Best Kept Secrets (17 page)

M.J. stood next to Samuel in the parlor, smiling when she was introduced to her brothers-in-law and their wives. Her smile faltered slightly when she saw Thomas’s wife’s rounded belly, wishing it were she carrying Samuel’s child.

Annie-Mae, Mark’s wife, leaned forward and kissed M.J.’s cheek. “You have no idea how shocked we were when Samuel told us he was getting married.”

M.J. liked Annie-Mae. “I was just as shocked when Samuel proposed.”

Thomas Cole rubbed Eugenia’s belly, his hazel gaze roving over M.J. as if she were a delectable sweet. If nothing, his youngest brother had chosen well. Not only was Marguerite-Josefina beautiful, but there was no doubt she’d come from a good family. He knew men who’d married foreign women to rescue them from a life of poverty or servitude.

“How long did you know my brother before he asked you to—” Thomas’s query stopped abruptly when Eugenia elbowed him in the ribs.

Samuel and M.J. shared a smile. “Not long,” they chorused.

Eugenia placed a hand over Thomas’s as the child in her womb moved vigorously. “Why did you marry so quickly? You don’t look as if you’re with child.”

An attractive blush covered M.J.’s face. “I only wish I were. I married Samuel because I fell in love with him the first time I saw him.”

“That’s really romantic,” Annie-Mae crooned.

Eugenia sighed. “I agree.” She had been prepared not to like Samuel’s wife because she’d sung his praises to her best friend, but could find no fault in the woman who’d become her sister-in-law. M.J., as she’d asked to be called, was pretty, articulate—although she spoke English with a hint of an accent—and fashionably dressed. And seeing her and Samuel together was evidence enough that he was in love with her.

Belinda entered the parlor, drying her hands on a towel. She touched Mark’s arm. “Why are you here so early?”

He kissed his mother’s forehead. “Thomas suggested we leave church early. We thought something had happened to you when you didn’t show up.” Belinda Cole never missed Sunday morning services—rain or shine, hot or cold, well or unwell.

Belinda looped her arm through Mark’s. “Thanks for worrying about your mama. M.J. asked me to teach her to cook some down-home dishes, so I guess I lost track of time.”

“What did you cook, M.J.?” Annie-Mae asked.

“I learned how to make grits and biscuits. I also found out that Sammy loves grits with chicken liver for breakfast.” Everyone exchanged knowing glances when she referred to Samuel as Sammy.

“Speaking of food, I’m ready to eat,” Eugenia said loudly.

Thomas massaged her belly over a pale blue linen tunic. “When aren’t you hungry, Genie?” he teased.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Keep running off at the mouth, Thomas Isaac Cole, and you’ll find yourself sleeping at Miss Sally’s Boardinghouse.”

“Damn,” Samuel whispered under his breath. “I know you’re not going to let your woman put you out of your own home.”

“Samuel,” Belinda admonished, glaring at her youngest, “you know I don’t abide swearing on the Sabbath.”

“Sorry, Mama,” he mumbled as he averted his head so she wouldn’t see his smile.

“You’re forgiven,” she said softly. “Annie-Mae, you and Genie can help me and M.J. put the finishing touches on dinner.”

Eugenia and Annie-Mae exchanged puzzling glances, then followed Belinda and M.J. into the kitchen.

Waiting until the women left the parlor, Samuel went over to a side table and selected two cigars from a wooden box, clipped the ends and handed them to his brothers. “I want you to try these and tell me what you think.”

Mark put the cigar to his nose, inhaling deeply. His teeth shone whitely under his mustache. “Damn, Sam. It’s sweet,” he said, low enough not to be overheard by the women in the kitchen. “Where did you get this?”

“From Jose Luis Diaz.”

“Who the hell is that?” Thomas asked.

“My wife’s father,” Samuel said proudly.

Mark’s eyes widened. “Her father is a tobacco farmer?”

Samuel nodded. “He also has a cigar factory.”

“Shit,” Thomas drawled, drawing out the expletive into four syllables. “It looks as if you hit the mother lode, little brother. I can see why you married your little senorita.”

Suddenly Samuel’s expression went grim. “Her father’s money has nothing to do with why I married her.”

Thomas’s handsome face twisted into a scowl. “Do I look that stupid to you, Samuel? Now I know why you wanted out of our business, because you had your own little enterprises going on behind our backs.”

Samuel’s temper flared. “I wanted out because of your bullshit! I got tired of arguing with you. What I should’ve done was
leave you picking cotton for the rest of your life. You call yourself a businessman when you’re still nothing more than a cotton-shopping sharecropper wearing a fancy suit.”

