Dragon Tamer

by Jane Bonander

  “Hello, Victor.”

  At the sound of Dante’s voice, the boy raised his head. For a brief moment, his face lit up, then, as quickly, it clouded over, “’lo.”

  Dante walked between the long row of bunks, stopping in front of him. “Up to new tricks, are you?”

  Victor shrugged.

  Dante sat beside him on the bed and put an arm around the boy’s thin shoulders. “Personally,” he said in a stage whisper, “I don’t think this one was all that bad, but you know Sister Mary Frank, she has no sense of humor at all.”

  “Don’t you call me that in front of the children, Dante Templeton,” she scolded.

  “I’m sorry.” He sounded contrite, but he winked at Victor. “What’s your punishment today?”

  Victor studied the toes of his scuffed shoes. “I gotta clean the ashes out of all the fireplaces.”

  Dante winced. “Tough duty. I was hoping that today we could do something together.”

  Victor’s face fell.

  “That’s the way it is,” Dante said seriously. “Only good deeds are rewarded. Never the bad ones.”

  Dante understood him. Hell, he was him eighteen years ago. That was why he spent time with him. While Damien had always followed the rules, Dante had broken them. He acted like a terror, but deep inside he had been scared. With his fear, Damien had turned inward. Dante had rebelled. Yes, he understood Victor.

  “Well, then, I suppose I should let you get to your punishment.”

  Victor gave him a solemn nod and stood. “If I’m good, can we do something tomorrow?”

  “If I can get away, we certainly will.”

  Victor’s face fell again, and Dante knew he was thinking that adults couldn’t be trusted. Already at his young age he’d learned that lesson well.

  As had Dante when he had been a youth.

  Will we always be together, Damien?

  I will never leave you, Dante…

  Dante ran his fingers over Victor’s curly, white-blond hair. “I promise I’ll come if I can, Victor, and if not tomorrow, the day after. Now, get to your work and do a good job.”

  He left the room with Sister Mary Frank and they walked together toward the music.

  “He’s a handful,” she admitted.

  “No worse than I was.”

  “Perhaps not.” She sighed. “I’m just getting old, I guess.”

  Dante put his arm around her shoulders. “Nonsense. You look the same as you did the day Damien and I came.”

  She snorted. “How would you know that? You were barely walking.”

  He didn’t argue. All he knew for sure was that Sister Mary Francis hadn’t aged. It was probably her pure heart and devout spirit. If they were criteria for eternal youth, Dante was certain to look like an octogenarian before he reached thirty.

  The closer they got to the singing, the more whimsical it sounded. On occasion it stopped, and when it did, there was commotion and laughter.

  “What’s going on in there?”

  “It’s one of our new volunteers. She comes here often.”

  The nun pushed the door open a crack, allowing Dante to look into the room. The children were playing musical chairs to the tune of “Pop Goes the Weasel.” The volunteer was at the piano, her back to the door. She stopped suddenly and there was a mad scramble for seats. Two children, a boy and a girl, fought for the remaining chair.

  The woman left the piano and refereed. “All right, who got to the chair first?”

  Both children raised their hands.

  “Martha.” Her voice was stern but soft. “Did you really get to that chair before Jacob?”

  Martha’s defiant chin stuck out. “Yes.”

  “Jacob? Did she beat you to the chair?”

  Jacob, a thin little boy about half the size of the healthy Martha with big, sad, honest eyes, shook his head.

  The woman squatted in front of the pouting girl. “Are you sure you got here first?”

  Martha’s pudgy face puckered. “No, but I’m a girl.”

  “And you think Jacob should be punished just because he’s a boy?”

  “Boys are always getting into trouble,” Martha reasoned.

  The woman took Martha’s hands in hers, drew her close and spoke to her in a soft, low voice. When she finished, she took Martha in her arms and they hugged.

  Dante was stunned. So few people loved these orphans, so few gave the time. Fewer gave their hearts, as he did.

  The woman stood and turned toward the door.

  Dante felt a sucker-punch to his gut, ducked out of the room, and started down the hall.

