Cinnamon and Roses (4 page)

Caleb tried to be as polite as his liquor-laden mind would permit. “I don't think I'll be returning to
New York
for quite a while, Sabrina. I can't leave while my father is still under the weather, and you are obviously unhappy here. I'm sorry, but I think we should go our separate ways.” His hand curled around the brass knob.

"You can't do this!” Sabrina shrieked, jumping from the bed.

Caleb turned back to her slowly, gritting his teeth against the pain her grating voice caused in his head. “You should have more than enough money to reach
New York
and live well until you secure a new ... livelihood, but if you need more for your travel expenses, let me know. I wouldn't dream of sending you back penniless."

"No! I won't let you leave me like this, like some common whore."

He gave her a wry grin and touched her cheek with a fingertip. “
Common
is not a word I would ever use to describe you, Sabrina."

"Oh!” She lunged at him, screaming.

Caleb caught her wrists with ease, holding them in one hand. “Let's not make more of this than there has to be, Sabrina. We both know ours was a temporary arrangement. I'm sorry, but it's over now.” Caleb let go of her. “Good-bye, Sabrina."

He closed the door behind him, flinching at the sound of glass shattering against the other side of the thick wood. He made his way down the length of the hallway and stairs, hoping Sabrina's fit wouldn't awaken anyone.

It was only when he stood in the livery stable, waiting for his mount to be saddled, that Caleb remembered he had left his whiskey in Sabrina's room. Just as well. He was drunk enough. The only sensible thing he had done all night was telling Sabrina to go back to
New York
.

Caleb mounted his horse with some difficulty. As he rode out of the stable, his eyes flew to the dark cabin at the end of the street. His head began to throb anew, and he made himself think of anything other than Rebecca asleep in her bed. He reined the spirited gelding in the opposite direction and headed for home.

A large wicker basket hanging on her arm, Rebecca took the long route to the Adams house, walking far behind the town's main buildings. It was easier than having to stop every few minutes to talk with another acquaintance.

Rebecca had no desire to come face-to-face with the handsome but arrogant Caleb Adams again, either. But she did need to see his sweet young sister, Megan. So she decided to make her trip in the middle of the workday to ensure that Caleb would be in the Adams Express office with his father.

The pieces for all three dresses were together, and Rebecca wanted Megan to try them on to see how they fit. It would be easier to get precise measurements and sew once than to estimate and end up sewing twice.

For ten in the morning, it was quite warm as the sun's rays beat down on Rebecca, but the wide brim of her straw hat protected her face and kept the bright light out of her eyes. Several times on the three-mile walk, Rebecca stopped to pick wildflowers. Even though she knew they would most likely wilt and die by the time she made it to Megan's house and back, Rebecca couldn't resist grabbing handfuls of the colorful blossoms and holding them up to her nose. The sweet fragrances of four-o'clocks, bladder
campions
, thimbleweed, and buttercups aroused her senses, sending her mind into a whirl of idyllic summer images. She would get more on the way home to decorate her parlor with small bouquets.

Rebecca loved summer above all other seasons. It was hot, certainly, sometimes to the point of being quite overbearing, but summer had a way of bringing out the best in people. The season was filled with sunny days, prospering fields and farms, brightly colored wildflowers, and cool, starry nights.

Almost before she knew it, Rebecca could see the two-story white house at the end of the long lane and the waist-high picket fence that surrounded the yard. She smiled and brushed a lock of loose hair out of her eyes, looking forward to spending more time with sweet, chatty Megan Adams.

Rebecca set the basket on the ground for a moment while she worked to unlatch the gate. Then, holding the basket in one hand and the hem of her skirt in the other, she walked through and let the gate swing closed behind her, its lock catching by itself.

She made her way up the sturdy porch steps, the urge to hum bubbling inside her for the first time in months. Smiling brightly, Rebecca lifted the brass knocker high on the door and rapped several times, expecting Megan to answer.

