Night Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy)

by Shirl Henke

  Melanie squeezed her eyes shut in humiliation. He was right. Why had she acted that way, let him—no, encouraged him—to touch her so intimately? She stiffened her spine with pride, now her only defense. Forcing herself to gaze on his hard, handsome face, she replied flatly, “I'm a very unfeminine crusader, as you've reminded me more than once. You're the experienced man of the world. You took advantage of me, and now you're only marrying me to save face and keep my father from killing you! How do you expect me to react to such a cold-blooded proposition? With joy for my shredded reputation? ‘Well, at least he married the chit!’ I can hear Violet Clemson's spiteful tongue already!”

  “Can you think of an alternative? That is, if you consider me brave enough to defy your formidable father?” he asked sarcastically. She made no reply. “You just moved to San Antonio. You have family and friends in other places. After an annulment you could move to Nacogdoches or Houston—even back to Boston. But I was born here and this is the only home I've ever known. As it is, I've lost the woman I planned to marry because of what's happened. Larena won't even see me,” he said bitterly.

  “So now we get down to it, really,” she responded, forcing the words from her aching throat. “Your fiancée from her pure-blooded family! You wanted a dynastic alliance with the Sandovals—a woman to breed heirs for your estancia. Mindless and dutiful—oh, yes, and exceedingly ladylike!”

  “Nothing like you, that's for damn sure,” he shot back.

  Tears of furious rage suffocated her, closing her throat and making her voice raspy. “Yes, me—a bastard born of a misalliance with the blood of Indians and African slaves flowing in my veins! You couldn't dream of giving the precious Velasquez name to any mongrel children of mine, could you?”

  Lee stood riveted to the earth, unable to deny the truth of her painful accusations. Here she was, having made chaos of his life, now making him feel guilty! He forced himself to calm, lest he say even more hurtful things to her, then shrugged carelessly. “It really doesn't signify whether or not I'd consider you a fit mother for my children, since we don't intend to have a real marriage. You don't love me and I don't love you. We just have to make the best of this disaster for the next year or so.”

  Melanie turned over in her mind what he said. Forget the pain—you've always lived with it. It'll never change. You are who you are, and you don't need any man. “All right,” she began in a low, rational voice, “we'll get married in name only. After things settle down” and my parents go back to Renacimiento, she thought with a stab of desperation, “I'll go to Galveston and get the annulment. Maybe Clarence knows an editor there who'd hire a good reporter.”

  “What's wrong with Boston? You've got a grandfather there and all sorts of crusades to join,” he said, guilty once more over the image of a tiny woman alone in a rough port city.

  “Texas is my home too, Lee. My parents and brothers and sister are all here,” she replied, angry again.

  “Be grateful they're alive, Melanie,” he said softly, looking out across the fields with a shuttered expression on his face.

  She felt an unexpected surge of pain for his losses. That will always be between us, won't it, Lee? Forcing her thoughts to more practical considerations, she said, “Let's bury the past and think of the future. We'd better settle how this so-called marriage is going to work. I'm not your household ornament and bed warmer. I'll want other more useful things to do.”

  “Such as?” He quirked one brow, knowing what she was leading up to.

  “I intend to keep my job at the Star. It's not that far from Night Flower Ranch to San Antonio.”

  “Haven't you gotten in enough trouble—nearly got me, you, Pemberton and that poor old printer all killed with your escapades? Moses French is dead, Melanie,” he finished on a note of flat finality.

  “Moses French may be, but I will still do my society news and gossip columns,” she shot back angrily. “And I'll continue to help out at Father Gus's school, too.” Her gold eyes flashed, daring him to refuse.

  He shrugged with seeming indifference, realizing how impossible a hoyden she'd always be. “Do your good deeds and write about teas and dances. But as long as I'm responsible for you, I'd better never catch you risking that pretty little ass again!” His black eyes glittered, daring her to refuse.

  After a long, hard look at her proudly set jaw and rigid stance, he turned sharply on his heel and stalked back toward the boardinghouse, saying only, “I'll see you in church.”

