Contract to Wed (18 page)

“Sometimes the very best of care is not enough.”

“Like the care you gave your son?”

Jolene’s skin went cold. “I suppose my sister . . .”

“You shouted his name when Melinda was near death, or even
further. You said that you’d already lost one child and could not lose another.
You said it, Jolene. Not your sister.”

“It is none of your concern,” she said. “I was hysterical,
obviously.”

“No concern that my wife bore a child and lost him? No
concern that I nearly had a son as well as a daughter?”

“You never knew him. And you couldn’t now. Let it go.”

Maximillian was staring at her. “I will let it go for now,”
he whispered. “You are near complete exhaustion, and I can only thank you for
what you have done for me and for Melinda and for how you handled the Hacienda
and all the people who live and work here.”

Jolene kissed Melinda’s forehead and hurried from the room.
She curled up on the chaise in her bedroom and thought about what Maximillian
had said, but more importantly, she’d thought about what he didn’t say, but was
clearly visible on his face. She’d hurt him deeply. She could see it, even
apart from his great worry about Melinda. That painful knowledge and the look
on Maximillian’s face was what she thought and saw as she drifted back to a
restless sleep.

* * *

Jennifer stood and stretched her
back. Mr. Moran was finally sleeping quietly. He still had a fever but nothing
like when she’d first come into this building, the Bunkhouse, everyone called
it. She’d taken over for a young man, sleeping on one of the pine bunks, with
his hat over his face. Barnaby was his name, and he’d told her there was only
one patient remaining, Mr. Moran, and that he’d given him willow bark tea a few
hours before, but it had done little. He was sweating and pallid and moaned as
he threw off his blankets. Jennifer had bathed him in cool water, managed to
change his undershirt to a clean dry one and forced him to drink some tea. He
had called her Jolene several times, which under other circumstances would have
made her laugh aloud.

Jennifer’s side and ribs ached. She had to remove the corset
she had on and had foolishly walked past all the bedrooms in her sister and
brother-in-law’s home, anxious to help and lift some of the worry and work from
their shoulders. There was a corner of this room, though, near the end of the
cot where Mr. Moran was sleeping fitfully, where she could stand and not be seen
by anyone through the windows.

Jennifer opened her jacket and winced as she stretched her
arm back to remove the tight sleeve. She pulled her blouse from the waist band
of her skirt, unbuttoned it and shrugged it off. She unhooked the twenty hooks
on the front of her corset, and stepped a few feet closer to the window where a
stream of moonlight let her see how badly her side actually looked as she
lifted her chemise. She gingerly touched the black and blue areas and winced.

“Who did that to you?”

Jennifer quickly picked up her blouse sitting on the chair
and pulled it on. “How ungentlemanly of you to not let me know you were awake,”
she said, a mortified blush creeping up her neck. “I shall report your behavior
to my brother-in-law.”

“Thirsty,” he said finally.

* * *

Zeb felt like he was swimming
through thick water. Every stroke from his arms or kick from his legs felt as
if they had taken hours to complete. There was shaft of light that he was
swimming towards, and he could hear voices calling to him. He saw his mother
and thought how wonderful and young and beautiful she looked. He smiled and
swam towards her, but she was shaking her head and telling him to go back. Turn
around. The light got dimmer slowly, so slowly, until it was finally
extinguished. He felt himself surface, out of what, he did not know, but he
took a deep breath, and opened his eyes.

He was in the bunkhouse, he knew, because he was flat on his
back and could see the exposed rafters above him that he’d worked on. When?
Weeks ago? Days ago? What day was it? Then he heard a moan coming from near his
feet. He let his eyes clear and adjust to the moonlight, pouring through the
glass, and making a spotlight on a figure that stood there. It was not someone
he knew, although she looked familiar. She was unbuttoning her blouse, and he
knew he should stop her but his tongue was as thick and dry as the two by fours
used to frame this building. She was concentrating now on undoing her corset,
and then she lifted a sheer lacy camisole, exposing the underside of her right
breast. It was then he noticed what he thought were shadows were, in fact,
bruises, all down her side. She touched them lightly, hissed, and looked up.
She was beautiful. Achingly fragile and lovely. And someone had hit her, maybe
broken her ribs. He would gladly kill whoever it was.