Thomas swung at Samuel, but he wasn’t quick enough when he found his throat caught in a savage grip. “This is the last time you’ll raise your hand to me, brother,” Samuel snarled close to his face. “If Genie wasn’t carrying my niece or nephew I’d kill you where you stand. So, think twice about coming at me again, or I’ll forget and make your wife a widow.” Shaking him as if he were an annoying puppy, he released Thomas’s throat.

Mark stared at Samuel as if he were a stranger. There was something in his brother’s eyes that frightened him. And at that moment he believed Samuel could kill Thomas with his bare hands.

Dropping an arm over Samuel’s shoulders, he pulled him close. “Let’s go for a walk. I need to sample my cigar.”

Samuel glared at Thomas rubbing his throat, then turned and picked up his cigar and followed Mark to the door. Once outside he closed his eyes, aware of how close he had come to murdering his brother.

And he hadn’t lied about why he’d severed his business relationship with his brothers. Thomas’s vacillating moods kept him off balance, and there were times if he had been carrying a gun he would’ve shot him. Thomas was too much like Charles in appearance and in temperament.

At first Samuel felt guilty about abandoning Mark, but knew his personality was better suited to dealing with Thomas than his. It wasn’t until he lit the cigar and drew in a mouthful of flavorful tobacco that some of the rage left him.

He’d given Mark and Thomas the cigars because he’d contemplated making them partners in the United Fruit-Diaz cigar proposal; however, that all changed with Thomas’s outburst.

Ten percent of the profits would go to Everett Kirkland, and the remaining ninety percent would be targeted for future investments.

M
.J. closed her eyes, shutting out the flickering candles throwing long and short shadows on the cabin walls and ceiling. A violent thunderstorm had swept over the Gulf, downing wires carrying electricity into Panama City and as far north as Tallahassee. The sound of the rain beating against the porthole, and the motion of the ship, made her sleepy. The warm body in the bed beside her moved closer.

“Did you enjoy visiting with my family, baby?”

She shifted on her side and pressed a kiss to Samuel’s bare shoulder.
“Si, mi amor.”

She’d been truthful with him. Belinda had become the mother she’d lost, and Eugenia and Annie-Mae the sisters she
never had. She’d spent the two weeks cooking with her mother-in-law and shopping with her sisters-in-law.

Samuel pulled her closer and eased her leg over his. “My mother is very fond of you.”

“I feel the same about her,” M.J. said, rubbing her nose against the crisp, curling hair on his chest. “Samuel?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you planned to open an office?”

There was a long pause before he said, “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

Pulling out of his loose embrace, she sat up. “Interested? I’m your wife, Samuel. Everything you do, every decision you make is of interest to me. I would hope that you would confide in me.”

“There’s nothing to confide, darling. I decided it was best not to continue to work out of our home. If I have to hold meetings I don’t want strangers knowing where I live. I want my private life kept separate from my business affairs.” He tugged on the single braid resting between her breasts. “Does that answer your question?”

She smiled. “Yes, it does.”

“What else do you want to know?”

“Do you still love me?”

His muscles tensed, then relaxed. “Why are you asking me that?”

“I just need to know, Sammy.” She needed to know because during their stay in Tallahassee he hadn’t touched her.

His fingers caressed a firm breast under her silk nightgown. “Yes, darling. I love you.”

M.J.’s hand trailed down his chest to his groin. “Show me, then.”

His penis hardened quickly as she lifted the hem of her nightgown and spread her legs. They sighed in unison as flesh met flesh; there was only the sound of their labored breathing
joining the howl of the wind, the lashing rain and the rush of water against the hull of the ship as it rode out the storm.

M.J. forgot her former annoyance with her husband for keeping secrets as she lost herself in the rising passion threatening to tear her asunder.

Samuel quickened his thrusts as he forgot the night in Puerto Limon wherein drunkenness had rendered him voluntarily insane. Without warning, pleasure, pure and explosive, hurtled him to a place that left him hot
and
cold as he surrendered to the exquisite ecstasy that bound him to the woman in whose scented embrace he wanted to lie until he breathed his last breath.

All of Havana’s social elite turned out for the return of Jose Luis Diaz’s daughter and her American husband to the country of her birth. Those who had known Carlotta Diaz remarked how much Marguerite-Josefina looked like her at the same age.

Samuel sat under the shade of an acacia tree, watching his wife greet friends and relatives who’d attended their wedding. Her dimpled smile, her tinkling laugh and the way she seemingly floated about Gloria’s garden were some things he hadn’t seen since before they were married. She’d missed Cuba.