  Sister Mary Frank hurried after him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I have a meeting in a half hour,” he lied.

  “That’s a shame. I had thought that perhaps you and Mrs. Rayburn could discuss Victor since you both get along with him so well.”

  Dante didn’t break his stride. “How long has she been volunteering here?”

  “Only since she returned with her late husband’s whaler. He died at sea.” Sister Mary Frank sounded winded as she kept pace with him. “She nearly single-handedly brought the vessel back, you know. The crew was reluctant, you can imagine, to be ordered about by a woman, but she brooked no nonsense, and the ship returned unharmed. It was such a tragedy. She’s a lovely woman, sweet and wonderful with the children.”

  Dante stopped at the front door. His gaze hurried over the large, wooden crucifix hanging in the entry that had frightened him as a boy, and the old, dim painting of the Virgin Mary holding the infant Jesus that ornamented the opposite wall. “Yes, well I guess you need all the help you can get.”

  Sister Mary Frank gave him an odd look. “Why would you say a thing like that? She’s one of the finest women to ever give her time here.”

  He shook his head. “I apologize. I have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

  “Eleanor Rayburn adores the children. I believe she lost one of her own at sea.” The nun clucked her tongue in sympathy. “One never recovers from losing a child.”

  Dante wanted to leave.

  Sister Mary Frank wouldn’t drop it. “She would be such a lovely mother. It’s such a pity. Now, she has no children of her own and no husband. He left her with nothing.”

  Dante’s stomach churned. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He didn’t want to hear that the starched Widow Rayburn had a gentle and generous heart. He didn’t want to know that she was wonderful with orphans. He didn’t want to think that maybe she deserved better than he’d given her.

  It had been almost two weeks since Eleanor moved into her brother’s house. It seemed like two months. She was polishing the silver when Willa swept into the dining room.

  “Oh, I just don’t know why I let Calvin talk me into giving this party. Everything I have is old and worn out. I wish I could have convinced him to hold off until I’d redecorated, but he absolutely insisted.”

  Eleanor quietly cheered her brother’s small victory.

  Willa expelled an exasperated sigh. “It’s bad enough that we have to live here among the ‘Noble Bohemians’ on Pinckney Street.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “It would have been so much more ideal to live somewhere on Mount Vernon Street or Chestnut.”

  “I think everything looks lovely. And I love Pinckney,” Eleanor added. “Do you know how many famous people have lived on this very street?” She named those she knew of, including Nathaniel Hawthorne.

  “That’s all very well.” Willa interrupted. “But they really can’t do a thing for me and my social status, can they?” Willa’s voice was filled with self-pity. “Have you waxed the entry-way?”

  “I did it last night, after everyone was in bed,” Eleanor explained.

  “What about the washrooms? Have they been scrubbed and furnished with fresh linens?”

  “I’ll do that last, to make sure they’re spotless when the guests arrive,” Eleanor said.

  Willa frowned. “Well, don’t forget.”

  Elea
nor saw her own reflection in the silver serving tray, noting that her hair was sticking out at odd angles and that she wore a permanent frown. “I won’t forget, Willa.”

  “And Calvin insists that you mingle, Eleanor. Don’t spend all your time cleaning up after the guests. We don’t want people to think you’re hired help.”

  Heaven forbid. The hired help gets paid.

  “Don’t you have something nice to wear? Something not quite so…depressing?”

  “I’m in mourning.”

  “Even so, there are attractive black dresses to be had. I saw one in the Peterson catalogue just this week. Black satin with scalloped trim braid. It was beautiful.”

  “And expensive, no doubt,” Eleanor added.

  Willa studied her critically. “Well, try to find something suitable.”

  Willa left the room, leaving Eleanor to think about the party. She dreaded it. She didn’t want to mingle with Calvin’s guests. She didn’t even like most of the people he associated with. She preferred staying in the background, or better yet, in the kitchen helping Butterfly with the food.

  Willa poked her head around the corner. “Oh, by the way. I might as well warn you now. One of our guests tonight is very important. He’ll be the only man not dressed in traditional clothing. In fact, he might be wearing a garish shirt or sporting an earring.”

