A Veiled Reflection (28 page)

“I'm sorry about all of that, Mac,” Jillian finally began. “I tried to warn you.”

“He's insufferable,” Mac replied.

She nodded. “Yes, he is. But I've tried to respect him, and I've always been a dutiful daughter—at least until three months ago.”

“He's being unreasonable to expect us to allow him to order us about.”

Jillian paused and looked up into Mac's face. “It's all a game, Mac. None of this is real. I don't know how we're going to make this right, but listen to yourself. There isn't going to be a wedding. There aren't going to be any of the things my father is presuming upon.” She turned away and buried her face in her hands. Moaning, she continued. “I am so sorry I put you through this. Mary was right. Deception only leads to more deception and people get hurt.”

Mac pulled her hands away and tilted her chin upward. “Jillian, I'm sorry if I made you feel bad.”

She shook her head. “You don't understand. I . . . care about you, Mac.” She exhaled rather loudly, as if those words had cost her everything. “I care about you too,” he said softly. “I care a great deal.”

“I don't want you hurt,” she continued. “I only want your happiness.” “And I only want yours,” he countered.

Jillian shook her head and moved away. They were still playing games. They weren't saying the words they really needed to say. She needed to tell him that she loved him—that she wanted this wedding to go through as planned. That she wanted to be his wife and share his life forever.

“Mac,” she said, turning back to see him watching her very intently. “I need to tell you something. It's important that you understand.” “All right. Go ahead.”

She nodded and moved to stand closer, her taffeta dress rustling softly as she walked. “I think you know that I've come to love a great many things about this territory. I don't want to leave it, neither do I want to leave . . . to leave . . .” She struggled with the words. “You.” His expression altered in such a way that Jillian immediately worried that she'd put him off. “I've never had a friend quite like you,” she hurried to continue.

“A friend?” he questioned softly. “Is that what I am?”

Jillian knew she had to tell him the truth. “I . . . you're . . . more . . .”

“Hey, Doc! They're waiting for you and Miss Jillian! They're gettin' ready to make the toasts and wish you well,” Sam Capper called from down the street.

Jillian quickly looked away. “We'd better get back,” she whispered, feeling that she might break into tears.

“But we need to talk,” Mac said, taking hold of her again.

“Maybe later,” she said, trying to appear in control of her emotions. She offered him a brief smile, then quickly looked away. Later.

NINETEEN

THE FOLLOWING MORNING Jillian met her parents, as planned, in the Harvey dining room. As they sat down to breakfast together, Jillian tried hard not to say or do anything that would bring about her father's disapproval. She knew her mother had spent a good deal of the night crying, as her eyes were red and swollen, and the last thing Jillian wanted to do was cause her to cry now.

They ate silently, or very nearly so. Jillian asked them if their rooms at the hotel were acceptable, and Colin Danvers commented that they were tolerable. Jillian thanked her mother again for the party gown, pretending to be more excited about it than she really was. The falsity of her words and actions was weighing on her like a smothering shroud. It threatened the very breath from her body, and guilt ate at her constantly. What was it Mary had said about God freeing you from such guilt? The truth would set you free, she had told Jillian. It stuck in Jillian's mind like a counterbalance against all that she had allowed to put her into bondage.

They were just finishing with their meal when Mac appeared. He walked to the table with deliberate strides and stopped long enough to bow and smile to both Jillian and her mother before facing Colin.

“I received your note,” he said matter-of-factly.

Danvers pushed back from the table and got to his feet. “Let's be about it, then.”

Jillian shook her head. What was going on? The two men quickly exited the room, leaving her no recourse but to question her mother. “Why did Father send Mac a note?”

“He wished to talk to him. They have a great deal to settle, you know,” Gretchen replied. “My dear, we have an appointment at the hotel. I have hired a local seamstress to come in and see to your final fitting of the wedding gown. There's no sense in appearing shoddy on your special day.”