Rebecca's smile immediately faded when Caleb Adams opened the door instead.

Rebecca took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, readying herself for any barbs Caleb Adams might toss her way this time. In place of his usual black suit and string tie, he wore faded dungaree trousers and a loose-fitting light-blue shirt, open at the neck. On his feet were not his usual half-gaiters but a pair of brown leather boots dusty enough to compete with those of any professional cowboy. His casual appearance warmed Rebecca's opinion of him slightly. Maybe he wasn't quite as stiff and haughty as she had assumed.

Though he had been more cooperative in her shop the week before, Rebecca had no silly illusions about this man. Doubtless he had been on his best behavior only because his sister was in the room. Otherwise, he would have been just as arrogant and rude as usual.

While Rebecca stood on the wide porch in a heavy green walking skirt and high-necked blouse, Caleb's mouth curved up at one side in a grin—that same irritating smile she always seemed to induce.

"Well, Rebecca,” he drawled, resting his weight against the doorjamb rather than asking her in, “what can I do for you?” He leaned forward a bit, quizzically regarding the large front lawn and road beyond. “I don't see a buggy or horse,” he commented before she could answer his question. “What did you do, walk all the way from town?"

"As a matter of fact, I did."

Caleb's eyes widened in obvious surprise.
“But that's more than three miles. When did you leave town, six this morning?"

"Hardly, Mr. Adams.
I enjoyed the walk. And it wouldn't have taken me quite so long if I hadn't stopped every few feet to pick these.” She held up her large bouquet of wildflowers.

Caleb stepped back, pushing the door open as far as it would go. He bowed gallantly and ushered her in with the wave of an arm. “Please. Allow me to bid you enter before you—and your lovely flowers—wilt."

Rebecca bit her tongue to stop a smile from spreading across her face. She reluctantly admitted that Caleb Adams could be charming when he wanted to be. Not that that made up for his egotistical attitude the rest of the time.

"I came to see Megan. Is she here?"

Caleb turned from shutting the door. His large hand closed over the handle of her basket, and she had to give over and allow him to take it from her. “Megan is in the kitchen with Nina. I'll let her know you're here."

He took several steps into what looked to be the parlor, though it was much larger and more luxuriously decorated
than her own
. Caleb set the basket on the nearest wing chair and motioned for Rebecca to have a seat.

Rebecca's skirts brushed against a knee-high table as she lowered herself gently onto the edge of the velvet-covered sofa, expecting to wait while Caleb went for Megan. She toyed with the flowers in her hand, trying to keep her attention averted from Caleb's overwhelming presence. Instead of leaving the room, however, he folded his tall frame into a chair opposite her and smiled. Rebecca felt a blush creeping up her neck and turned away from his intense gaze.

"Megan!"

Caleb's bellow made Rebecca jump. She looked up into eyes sparkling with humor.

"Hey, Megan!” he yelled again, making the delicate crystal teardrops of the room's lamps vibrate. “You've got a visitor."

"Well, you don't need to shout.” Megan bustled into the hall, drying her hands on a dishcloth. A flush tinted her porcelain skin, and the dark hair that had most likely been perfectly coifed earlier in the day hung in damp tendrils against her oval face. “Really, Caleb, a person would think you'd have better manners after being raised in the heart of genteel society."

Rebecca grinned, thinking Megan looked and sounded more like an overtaxed wife than a sixteen-year-old girl. For being so young, Megan had a sophisticated beauty about her. Even her full, lacy gown, so out of place in a town like Leavenworth, seemed almost a second skin. Only the gaiety in her eyes gave away her youthfulness.

"Oh, Rebecca,” Megan gasped, coming more fully into the room. “Forgive our shouting. We would never dare if Papa were here. He doesn't approve of such behavior.” She shook her head, the corners of her mouth turning up. “I didn't expect you to come all the way out here. I was going to ride into town with Papa and Caleb tomorrow and stop to see you."