  Melanie watched as he disappeared from sight. Then, she finally released the tears held in check for so long. Anger, pure venomous anger, that's all it is, she told herself as the silvery droplets deluged her cheeks. She clung to the tree trunk and slid down its scratchy surface to huddle forlornly against its base, sobbing brokenly, damning Lee Velasquez with every ragged breath.

  * * * *

  In the years since his ordination, Father Gus had performed numerous marriages, but he would never forget this one. The bride was wooden and subdued, ushered into church by her parents and younger siblings. Adam, a tall replica of his darkly dangerous-looking father, was as impassive as his parents, seeming to understand that all was not well with his sister's hastily arranged private marriage. Caleb and Lenore were boisterous, happy children behaving with their best “church manners,” while the baby Joey slept peacefully in his mother's arms. The priest made a mental note to speak to her in a few days about the child's baptism. For now he would not press the issue, for Mrs. Fleming looked sad as she attempted to soothe her unhappy stepdaughter.

  Rafe Fleming seemed protective of his daughter but sternly forbidding, as if he and she had exchanged sharp words earlier, doubtless about the necessity of the marriage. Father Gus smiled. Melanie was a willful daughter. Small wonder Rafe looked so grim.

  But Fleming's mien was mild compared to Lee's fierce scowl yesterday when he'd come to make his confession and seek guidance. What guidance could the priest give? The wronged girl's father and Jim Slade had discussed the matter with him the preceding night—rather forcefully. After his careful interrogation of Lee the following morning, he concluded that their insistence on the marriage was justified. Lee had acted abominably toward the girl and exposed her in a shameful scene in front of a large group of men.

  Watching Melanie' s nervous glances toward the back of the church, he said in his most reassuring voice, “Never fear, daughter, soon he will be here.”

  “That's what I do fear,” she replied tartly before receiving a quelling look from her father.

  Melanie reached down and smoothed her silk gown in agitation. What a lovely picture she makes, Father Gus thought to himself, so different from that drably dressed girl he had met his first day in San Antonio. Now, she was a vision in pale green silk. The gown was plainly cut with a high neckline and long sleeves, but its very severity emphasized her delicate features and dramatic coloring. Had Lee Velasquez been responsible for this transformation?

  Just then Lee's footfalls echoed down the aisle of the quiet church. He was accompanied by the Slades and their noisy brood, much more at ease in the familiar church they attended every Sunday than were the Fleming children. Perhaps, Jim and Charlee looked more positively on the forced marriage than the Flemings did, he mused.

  The towering hulk of Wash Oakley and his Amazonian wife completed the small company here to witness the private marriage ceremony. Being of fundamentalist religious background, they were obviously uncomfortable with the ornate grandeur of the vaulted-roofed San Fernando. Still, when Lee walked over to stand beside Melanie, the priest was sure he saw Wash and Obedience exchange a wink and a grin. If only the bride and groom were as pleased as their friends!

  Lee reached out his hand, palm up, offering to take Melanie's hand. She responded woodenly, visually prodded by her father to do so. Lee's slim dark hand enveloped her tiny pale one, and they knelt before the altar.

  Father Gus carefully went through the preliminary explanations about the permanence and sanctity of
the sacrament of marriage.

  Then in a strong voice, struggling to overcome his thick German accent, the priest read, “If anyone can show just cause why this man and woman may not be joined together, I exhort him to make known such objections or forever hold his peace.”

  Silence. Breathing a sigh of relief in spite of himself, the priest began the ceremony. When the time came for Lee to place the ring on her hand, Jim Slade stepped forward and handed it to the bridegroom. Lee hesitated for a moment, his eyes flashing in amazement back to his friend. He recognized the antique gold band set with rubies and had not expected it to be the ring he would place on Melanie's hand.

  The priest cleared his throat, waiting patiently for Lee to continue. Finally, reluctantly, he slid the ring on her finger and repeated the words. Father Gus could see Melanie's wide golden eyes staring up at her groom, confused and angered by his last-minute hesitation.