“I wish you wouldn't have gone to so much trouble,” Jillian replied, then instantly regretted her words as her mother's countenance fell. She reached out to pat her mother's hand. “It's just that I know it's so hard on you. I don't wish you to be overworked on my account.”

Gretchen nodded. “It has been difficult, but I shan't rest until the wedding is a success. Judith disappointed me by running off and leaving me without a wedding to plan. I simply can't have you dismiss me from your wedding as well.”

Jillian felt consuming guilt. Here her mother was trying hard to make the best of a bad situation and Jillian was ruining it. What would her mother say when the truth came out and she learned there was to be no wedding at all? Then a thought came to her. Perhaps Mac would argue with her father and formally break their engagement that way. It seemed like a wise thing to do. It hurt to imagine that after being seen everywhere as an engaged couple, honored with toasts and congratulations at the party the night before, that Jillian would soon go back to being nothing more than another Harvey Girl.

“I suppose we could go for the fitting now,” Jillian said, trying to put the image of Mac and her father aside. She got to her feet and helped her mother from the table.

Gretchen seemed happy again, and Jillian realized that she would have to figure out a way to ease her mother's distress once her wedding to Mac was officially cancelled. Maybe she could return home for a short while. After all, it wouldn't cost her that much in time or effort to see her mother through what would be an obvious disappointment. The idea of returning to Kansas City held no interest for Jillian, but she loved her mother and didn't want to see her suffer.

Outside, Jillian tucked her mother's arm close to her side and headed toward the hotel. To her immediate frustration, Jillian found herself forced to encounter Mrs. Everhart and her daughter, Davinia.

“Miss Danvers,” Mrs. Everhart said quite haughtily, “I have not yet made the acquaintance of your mother.”

Jillian nodded. “Mrs. Everhart, Miss Everhart, please allow me to introduce my mother, Mrs. Gretchen Danvers of Kansas City.”

The two women nodded, each seeming to try to outdo the other in formality. Davinia, her mousy brown hair blowing lifelessly in the breeze, peered around her mother's shoulder as if to acknowledge herself to Jillian's mother.

“I hear tell that once your daughter and our good doctor are wed, they will return to Kansas City.”

“We have no plans to return to Kansas City,” Jillian interjected before her mother could speak.

Mrs. Everhart looked down her nose at Jillian. “I was speaking to your mother. Have the good manners to respect the conversation of your elders.”

“Please do not reprimand my daughter,” Gretchen spoke, surprising Jillian. “She is a grown woman of good breeding. She has attended the finest schools and has been finished by Madame Duvereau herself.”

Jillian realized that Mrs. Everhart would have no idea who Madame Duvereau was. The stately old woman ran the most elite finishing school for women in the Kansas City area, and Jillian had placed at the top of her class in all subjects. Her mother was fiercely proud of this, for it showed all of polite society Jillian's potential as a wife and hostess.

“I don't imagine her good breeding would allow for the lies she's told while living here or for her taking on the ghastly task of serving in these Harvey Houses. Why, I'm appalled that such women are even allowed in the church on Sunday.”

“Just what are you implying?” Jillian questioned before her mother could speak.

“I have it on the best authority that Mr. Harvey's ‘Girls,' as you call yourselves, are no better than a higher class of street harlot.”

“You take that back!” Jillian said, stepping forward. “I have never disgraced my parents in such a way, nor would I. I can't believe the things that some people will say in order to cast hurt and insult on others.”

“I have no desire to take back the truth,” Mrs. Everhart said, sneering at Jillian. “Although I realize the truth is something you may not be well acquainted with. After all, you did come to this town on false pretenses. How would we know if you were telling the truth or not?”

“Let God be my judge, then, Mrs. Everhart. I'm sure He needs no help from you.”

Gretchen gasped, and Davinia stepped back as her mother squared her shoulders for battle. “The good Lord puts certain people on this earth for the purpose of maintaining proprieties. You may sway the minds of weak-willed men who find your beauty a thing to possess, but you are not fooling me. My eyes are open to you, Miss Danvers. You, who chased the poor doctor, throwing yourself at him and stealing him away from my Davinia. You, who keeps company with Mrs. Barnes, a woman of questionable repute, to be certain.”