"I wanted to show you what I've done so far. I'd like you to try them on so I can finalize the measurements."

"Oh.” Megan's naturally bright features seemed to dim.

Rebecca could sense something amiss. “Did I come at a bad time?” She started to rise, reaching for her sewing basket. “I can return later if it would be more convenient."

"Nonsense.”
Megan's body fairly bounced with the word. “We weren't planning anything that can't wait, were we, Caleb?"

"Of course not,” Caleb said impartially, rising and starting out of the room. “Let me know when you're done, Meg. I'll be out at the paddock."

As the front door thudded shut after Caleb's exit, a young girl came to the doorway to the parlor. “Are we finished, Miss Adams?"

Megan smiled and took the girl's arm, bringing her into the room. “Rebecca, this is Nina. She's such a wonderful help, especially in the kitchen, since I can hardly boil water. Nina, this is Rebecca, the seamstress from town."

With the introductions out of the way, Megan sent Nina back to the kitchen, asking that she add an extra serving of everything to the basket they had packed.

"We really don't have to do your dresses now, Megan,” Rebecca said. “I'd much rather you went on with whatever you were doing. I should have sent a note home with your father to find out when would be a good time for me to stop by. I apologize."

"Oh, posh,” Megan said, fluttering a hand in the air, effectively dismissing the subject.

"If you're sure,” Rebecca offered one last time. She looked around for someplace to set her bouquet. Her hands were sweaty and turning green from holding the stems for so long.

"Where did you get those?” Megan asked, taking them from Rebecca to study the blossoms.

"I picked them on the way. I just couldn't resist."

"They're lovely. But if we don't get them into water soon, they'll surely die. I'll be right back.” Megan followed the path Nina had taken to the kitchen, returning several moments later with the wildflowers in a beautiful etched vase.

"Now, where should we start?” Megan asked, setting the arrangement on the low table in front of the settee and plopping herself down in the nearest chair.

"I'd like you to try on the dresses before I finish them to see how well they fit. It's easier and faster to make alterations before they're sewn."

Rebecca stood to pull the three carefully folded day dresses out of her basket and laid them over the back of the sofa. “Do you want to go up to your room to put these on?” she asked, thinking Megan would not want to undress in the parlor in the middle of the day.

"No. I'll just shut this door and pull the drapes, and no one ever need know.” Megan slid the large partition into place and went around to each of the three windows to draw the thick maroon curtains closed.

While Megan did that, Rebecca reached into her basket and retrieved her spectacles, unfolding them and putting them on.

Megan came back and crinkled her nose at Rebecca. “If you can't see, why don't you wear those all the time?"

Rebecca pushed the eyeglasses farther up the bridge of her nose and turned Megan to face the other way. “I can see most of the time. It's only when I'm sewing that I have to wear them."

"Well, that's good because you're much prettier without them,” Megan said with conviction.

Rebecca's hands paused for a moment in brushing Megan's loose hair out of the way. Megan was the first person Rebecca could ever remember complimenting her, and she was positive no one had ever told her she was pretty. Rebecca had always thought herself quite plain, with an average-looking face and dull brown hair. She swallowed, forcing her mind to concentrate on what she was doing to stop the sharp prickling behind her eyes.

As Rebecca started slipping the tiny pearl buttons at the back of Megan's fancy pink gown out of their holes, Megan began to giggle. “What's so funny?” she asked, finding the laughter contagious.

Megan covered her mouth with a hand, waiting to catch her breath. “I was thinking about how indecent I'm being, stripping down to my underclothes in the parlor at high noon. Lord, my mother would faint dead away if she knew."

"Then we won't tell her,” Rebecca vowed, chuckling along with Megan as she helped remove layer upon layer of heavy, bulky material. “How can you stand to wear all this?"

"I can't,” Megan said, screwing up her face to show her distaste. “Why do you think I'm so eager for you to get these dresses finished?"

