Contract to Wed (9 page)

Melinda nodded.

“Why would he hate you?”

“Because I wear nice clothes now, and we have money for nice
things and for the Hacienda,” she said softly.

“That is not hatred, Melinda. That is jealousy. People
inevitably want what they do not have. It is a fact of life.”

“Maybe if I wore my dungarees again.”

“Will you wear dungarees the rest of your life so that
Miguel does not get upset?”

Melinda shook her head.

“You must begin to think about the future, Melinda. Not just
what you will do tomorrow or next week, but about your place at the Hacienda as
the mistress someday. You will need skills to do this, and that is why I am
insisting on your studies. You cannot allow others to make your decisions when
the time comes. You will listen to experts, but you will have the final say.
You must learn who is genuine and who only wants something from you.”

“And Miguel will not be a part of it, will he?”

“He may be a trusted employee. Or he may move away from
here. It is his life to live. This will be yours.”

“But Daddy will be here to help me,” she said as she looked
up at Jolene.

“Your father will live a long life, I’m sure.”

Melinda searched Jolene’s eyes. “But he won’t be here
forever, will he?”

“He will not. Nothing is. It is the way of life and nature.”

Melinda’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want Daddy to
die.”

“Of course you do not,” Jolene said. “We are being maudlin
now.”

“But I would miss him so much,” Melinda said. She looked up
at Jolene. “Would you miss him?”

“Yes. I would miss him, too.” she said.

Chapter Eleven

Emma Jean kissed both of her cheeks
and held Jolene’s hands in the foyer of the McCastor home. “I am so glad you
sent me a message that you were coming to town.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Jolene replied and removed her
gloves.

“As I said in my note, this is my
at home
day anyway.
I’d like you to be a regular visitor but I wasn’t sure if you were a rider or
wanted to come by carriage and I know you’re also a newlywed who may not be
willing to part with her husband quite yet,” Emma Jean said with a smile.

“I am a newlywed, but I’m also interested in meeting the
wives and making friends with women of like interests,” Jolene said and slid
her arm through Emma Jean’s.

“Well then, let me introduce you,” she said. “We have quite
an eclectic group!”

Jolene spent the next half hour being introduced to the
eight women in Emma Jean’s drawing room. It did not take her long to determine
that this group of women was unlike anything she was used to. She was seated
beside Bella Fabray, who introduced herself as a Suffragette.

“I understand your husband is considering running for the
U.S. Senate. Does he have a position on suffrage?” Bella asked.

Jolene answered truthfully. “I have no idea.”

“I’ll be curious to hear what he thinks,” Bella said. “Our
little group has diverse opinions about women voting, so he will make some of
us happy and some of us sad regardless of what he says. What are your feelings
on voting rights for women?”

Jolene shook her head. “I don’t know really. I’ve never
thought about it.”

“That was refreshingly honest,” Martha Newmeyer said as she
leaned forward to speak to Bella from Jolene’s left. “Let her be, Bella. For
heaven’s sake. The poor woman just got here and you are looking for an
argument.”

“Did you see the
Dallas News
today?” Cornelia Gregory
asked. “They are force feeding those poor women that were arrested for trying
to vote. There is a picture of the contraption they use to keep their mouths
open. It made me quite ill.”

“I don’t agree with Suffrage, but that is just plain wrong,”
Felicity Kenney said.

Jolene had never joined in the political discussions that
she occasionally heard during dinner parties or while socializing in Boston
society. No women did that she knew. But these women were talking about all
sorts of issues and causes and had widely varying opinions. Jolene could tell
by the cut and style of their clothing and their conversation that Elsie
Hooverman, Felicity Kenney, and Martha Newmeyer were not in the same economic
category as she, Corneila Gregory, and Anna Cummingsworth were, but it didn’t
appear strange to anyone, nor was it noted. Emma Jean sat down beside her.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked.

Jolene nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am. This is quite different from
anything I’m accustomed to, but I’m enjoying it.”

Emma Jean cocked her head. “Quite different? What did you
and your bosom bows talk about in Boston?”

“We talked about our husbands and their accomplishments.
What schools are children were in. Which events we were invited to or
attending. And servants. We talked about servants all the time,” Jolene said.

“Oh,” Emma Jean said. “I hope we haven’t offended you.”

Jolene was silent for some time and then turned to look at
Emma Jean. “I am not offended. I am interested, though. These women seem quite
determined to have their own opinions outside of what their husbands think.”

“Yes. We do.”

“In Boston, we were always content to talk about ourselves
and our worlds. It appears that this group talks about everything but
themselves,” Jolene said.

“Not always, though,” Emma Jean said with a laugh. “I know
everyone here is dying to ask you about all the Boston styles. Every outfit
I’ve seen you in is so new and different-looking. They’re beautiful!”

Jolene found herself at the middle of the conversation about
clothing and her purchases at McCabe’s Apparel. Anna Cummingsworth, a beautiful
and very young woman, sat down beside her.

“So Max finally decided to remarry,” she said. “Most of us
thought it would never happen.”