  As he pronounced the final benediction after the mass, Father Gus couldn't help but sigh with relief, thanking the Heavenly Father that the church was still standing. Already, he anticipated a great many hours on his knees, praying for the success of this most unlikely union.

  “I should have told him first,” Jim said to Charlee as they stood on the church steps watching Lee lift his tiny bride into the carriage for their ride to Night Flower Ranch.

  “If you had told him, he would have refused to give it to her and you know it,” Charlee said emphatically. “It was his mother's ring, and it should belong to Melanie now.”

  “When you found it in that attic trunk of Pa's, I should have given it to him for Dulcia,” Jim replied uneasily.

  “I was saving it for the right woman,” Charlee said with a gamin grin. “Don't worry, no matter how much he fumes now, he'll come around.”

  Jim grunted. “Melanie didn't look any happier than Lee. I only hope she comes around, too.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  They rode in strained silence for several minutes, as they left the whispering cypress trees and stout adobe buildings of San Antonio behind on their journey to Night Flower. Thinking of the months to come living in his house, Melanie nervously twisted the ornate old ring back and forth on her finger. Finally, she worked up her courage to speak. “Why did you hesitate—about the ring, I mean?”

  At first she didn't think he'd reply. His profile remained impassive as he stared straight ahead. Then he sighed and said quietly, “It was my mother's ring. I hadn't seen it since Will Slade pulled me off her body that day....I was six years old then, but I still remember the ring. It's been in our family for generations. I guess old Will kept it hidden somewhere, and Jim and Charlee only recently found it.”

  Melanie nodded mutely. You would have given it to Larena but not to me. She fought back the hated tears.

  Lee could sense her mute misery. Guilt and anger tore at him as he gazed surreptitiously at her bowed head. Damn, if only you weren't so beautiful, so desirable. He forced his thoughts away from that dangerous consideration.

  “Can you cook?” he asked abruptly, wanting to change the subject.

  “No,” she answered, a chill in her voice.

  “I didn't think so,” he replied glumly. “Well, you'll just have to get used to Kai, then.”

  “Kai?” she questioned, looking up at him.

  “Molokai—shortened to Kai by the hands. He's Kanaka—from the Sandwich Islands in the Pacific.”

  “I know where they are located. I studied geography,’’ she interjected with asperity.

  He slapped the reins lightly and groused, “Never learned to cook but you studied geography. It figures.”

  “How did a Kanaka,” she stumbled over the foreign word, “get halfway around the world to Texas?”

  “He escaped from Molokai as a kid. It was a leper's colony then.” At her look of horror, he said quickly, “He's not contaminated—that was over thirty years ago. He signed on a whaler and ended up in Mazatlán. That's a city—”

  “On the northwestern coast of Mexico,” she finished impatiently.

  Smiling in spite of himself, he continued, “Well, anyway, I met him through Raoul Fouqué, a, er, business associate in Santa Fe. We three rode together for a few years. He's six foot seven and very good with knives,” he warned her.

  “Can he cook?” she asked, undaunted.

  “Yep. That's why I hired him. He hated life in the Apachería. Funny, he's really a gentle giant once you get past his intimidating face and size. He showed up at the ranch a few months ago, not long after I'd begun to rebuild.”

  “What's it like, the new house? All I saw that day were the burned-out ruins of the old place.” She was curious about her new home, even if it was to be only a temporary one.

  For the first time, she felt him warm to a subject. “It's more beautiful than either of the first two houses. I had money to buy the best materials this time. I built it on the pattern of a traditional Mexican estancia with a central courtyard and a fountain. It's set alongside an underground stream that bubbles to the surface for several hundred yards and twists its way through a lush shallow canyon. The interior isn't quite finished yet. I expect it could use a woman's touch. You can select any furnishings you want—that is, if you want to bother.” He looked over at her, his expression once more guarded.

  “I—I'd like that very much, Lee,” she answered, surprising herself with the answer. Then, remembering how lovingly her father had built Renacimiento for her mother, filling it with all Deborah's belongings, her heart ached. He built Night Flower for Larena, you fool, not you! They lapsed into silence for the rest of the ride.