“I will not stand for you to impugn the reputation of such a saintly woman as Mary Barnes,” Jillian said, stepping forward. “You take back your accusation.”

“I will not!” Mrs. Everhart declared, pressing herself forward. “The woman goes into the desert alone and lives for weeks with only God knows whom, doing God knows what.”

C-R-A-C-K!
The slap Jillian delivered to Mrs. Everhart's face was unexpected by both parties. For a moment neither one did anything, then as her face turned red and mottled in fierce indignity, Mrs. Everhart continued her harangue.

“You are just like her. Of course you find her acceptable company.

Her ways are your ways. Just as it was with that conniving little squaw.”

By this time a crowd had gathered and Jillian knew she was making a spectacle of herself. But her anger was intense. That Mrs. Everhart would insult the reputation of Mary and Little Sister, knowing full well that Mary strove only to share her faith and that Little Sister had been forcibly raped, was more than Jillian could stand.

“You listen to me,” Jillian said, seeing the stunned look on her adversary's face. “Little Sister had no say in what happened to her, and you know it.” Just then Jillian looked past Mrs. Everhart and caught sight of Mr. Cooper. “That man took her innocence and left her with his child, then refused to do any decent thing to make amends.”

Several people in the crowd let out sounds of surprise, and Jillian knew she'd crossed the point of no return. She would have her say now, and it would no doubt forever change how she was received in this town. Perhaps it would be her death knell, and she would be forced to return to Kansas City.

Jillian remembered something Louisa had told her in confidence and threw it into the conversation. “Tell me it isn't true, Mrs. Everhart. Tell me that you didn't warn your own daughter about Mr. Cooper.” More gasps accompanied by a couple of chuckles followed from the crowd this time. Mrs. Everhart was fairly steaming by this time.

“You little brat! What I do with my daughter is none of your affair. What Mr. Cooper does with those animal Indians of his is also none of your affair.”

“He violated a young woman,” Jillian countered, moving toward the older woman. “She was not an animal, but a living, breathing girl—not even as old as your daughter.”

Jillian spied Mr. Cooper, who stood to one side, appearing to rather enjoy the entire showdown. “You should be ashamed of yourself. You shouldn't even be allowed to share the company of decent people.”

He smiled and spoke smoothly, “Now, Miss Danvers, aren't you just a bit worked up?”

Jillian forced her hands on her hips to keep from putting them around Cooper's neck. Struggling to maintain control, the past and the pressures of the future were taking their toll. She felt consumed by her anger.

“I intend to write letters to the proper authorities,” Jillian said in a low, menacing tone. “My father knows important people, and you, sir, should number your days, because I intend to see you dismissed from this position and, if possible, thrown into prison for your deeds.”

“No one is going throw me into jail for sharing the bed of a squaw,” Cooper said laughing. “They might question my acceptability in polite society, but they couldn't care less about those heathens, and you know that very well. The government didn't know what else to do with them, so they forced them into the poorest quarters of dirt and left them there hoping they'd rot to death. You aren't going to see anyone mourn the loss of that ignorant woman you call Little Sister.”

“What about her daughter?” Jillian shouted. “What about
your
daughter?”

“That Indian brat is no child of mine. Who knows who else she laid with? You can't make me responsible for this—she was just a dirty squaw.”

Cooper couldn't see the way the crowd was reacting to him, but Jillian could. People were moving away from him a little at a time, whispering among themselves, eyeing him with contempt. Perhaps his punishment would come from his peers after all.

Jillian was livid. “Is that the way you see it?” She looked out at the crowd and then turned to look at the gathering of Harvey Girls behind her. Gwen stood on the edge, as if to come to Jillian's rescue, but she said nothing.

Jillian saw the looks on the faces of the people; some appeared deeply ashamed, and others acted as though they didn't know quite how to take her. “Is that the kind of thing this town approves of?