“Who did that to you?” he asked.

She replied but he couldn’t process her sentences fast
enough to understand what she said other than one word.
Ungentlemanly.

“Thirsty,” he begged.

Chapter Eighteen

Jolene stared at the knob on the
door between her and Max’s bedrooms. Night after night, she waited for it to
turn, but it hadn’t. Max was everything polite and kind, but there was nothing
passionate, no winsome smiles as he held her hand, no eruptions of laughter and
gaiety, nothing to say that
her
Maximillian
was back, and that he
was still in love with her. How foolish she was to be transfixed by
hopefulness. Nothing wonderful lasted, she knew that from experience.

“Come in,” she said to Jennifer as her sister tapped on the
door and stuck her head around the corner.

“Will you join everyone today for the picnic, Jolene?” her
sister asked and seated herself.

“I’ve got so many things to catch up on, that I doubt I’ll
have the time. But, please, enjoy yourself,” she replied.

Jennifer stared at her, began to stand from her chair, and
dropped back down. “You’ve got things to catch up on? How ridiculous!”

“Sending letters of condolence and others in thanks have
never been ridiculous, Jennifer.”

“You must stay in your rooms then, while everyone exults in
being alive and having made it through a terrible ordeal, that you had a hand
in saving. While they mourn losses and share each other’s grief and remember
those that are gone, you will stay here and wrap yourself in your dignity and
pride and coolness.  Julia and I had hoped you had changed. In your
letters you seemed happy. Content and perhaps learning to care for your
husband. I had so hoped.”

Jolene looked at Jennifer. It would have been so remarkably
easy to reply in the manner she’d always done. So simple to dismiss Jennifer
coldly, or even rudely. But she remembered then that she’d been so looking
forward to Jennifer’s arrival. Before, well before, when she thought it would
be good to let Jennifer see how she and Max got along, and how he openly loved
her with his kisses, touching, and his words. She might be able to prove to her
that there was, indeed, love in the world, and that she received it every day.
But that was before.

Jolene stared at her hands. “Max and I are not in charity.
It is . . . it is difficult to be in his company and not have him act in the
manner that I’d become accustomed to.”

“What manner is that?”

“With happiness and abandon. With generosity and wisdom.
With all the attributes that make Maximillian Shelby who he is,” Jolene said.

“With love?”

She nodded. “He told me every day, every hour, and more than
that, he showed me. He’s a stranger now. I have chased him away. He is cool and
distant.”

“Your husband does not appear to be shallow. I don’t believe
his deep feelings for you have gone. It sounds to me as though he bared all to
you, even when you did not encourage him to. He put his feelings, his love for
you, out in the open, as vulnerable as that made him.”

Jolene looked up sharply. “And I have not replied in kind. I
have hurt him instead.”

“You have.”

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t talk about my son to him.
I . . . cannot. I don’t know if I would ever recover if I let him see, really
see,” Jolene said and beat her fist on her chest, “that my heart is gone. That
there is nothing soft or kind or loving left inside of me. That I hate, hate
that others lived and my son did not!”

Jennifer shook her head and tears flew from her cheeks. She
stood. “You are wrong, Jolene. You are so wrong. You tended the sick here
yourself, down to every last disgusting task that needed done. You went without
food or rest and saw Melinda through her illness, and wept for her, and begged
her to hear your voice and stay with us. You are beloved here! And they love
you because you cared for them with your last bit of strength. I refuse to
believe there is nothing soft or kind inside you. I refuse!”

“Jolene?” she heard from the hallway. “Are you there?”

Jolene hurriedly swiped at her eyes. “Come in, Melinda.”

Melinda rushed towards her and leaned on each arm of
Jolene’s chair. “He has done it! Daddy has gotten me a puppy!” Melinda stood straight
and looked at Jolene. “Why are you not dressed? The picnic starts soon. Where
is Alice?”

Jennifer laughed. “That is exactly why I am here, Melinda.
Let us go find Alice and send her here to help my sister, who is being quite
the lazy bones, get dressed for the picnic.”