“She looks happy, Samuel.”

Glancing around, he nodded to his father-in-law. “She
is
happy, Jose Luis.”

The older man sat on a nearby chair, crossing one leg over the other. “And for that I must thank you, my son.”

Samuel’s gaze narrowed. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”

Jose Luis brought his hands together in a prayerful gesture. “You sound so serious.”

“That is because I am when it comes to
my wife
.”

He hadn’t lied to Jose Luis. He did not realize how much he’d come to love M.J. until they were reunited after his last Costa Rican trip. He hadn’t planned to take her with him to
Tallahassee or stay the two weeks, but he was glad he did. She’d charmed his mother in a way Eugenia and Annie-Mae were unable to.

His lids lowered as he stared at her laughing at something Ivonne whispered close to her ear. Samuel smiled as if he, too, were privy to their conversation.

What was there about M.J. that made him want to risk all he had to keep her? And it wasn’t the first time the question had nagged at him, and the answer was always the same:
everything
.

“Are you not feeling well, Samuel?”

Jose Luis’s query broke into his thoughts. “I’m quite well, thank you. Why do you ask?”

“You haven’t eaten anything.”

Samuel smiled. “I’ll eat something later.”

“You said you wanted to talk to me about a business arrangement.”

“I do.”

“Talk, Samuel.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Here?” Samuel expected his father-in-law to conduct business indoors, not in a garden.

Jose Luis waved a hand. “Why not? There is no one close enough to overhear us.”

Leaning over the small table separating them, Samuel told him about his trip to Costa Rica and his meeting with the representatives of the United Fruit Company. Jose Luis’s eyes widened when he told of their interest in his cigars.

“What is it you want, Samuel?”

“I want to purchase cigars from you and export them under a company I intend to set up as ColeDiz International, Limited.”

Jose Luis ran a hand over his mane of white hair. “I am committed to selling all of my cigars to one company.”

“Is it possible to hold out a small amount for your daughter’s husband?” Samuel asked in a quiet tone. “These can be sold under another brand name. I’ll leave it up to you to come up
with a name that exemplifies its reputation as the finest quality Cuban tobacco leaf.”

A knowing smile parted Jose Luis’s lips as he shook his head. “You have really thought this out, have you not?”

Samuel nodded. “I think better on an empty stomach. Let me know if we have an agreement before I faint from hunger.” The expectation of starting up another enterprise had him feeling so anxious that his stomach roiled whenever he attempted to put something into his mouth.

Jose Luis angled his head, seemingly deep in thought. “I could harvest some under the name of
Presidente
. Those who smoke the cigars will have to wonder which Cuban president I’m referring to.” He glared at Samuel under lowered eyebrows. “I’ll be ruined if anyone finds out that the cigars come from the same harvest as El Supremo.”

“Is there someone you can trust with this information?”

“My factory foreman.”

“Double his pay to keep his mouth shut.”

Eyes wide, Jose Luis shook his head. “I cannot afford to do that. The workers are constantly demanding higher salaries even though my profits are lower.”

“I’ll do it,” Samuel said softly.

“You will pay him?”

Samuel nodded. “I’ve learned that everyone has a price. I’ll pay your foreman, buy your Presidente cigars, and in turn sell them to certain individuals in Costa Rica. There’s a lot of money to be made in things that make people believe they’re happier if they have them. Bootleg alcohol, cigars, cigarettes, automobiles, moving pictures and sporting events. They’re the extra little things we tell ourselves we need whereas in reality, if they vanished like a puff of smoke, we as human beings would continue to exist.

“We only need food, clothes and shelter, Jose Luis,” Samuel continued softly. “So there is going to come a time when all
of the so-called items of happiness will mean naught. And just like the price of sugar in 1920 that fell from twenty-two dollars and fifty-one cents a pound in May to five dollars and fifty-one cents in December of the same year, your cigars, which are touted as the finest in all of Cuba, will suffer the same fate, as will those who profit from illegal alcohol sales when the U.S. government repeals the Volstead Act. We have to make our money now because things are changing all over the world as we speak.”

Jose Luis’s expression was grim. “You are right, Samuel. Unions have workers going out on strikes everywhere, the Communists are now in China, the Fascists and Socialists are fighting each other in Italy, there are trains that run in tunnels under the streets of big cities, and people now take airplanes to travel from one place to another. You turn a knob on a box called a radio and music comes out. The world is moving much too fast for me to keep up with the changes.”

Closing his eyes, he affected a wistful smile. “I’m going and you are coming, Samuel. The way I used to do business is over.” He opened his eyes, his penetrating gaze fusing with his son-in-law’s. “I will sell you my cigars.”

