive spot he'd discovered just below her right breast.
"I'm listening,” he said, his lips moving against her throat.
"The Wednesday Group dropped by today, and—"
"Who?"
"The women who used to come to me for dresses. Caleb!” Rebecca swatted at his hand when it swept between her thighs.
"What about them?"
"I agreed to continue sewing for them."
"Good,” he said, and she knew he was hardly paying attention to a word she said.
"Could I borrow some money? I have to buy supplies.” The lie slipped past her lips a little too easily for her comfort.
Caleb put his hands behind her knees and lifted her legs around his waist, heading for the foot of the bed, “I'll leave you a bank draft in the morning. Take as much as you need."
"Thank you,” she said, gasping as her buttocks rubbed against the cool wood of the bed frame.
"No. Thank you,” he said, and let her fall back onto the mattress.
As he'd promised, Caleb left a blank bank draft on the desk in the study. When Rebecca walked in and saw it lying there, she sat down and cried. She tried to tell herself that she was just being emotional because of the baby, but even as her mind registered that excuse, she knew it wasn't true. She cried because things had been going so well, and because—damn it all!—she was starting to fall in love with Caleb.
When their marriage started they had been as ornery as two stallions fighting over a herd of mares, but since then things had calmed down considerably. They had come to something of an unspoken understanding, and Rebecca couldn't deny that she looked forward to watching the sun go down, knowing that in those dark hours of the night Caleb would make her feel things she had never thought possible, do things to her body that she had always considered taboo.
But it was more than the physical pleasure. It wasn't just that making love with Caleb didn't make her feel cheap and tawdry, as she'd always expected it would. It was that Caleb seemed to ... care.
Each day when he returned home from work, he sought her out and asked about her day. He kissed her considerately on the cheek if they were not alone, passionately on the lips if they were. And how could she miss the way he rushed through the meetings with his father to retire early with her?
Caleb made her feel the way she'd always dreamt of feeling. Their wedding had been hurried, the joining far from idyllic, but somehow he made her happy to be his wife. And proud—so very proud—to be carrying his child. A child she would always love and cherish with all her heart and strength.
Rebecca spanned the slight swell of her abdomen with her hands, still utterly amazed that a life was growing there inside, her. A life that she already loved and would risk all to protect. The reason behind what she was about to do.
In the long hours of the night, while Caleb dozed beside her, Rebecca had thought a lot about her own mother's threat. She didn't fear for herself. Not really. Caleb would surely be furious to discover her secret, and perhaps he would even send her away, opting to provide for his child from a distance. Or maybe he would want to protect the child by being rid of its mother completely. The thought of divorce hurt too much to even consider.
Still, she was not paying her mother off to protect her own reputation; she was doing it for her son or daughter. What child should have to deal with the taunts of others because of his mother's past, because she had grown up in a brothel?
Her child would not. If she had to lie, cheat, and steal, Rebecca swore that her child would never have to suffer even a fraction of the pain she had growing up.
With renewed determination, she dried her eyes and picked up the paper that held their entire future in the balance. She offered up a short, desperate prayer and tucked it into the pocket of her skirt.
"Mrs. Adams. How nice to see you.” The bank clerk beamed at her from behind the counter.
She swallowed, uncomfortable at being called Mrs. Adams after so many years of being just plain Rebecca. She smiled nonetheless.
"Your husband said you would probably be stopping in today."
"Caleb was here?” Her throat became suddenly dry.
"Yes, ma'am. He came by to tell us you were allowed to draw money out of his account."
"Yes,” she said. “He left me a bank draft."
The clerk nodded. “I know you're his wife an’ all, but you couldn't have made use of his money without his written permission. Bank policy, you know."
"I see,” Rebecca said. A trickle of perspiration was beginning to gather between her breasts, and it had nothing to do with the hot August sun.
"So then, what can I do for you?"
She removed the paper from her reticule and smoothed her hands over it before sliding the bank draft across the countertop. “You can show me how to fill this out for five hundred dollars."
Rebecca saw the clerk's mouth drop open and his eyes bulge. He reacted the same way she had, the same way she would expect of anyone within earshot of the huge figure.
"Fi—five hundred?"
Rebecca smiled as though she spent that amount every day of her life. She was, after all, an Adams now. Time to start thinking like one. She tried to incorporate some of the self-assurance Caleb always exuded into her demeanor.
"Yes. I'm planning many household improvements."
The clerk was still in a dazed state when Rebecca collected her money and waved good-bye. By then, her camisole was clinging to her damp skin, and her nerves were worn down to mere pinpricks racing the length of her spine.
The large grandfather clock in the bank showed it to be two-forty-eight, so Rebecca made her way along the boardwalk, smiling and nodding to everyone she passed. She avoided the Adams Express office altogether, afraid she would not be able to keep up her brave front with Caleb.