  “An earring?” Eleanor picked up the Waterford crystal serving bowl and waited for Willa to elaborate.

  “He’s quite outrageous, as is his lifestyle. A number of weeks ago,” she said, lowering her voice and stepping close, “I heard that one morning his mistress left his row house on Kingston Street wearing nothing but her feather boa.”

  Eleanor gaped. “You can’t mean it.”

  Willa nodded. “She was—” Willa moved close and whispered, “—naked.”

  Eleanor continued to gape, waiting, no, panting to hear more.

  Willa accommodated her. “I overheard the gossip at the milliner. It came from her cook’s husband’s niece’s oldest son who happened to be filling in for the regular footman.”

  Eleanor closed her mouth and swallowed. “She really wore nothing but a feather boa?”

  “Not even a pair of stockings.” Willa’s eyes glistened with juicy enthusiasm.

  Heat spread up Eleanor’s neck. “I can’t imagine such a thing.”

  “You’re just never going to know what will happen when Dante Templeton is around.”

  The Waterford bobbled in Eleanor’s hands, almost slipping from her grip. She clutched it to her chest. “He’s coming here?”

  Willa eyed her, surprised. “You know who he is?”

  “Well, I’ve heard of him,” Eleanor hedged.

  Willa giggled and lifted her shoulders. “Isn’t it exciting? He’ll liven up the party, won’t he? And of course his mistress and her husband will be here, too. Marguerite Banning has all the social graces of a tavern wench, but Millard, her husband, is one of the most influential businessmen in Boston.”

  Willa stepped a little closer. “She’s his second wife, you know. His first wife hadn’t been dead six months before the tramp dug her clutches into him.

  “He has three grown children, all of them older than she is, and they absolutely despise her. Afraid she’s going to spend all of their inheritance, I guess.”

  Eleanor listened, amazed. “This Dante Templeton’s mistress is a married woman?” It was a world that Eleanor had never understood. It was disgraceful. Sinful. And just a little too exciting. It was the stuff that back fence gossip was made of.

  “Oh, my, yes,” Willa enthused. “Of course, one never knows how long he’ll tolerate her. He uses women like most of us use linen handkerchiefs.”

  Eleanor felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t want to see the man. He was responsible for her current living arrangements and she had hoped she’d never have to see him again. He was rude and vulgar and certainly no one with whom she would ever want to associate.

  And for some reason she couldn’t understand, her heart leapt into her throat whenever she heard his name.

  Four

  Eleanor’s palms were sweaty. And every time the buzzer rang announcing another guest, her heart strained to break free from her chest. She tried to mingle, but even under the best of circumstances she had never been good at small talk.

  To ease her distress, she did what Willa had warned her not to—she bussed dishes and escaped downstairs to the kitchen. It was obvious, however, that Willa expected her to wait on the guests, for she called down to her numerous times, requesting one thing or another be brought to the buffet table.

  Eleanor was going to check on Lydia, still listening for the door, when she bumped into one of the guests.

  The woman had flaming red hair and a painted face. She made an impatient sound in her throat as she shoved her fur cape at Eleanor. “Here. Find a place for this.”

  Eleanor put the exquisite garment over her forearm and quickly glanced away, for the woman’s gown was cut very low, revealing a wide expanse of white, unblemished skin.

  “And where can I freshen up?”

  She looked fresh enough to Eleanor. Her face was made up with what Eleanor supposed was the latest in cosmetics, her lips painted a bright red. Her thin eyebrows were arched unnaturally over her vivid green eyes, and Eleanor detected a strong whiff of perfume.

  “The washrooms are upstairs,” Eleanor offered.

  The woman slowly took the stairs, the hoop beneath her gown of rich white tulle swaying seductively from side to side as she moved.

  Eleanor glanced down at her own dress, a black gingham with a black velvet collar she had purchased after Amos’s death, and realized that she did, indeed, look like the hired help.

  She carefully hung the expensive stole in the closet off the entryway and returned to the parlor, where most of the guests had gathered.