Samuel was hard-pressed not to jump up and hug his father-in-law. He inclined his head instead. “
Mil gracias
, Jose Luis.”

A hint of a smile touched the corners of Jose Luis’s mouth. “No, Samuel. It is you I must thank. I can now go to my grave knowing that my daughter will be happy and well provided for.”

Samuel was still sitting under the tree long after Jose Luis left and M.J. came to take his place.

“Are you okay, Sammy?”

Reaching out, he ran the back of his hand over her cheek. “Yes, baby.”

Her fingers circled his wrist. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. Do you want me to bring you a plate?”

He stood up, pulling her up with him. Lowering his head,
he cradled her face between his hands and brushed his mouth over hers. “No, baby. I don’t want you to wait on me.”

She moved closer to him. “But here in Cuba it is a wife’s duty to wait on her husband.”

His gaze lingered on her lush mouth before he smiled. “Okay. But only in Cuba.”

Rising on tiptoes, M.J. kissed him. “Only in Cuba,” she repeated breathlessly.

The protective cocoon of love and being loved lingered with M.J. long after she returned to West Palm Beach with her husband. Whereas she’d been overwhelmed with the ongoing activity of interacting with her Tallahassee relatives, it’d been the complete opposite in Cuba.

Aside from the soiree her aunt had hosted to welcome their return, she and Sammy slept late, took their meals in the garden of her family’s estate, walked together once the intense tropical sun began its descent, and talked about what they wanted for their futures.

Samuel told her of his dream of building a family empire rivaling those of Rockefeller, Carnegie and J.P. Morgan. This disclosure had rendered her mute, and it wasn’t until two days later that she was able to broach the subject with him, quoting the Bible verse: what profit a man to gain the world only to lose his soul? Much to her surprise, Samuel laughed and countered with: wealth you get by dishonesty will do you no good, but honesty can save your life. His pronouncement was enough to put her mind at ease as to whether he would seek his fortune through fraudulent dealings.

M.J. halted brushing her hair, meeting the gaze of Samuel in the dressing table mirror. As he leaned against the open door, arms crossed over his chest, a slight smile softened his firm mouth. He wore a suit, which meant he’d planned to go in to
the office he’d rented in a new two-story building in West Palm Beach’s colored business area.

She continued brushing the coal-black strands until they shimmered like satin. “Is there something you want?”

Samuel didn’t move from his leaning position. “Yes, I do.”

Shifting on the vanity stool, M.J. stared at him. “What is it, Samuel?”

“Have you made plans to do anything today?”

“Not really. Why?” She had planned to work in her garden and try a new recipe Bessie had given her.

His smile widened. “I’d like for you to come to the office with me.”

With her eyes wide, her mouth formed a perfect O. “Why, Sammy?” she asked once she recovered her voice.

Pushing off the door, Samuel closed the distance between them. Cradling her elbow, he eased her to her feet. “Why? I need your help.”

“You want me to work for you?”

Throwing back his head, he laughed loudly. “No, baby. I already have a secretary. What I need is your decorating talent.”

He’d hired a middle-aged woman with exceptional business skills. She was not only articulate, but also proficient in dictation and typing. It had taken two months of interviewing more than twenty applicants until he and Everett agreed that Nora Harris would meet the administrative needs of Cole International, Ltd.

A slight frown creased her smooth forehead. “You want me to make your office pretty for you?”

It was Samuel’s turn to frown. “Not pretty, M.J. I want it elegant and tasteful like our home, but with a businesslike ambiance.”

“Ambiance?”

“Feeling, atmosphere—impression,” he explained.

“Why couldn’t you say that, Sammy?”

He forgot there were occasions when what he said couldn’t
be literally translated, and that frustrated his wife, who he knew still thought in her native language.

Combing his fingers through her hair, he cupped the back of her head and massaged her scalp. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Do you want to come with me?”

Her smile was dazzling. “Of course.” Easing out of his comforting grasp, she slipped off her dressing gown and walked over to the armoire filled with her clothes.

Samuel felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. He held his breath until he felt his lungs exploding before he was forced to exhale. He stared at his wife’s naked body as she slipped into a pair of silk underpants. Her breasts were fuller, her normally pale nipples a darker rose-pink.

Did she know and hadn’t told him? Or was it possible that she didn’t know? In another two weeks they would celebrate their six-month wedding anniversary and he suspected M.J. was pregnant.

She’d been going to bed early and rising later than usual. This past week he’d been the one to prepare breakfast while she lingered in bed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as she pulled a slip over her underwear.