“Where is your shawl, Melinda? I don’t want you to catch a
cold and even yesterday you were very tired by evening. I will not have you
over-doing,” Jolene said.

“But I am not tired! I am happy,” she said with a huge
smile. “Some of the families have returned, and Daddy burned the bunkhouse down
yesterday.” She faltered. “I am sad about Beatrice and the others though. I
won’t forget them.”

“Today is a new day, though, is it not?” Jennifer said. “Let
us go find Alice.”

* * *

Max saw Jolene as soon as she exited
the doors from the kitchen out on to the grassy areas that had been set up with
food and drinks. Two weeks had gone by since the last of the sick were well or
gone. That first week had been spent rounding up animals and setting their
barns to rights, burning sheets and bedding and the bunkhouse that had just
been built. And burying the last of the dead and marking all the graves with a
carved stone. It had been slow going as his work force was down in number and
many were exhausted, and still caring for some sick ones.

But things were definitely getting back to normal, and he
asked Maria if she was up to getting a picnic ready as a celebration. She was
ready, she said, and so were many others, even those that had lost a husband or
wife or brother or sister, or even a child, to celebrate that they had made it
through the storm and to remember and memorialize those that hadn’t. He’d
spoken a few words at the gravesides a few minutes before, mentioning each
person who had died and their contribution to the Hacienda. There’d been no time
for services when they’d died, but he felt it was important to open the day
with some sermonizing about those they’d lost. There were tears and some
laughter, but mostly silence as he moved from grave to grave, finally stopping
and telling them all how thankful he was for their contributions.

As they moved towards the food and the tables set out to eat
at, they all saw Jolene, standing outside of the kitchen door, Melinda on one
side and her sister on the other. Those talking and laughing were suddenly
silent as they made their way to his wife. Every man, woman, and child, lined
up to pay their respects to her. As usual, she was stunningly lovely in dark
gray silk, with her hair tied back in a loose bow, holding each hand and
listening closely to what each person had to say.

Max was proud beyond words. According to Zeb and others, she
rallied staff to do as she’d asked, gave direction for the property and
livestock, all the while caring directly for the sick. There were few ladies
who would have done what she did. She was his equal in every possible way, and
he was as in love with her at that moment as he’d ever been. It would be long
lonely life, though, loving her from afar.

“Maximillian,” she said after she made her way across the
yard to him.

He tipped his hat. “Jolene. I’m glad you’re up to the
picnic. You look lovely today.”

Jolene stared at him, and he at her, until he turned to her
sister with a smile. “Jennifer. You’re looking fine as well. Have you seen the
all the food that Maria has managed to come up with?”

“Oh, my,” Jennifer said. “It is good to see things getting
back to normal. Melinda. Why don’t you show me this new puppy?”

Max watched the two walk away and looked back at his wife.
She was staring at him. He was reserved when he spoke. “I’ve never had a chance
to tell you how proud I am of you and how thankful I am that you were here with
our people. I will never ever be able to thank you enough for all that you
did.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Max!” she said softly.

“No tears. This is to be a day to relax and be thankful
we’re alive,” he said with a smile. Max turned then, and walked away, as much
as he wanted to hold her and kiss her and tell her that he loved her and would
love her until the end of days, he could not risk more hurt.

* * *

“There is to be a soiree in Dallas
to celebrate Maximillian’s Senate victory. My lady friends are anxious to meet
you, Jennifer,” Jolene said at dinner. “And we have not seen each other since
before the influenza hit.”

“That will be nice,” Jennifer said but did not raise her
eyes from her plate.

“I’ve not had a chance to tell you, Jolene, that Zeb has
agreed to become my Chief of Staff in Washington. Pete is set to take over some
of his duties, and we will see if he is ready to become the ranch manager.”

“Congratulations, Zebidiah,” Jolene said. “This is quite an
honor for you and quite a wise choice for Maximillian, who will need smart,
honest men he can trust when he arrives at the Capital.”

Jennifer looked up at Maximillian and back to Zeb. She was
white-faced. “Congratulations, Mr. Moran.”

“Thank you, Miss Crawford,” he said.

“So formal,” Maximillian said with a laugh but then the
smile was arrested on his face. “Aren’t you coming to Washington with us,
Jennifer, to help set up our house there?”