"I will never understand why women torture themselves with silly contraptions like the corset, only to add twenty pounds by stepping into these gowns. But I probably shouldn't complain, since I make my living by sewing the abominable things."

"That's one way to look at it,” Megan said. She struggled into the first dress, trying to keep from being pricked with the few pins still stuck at the seams.

"I think women ought to be allowed to wear pants. And big cotton shirts like men do,” Rebecca continued.

Megan gasped and turned around to stare at Rebecca with wide brown eyes. “Why would you want to do something like that?"

Rebecca shrugged and smiled conspiratorially.
“Because they're a far cry more comfortable than these blasted things.”
She pulled at her pine-green skirt, faded almost gray with wear.

"Well, how would you know that?” Megan asked, placing her hands on her hips, then drawing them back immediately when a sharp point dug into her tender flesh.

"I wore them all the time when I was young."

"Your mother
let
you?” Megan asked, awe in her voice.

Rebecca breathed deeply for a moment to keep
herself
from feeling any pain. Imagine Kate giving a damn about her daughter's clothes.
Or anything else about the little girl, for that matter.
Her own
clothes—now, that was another matter. No expense was spared there. She shrugged again. “She didn't pay much attention to what I wore.” That was true enough. Kate had seldom paid attention to Rebecca, except to scold her for being such a burden.

To change the subject, Rebecca tugged at the waist of the yellow dress. “How does it feel?"

"Cool. I can already tell I won't melt inside this material."

"Good,” Rebecca said, happy that she had fulfilled Megan's foremost requirement.

All the dresses fit almost perfectly, needing only minor alterations before they would be finished. Megan loved the three colors—bright yellow, emerald
green,
and deep plum—each meant to bring out the auburn highlights in her otherwise black hair.

"How did you get them done so quickly? I expected them to take much longer than a week."

"I haven't really had that much business lately,” Rebecca said as she refolded the dresses and set them in her white wicker basket. She removed her spectacles and laid them on top for the long walk home. “I have three or four regular customers—the ladies who were leaving just as you arrived Wednesday.” She looked at Megan to see if the girl remembered. “Thelma,
Hariette
, and Mary are sweet souls, even if they do sometimes drive me nearly batty,” Rebecca confessed. “They were Octavia Fitzgerald's friends. When she died, I took over her dressmaking business.” Rebecca didn't go into detail about her past or how she had come to know Widow Fitzgerald. “Now they come every Wednesday to make sure I always have something to sew, even if business is slow. There's been more than one lean time when their loyalty was a godsend. But they understood perfectly when I told them I had to work on your dresses right away."

"I didn't mean for you to take time away from your other customers, Rebecca."

"Oh, I didn't.” Rebecca smiled and helped Megan open the drapes. “It's nice to have a chance to work on something brand-new rather than patching the same dresses two dozen times or listening to Mary and her daughter
Anabelle
arguing about how low I should make a bodice."

Rebecca went back to the wing chair and slipped the handle of the big basket over her arm, ready to go.

"You aren't leaving, are you? I was hoping you would stay for lunch."

Megan sounded almost distraught, and Rebecca's brow wrinkled in a frown. “If I get started on these dresses right away, I can probably have them to you by Saturday or Sunday."

"Oh, what's the hurry?” Megan said in complete contrast to all her earlier statements about wanting some cool dresses for Leavenworth's hot summer days.

"Megan, you said you needed these as soon as possible. Do you want to wear those heavy silk gowns for the rest of the summer?” Rebecca waved a hand at the fancy pink dress Megan had donned again after the fittings.

"Well, they can wait one more day, can't they?"

Rebecca pressed her fists to her waist, the basket thumping against her hip. She was becoming a bit suspicious of Megan's insistence that she
stay
for the afternoon meal. “I suppose they could wait, but there's no reason I can't go home and fix myself lunch."