  Suddenly, Lee pulled the horses up and pointed to the valley floor below. There, nestled between a twisting creek and a copse of cypress trees, sat a lovely house of whitewashed adobe, sparkling pristinely in the afternoon sunlight. The low, thick walls shaded by trees would keep it cool on the hottest days.

  “What a beautiful setting,” Melanie said, taking in the gently sloping trail to the canyon floor, carefully graded to allow wagon and carriage traffic.

  “I didn't want to build on the old ruins a second time,” Lee explained as he urged the horses on. “Too many memories, I guess. Anyway, I've loved this place ever since I was a boy. When I first came home, I camped where you found me by the ruins. One evening I couldn't sleep.” He paused, recalling his nightmares. When she looked questioningly at him, he continued, “I rode here. It was as if I were drawn irresistibly. I was trying to decide whether or not to stay and start over. That's when I found them.”

  “Them?” she asked softly, oddly pleased for him to explain this much to her.

  “The evening primroses. They grow along the edge of the stream by the canyon wall.”

  “Night Flower? You named the ranch for them,” she said in sudden understanding.

  “I thought of it as sort of an omen, I guess. Fouqué would say I spent too much time with Indians,” he added, scoffing, abruptly breaking the mood of closeness between them.

  When they arrived at the house, an enormous man, even bigger than Wash Oakley, stood outside the front entrance, apparently awaiting them. His dark mahogany skin was scarred and his expression forbidding.

  ‘That's Kai?” Melanie asked, suppressing a tremor of uneasiness.

  Lee gave a low chuckle. “I told you, he's really a lamb.” The young rancher called out a greeting in an unfamiliar melodic tongue.

  The big man replied in the same language and then reached up to help Melanie from the carriage, a smile now creasing his face. Several front teeth were missing, but despite that and his fearsome scars, Melanie sensed his instinctive kindness. “Hello, Mr. Molokai,” she said politely.

  “Welcome to your new home, Señora Velasquez,” he replied in English that was oddly accented with Spanish. “Please call me Kai. Everyone does.”

  “Only if you call me Melanie.” She smiled at the giant and he was won over. “I understand from—my husband,” she almost stumbled on the words, “that you are a very good c
ook. Perhaps you can teach me?”

  “It would be an honor, Melanie.” He went around to the rear of the carriage and began to lift her trunks as if they weighed nothing.

  Lee stood beside her, watching her charm Kai, feeling surprised at her easy camaraderie with the Kanaka. Larena had been terrified of him. “Let's go inside and I'll show you the house,” he said, taking her arm possessively.

  The interior of the house was as lovely as the outside promised, with spacious, airy rooms and an enchanting central courtyard. Lee ushered her across the wide front sala and out onto the patio. “It's beautiful,” she exclaimed, looking from the sparkling water tumbling down into the shallow limestone pool to the scattered pots filled with miniature orange trees, fig trees, and other flowering shrubs, many so exotic she'd never seen their like.

  “I had the patio plants brought up from Mexico City. My Uncle Alfonso was an amateur botanist of sorts,” he said. “I'll show you the rest of the house if you like.”

  The rooms were indeed sparsely furnished, with only a few massive oak pieces in most. The white walls and dark stained furniture made a dramatic contrast, crying out for brightly colored rugs and wall hangings to accompany them. “I saw a bright orange and yellow rug at Frascatti's Emporium last week that would be perfect for the sala,” Melanie said impulsively after they had briefly inspected the dining room, library, and smaller sitting room. “That is, if you would like those colors,” she amended quickly, remembering that this was meant to be Larena's house.

  “As I said, it's not finished and needs a woman's touch. One of the hands can take you to town tomorrow and you can buy whatever you want.” His expression was shuttered and Melanie felt her enthusiasm wane.

  Tomorrow I must go to the Star office and explain to Clarence, she thought with a shudder of dread, imagining his scathing reaction. She said nothing aloud to Lee.

  “If you want to freshen up before dinner, I'll show you your room,” Lee said stiffly, not bringing up their agreement, yet subtly reminding her of it.