Jennifer said nothing. “She has not yet agreed to come with
us,” Jolene said. “We must not push her.”

“But you must come, Jennifer! You are the only one who likes
my puppy,” Melinda said. “Say you’ll come? I’ll miss you if you don’t.”

“There’ll be parties and dances, I’m sure, and lots of young
men that would be interested in a young woman as beautiful as you,” Maximillian
said to Jennifer, but stared at Zeb as he did.

“I don’t know what I’ll do yet,” she said.

“Would you like to take a turn in the garden, Miss
Crawford?” Zeb asked.

Jennifer pushed her chair back and stood. “Yes. Excuse me,
Maximillian, Jolene.”

Zeb followed her out of the dining room, and Melinda begged
to be excused a moment later.

“What,” Maximillian said when they’d left the room, “was
that all about?”

Jolene sipped her tea. “I do not know. Will there be many at
the soiree? Aren’t many of the families in mourning?”

“It has been more than a month since the influenza. People
around here, even high-born, don’t follow the strict rules that you most likely
did in Boston. I am glad. There is too much death in life to lock yourself away
for months on end. Life goes on, but I imagine it will be subdued.”

“I am not even positive who all have lost family members
from among our acquaintances,” Jolene replied.

“We will find out that evening. Excuse me, Jolene,” Maximillian
said as he stood.

It was like this now between them, Jolene thought, and would
be destined to continue in the same way. Polite strangers who were unwilling to
engage in more than the most cursory or necessary exchanges. She hated it. There’d
been a few occasions when she’d been very near to blurting out her secrets, but
the time didn’t seem right, but then when would it? She just didn’t feel she
could go from some cool polite conversation about menus to baring her soul. But
she must find a way to talk to Maximillian. She knew things would not change
unless she changed them, and it had been clear to her for some time that she
was able to think about William and remember happy times as well as the sad.
That not every thought of her son, whom she had loved, should be cloaked in
sadness and anger. Did she have the courage?

* * *

Jolene enjoyed introducing Jennifer
to her friends, and Jennifer seemed to be enjoying meeting everyone as well, on
the night of the soiree at Emma Jean’s and Timothy’s home. Jolene was glad to
talk to the women she’d gotten to know there, but hadn’t seen in some time.

Elsie Hooverman’s brother had died and so had Cornelia
Gregory’s aunt, and Jolene commiserated with the two women.

“Waste no time on us, though, I thank you,” Elsie said. “The
real tragedy is Felicity’s. I don’t know how she has borne it.”

“What happened?” Jolene asked, even as she dreaded the
answer.

Cornelia shook her head and dabbed her eyes. “Her little
boy, Benjamin, just two, died from the coughing disease he contracted after
he’d survived the influenza. What a tragedy. I remember when she was increasing
with that one.”

“Where is she? Is she here?” Jolene asked suddenly. “I must
speak to her.”

“She was sitting in the small morning room the last I saw
her,” Elsie said. “She’s looking very fragile, but brave as well.”

Jolene turned, hurried actually, to the place the women said
that Felicity was sitting. When she arrived in the entrance, she saw Felicity
was sitting alone although there were a few others in the room. Her friend was
worrying the strings on her reticule and looked up and smiled a watery smile.
Jolene went right to her and bent down to take her hands.

“I have just heard, Felicity. I am so very sorry,” Jolene
said, knowing the inadequacy of her words.

Felicity nodded and squeezed her hands. “Thank you. Do sit
if you are not too busy with others right now.”

Jolene sat. “Tell me about Benjamin.”

Felicity nodded and let the tears flow as she told Jolene
about the little boy whom she’d lost. About how he loved the blanket she’d made
him and lit up with smiles when he saw his father. She talked about the day he
died, gasping for his breath, in his bed, she holding one of his hands and her
husband holding the other, their four other children beside them.

“So you see, Jolene, he was the light of my life,” Felicity
said. “A handsome, loving boy who made my heart sing while he was here. I wish
I could explain it to someone, the loss I mean, but I would never wish this
pain on anyone else just for the sake of understanding. Never. I never would.”