  Willa was talking with an older gentleman who had just arrived. “Marguerite is looking lovely tonight, Mr. Banning. And that cape!” Willa gasped and pressed a hand over her heart. “It’s absolutely the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Mink, isn’t it? It looked fabulous with her white gown.”

  The man smiled vaguely and scanned the room. “Where is my wife, anyway?”

  “I think she went to find someone to hang up her stole,” Willa answered.

  Eleanor glanced toward the stairs. So that was the peacock’s mistress.

  Suddenly Willa squealed and rushed toward the door. “Mr. Templeton! I was afraid you weren’t coming.”

  Eleanor’s heart nearly cracked a rib. Her gaze flew to the doorway.

  He stood there, tall, powerful, mesmerizing…and, to Eleanor’s dismay, completely at ease in his flamboyant dress. His cape, a rich, flowing fabric that nearly touched the floor, was slung over his shoulder. He wore a sedate, tailored evening jacket over a vivid turquoise shirt. And he did indeed sport an earring, a shiny hoop that seized the light and shimmered against his smooth-shaven face.

  Eleanor caught her breath. She was a mass of nerves. Needing to keep busy, she picked up a crumb-littered crystal plate. It slipped from her shaky fingers, hit the edge of the table, and crashed to the floor.

  “Oh, Eleanor, look what you’ve done!” her sister-in-law scolded.

  Everyone stopped talking. All eyes were focused on Eleanor, including Dante Templeton’s.

  Her cheeks flamed. She bent to pick up the pieces. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, hastily dropping the fragments into her apron.

  “You really should see me about getting good help,” one of the women said to Willa as Eleanor hurried downstairs to the kitchen.

  Once there, Eleanor ignored Butterfly’s gaze, closed her eyes, and dropped into a chair by the table.

  “You’re bleedin’.”

  Eleanor glanced at her lap. A stain had spread into the cloth of her apron, and her hands were red.

  She stood, went to the wastebasket, and dropped the broken glass into the trash. “I must have cut myself.”
>
  Butterfly hustled her to the sink. “Pour some water on it and let’s have a look.”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine,” Eleanor insisted. “You have enough to do without playing nursemaid to me.”

  Butterfly glanced at the full tray of shrimp biscuits. “Well, them shrimp doodads should go out…”

  “Go, I’ll be fine.”

  When Butterfly had gone, Eleanor examined her finger, pinching it to see if there was residual glass in the wound. Carefully, she blotted it with a towel. It continued to bleed.

  “There might be glass in it.”

  His deep voice startled her. She hadn’t heard him enter the kitchen and couldn’t imagine any reason why he’d be there. Her foolish heart clomped like it wore wooden shoes. “I’m aware of that. Is there something I can do for you?”

  He stepped close and grasped her injured hand. “I’ve had some experience in first aid. I thought perhaps there was something I could do for you.”

  She yanked her hand away from the fire of his touch. His face was close to hers and she detected the faint odor of soap. His dark, unfashionably long hair fell forward, covering all but his earlobe. The earring snatched the light, and she suddenly had the urge to close her mouth around it. She turned red at the thought.

  “You’ve done quite enough for me, thank you.” She couldn’t hide the derision in her tone.

  He shrugged and returned to the door. “That was business, Mrs. Rayburn. I’m sorry you couldn’t obtain a loan.”

  Eleanor still intended to contact someone else at Whispering Winds; she’d merely been too busy acting as Willa’s housekeeper and handmaiden to get around to it. “I’ll get my ship back, Mr. Templeton, you can count on it.”

  He stopped and studied her; she held her breath.

  “Then I wish you luck.”

  She didn’t believe him. If he had wished her any luck at all, he would have found a way to help her. She turned, giving him her back, then heard the door swing behind her.

  Once again she slumped to the chair to catch her breath. The man created absolute mayhem inside her.

  She pulled her handkerchief from her apron pocket and wrapped it around her finger, hoping to stop the bleeding. She had kept the first aid box from the ship; it was in her room.