Jolene glanced at Anna and smiled politely.
What was
there to say?

“There’ll be some Dallas belles crying in their pillow when
they hear he’s up and married,” Anna said with a toss of her curls. “But
everyone just wanted Max to happy.”

Jolene leaned forward conspiratorially. “Please tell them
there is nothing to worry about. Mr. Shelby is very, very content. I see to
that myself.”

The women said their goodbyes, and Jolene settled into the
buggy for the ride home.

* * *

Max had all but a few boxes removed
and a fresh coat of paint on the walls of the room that was to be Jolene’s
office. He had a spare desk and some book shelves moved from one of the
bedrooms and found a small desk that would suit Melinda as well. A young girl
had dusted, swept, and cleaned the windows. He was getting ready to look at the
last of the boxes when he heard someone at the door.

“Oh,” Jolene said as she looked around the room.

“If you want to order a different desk, feel free. I just
wanted to get something in here for you to get started,” he said and wondered
if Jolene was still angry at him. She’d been gone to Dallas by the time he came
in the house mid-morning.

“This will be fine to start,” she said and looked up at him.
“Thank you. It’s very nice.”

“You’re welcome.” He wasn’t sure how to proceed with Jolene
when she was prickly. He’d never meant to hurt her when he said what he did
about being glad he married her. But clearly she did not trust him and had a
difficult time believing that anyone would have her best interest at heart with
no expectations of a return.

“There will be ten of us for dinner at the McCastor’s on the
night of the Cattlemen’s Ball. Emma Jean will send you the guest list for your
final approval once she has discussed it with Timothy.”

“Thank you.”

Jolene walked to her desk and ran a finger down it. She was
mulling a question or a comment he thought, but he had no intentions of
prodding her along. Jolene was going to have to move through whatever she was
going through at her own speed. He could neither hurry her nor slow her down.

“What is your position concerning women’s voting rights?”

Max shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure . . .”

“Suffrage. Women going to the polling booth and voting. What
do you think of it all?”

“I haven’t really thought about it too much. Why?”

“Don’t you think you should think about it?” Jolene asked
and looked up at him.

Max shrugged. “Most people in these parts are concerned
about taxes and water rights.”

“Most men, you mean.”

“Yeah. That’s what men are concerned about when they go to
the voting booth.”

“How would you know what women are concerned about then.
They don’t get to go to the voting booth.”

Max laughed. “Point well taken. I’ll have to think about
that and do some reading. I’d say women couldn’t do a poorer job voting than
men do, that’s for certain.”

“You may be asked when you run for office. It’s always good
to have some time to think through what you might say,” she said.

“True. Tell me about your afternoon at Emma Jean’s.”

Jolene pulled out the desk chair and sat down. “It was very
interesting. Very different than soirees and afternoon visits in Boston but . .
. it was enjoyable. They made me feel very welcome although there is little
pretense in regards to social standing and wealth.”

“What was that like?”

She looked up at him. “Freeing,” she said. “I would have
been free to speak my mind on a variety of subjects and not looked at oddly.
They spend little time worrying about themselves and the particulars of their
lives. They talk instead about all sorts of current subjects, and they are
reading a book aloud. They are helping a minister’s wife, Felicity Kenney, who
was with us today, with an orphanage attached to the parish. And not just
raising money. Some of them actually
do
things for the orphans.”

“Will you be going back?”

“Yes. And I’d like to invite them here sometime, I think,”
Jolene said and looked up. “This is all very new to me.”

Max smiled. “Having friends?”

“Having choices,” she said and stood.

“Nobody’s watching you and judging you, Jolene,” Max said. “You’re
free to be whatever you are or wanted to be here.”

“Thank you, Maximillian.”

Max walked to her and picked up her hands from her lap.
“Does this mean we aren’t fighting anymore?”

She shrugged her shoulders and looked away.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings last night, and I’m
sorry if I did. It was meant to coax a smile from you. That’s all.”

Jolene locked gazes with him. “Have you had relations with
Anna Cummingsworth?”

“Relations?”

“Sexual relations.”

“Anna Cummingsworth? No! She’s just a young girl. No. Why
would you ask?”

“I understand men’s natures,” Jolene said, stood, and turned
to her desk in the corner of the room. “On some level, I expected you to have
relations with someone if you and I were not going to. But I would appreciate it
if I didn’t have to sit beside her at tea.”

Max could not believe what he was hearing. He walked towards
her and she turned to face him. “You think I will climb into bed with some
other woman? I’m a married man, Jolene. I’m your husband. It’s either you or no
one.”

She looked up at him from under fringed lashes. “That sounds
quite final.”

“It is,” Max said. And then, unbidden, a vision of Jolene
baring those white shoulders of hers for some other man came into his mind. The
thought made him grind his teeth and clench his fists. He walked closer to
Jolene, and she stepped back until she was against the wall. “For both of us.”

“The bedroom was never meant to be part of our arrangement,”
she said breathlessly.

“I know. But there’s heat between us, Jolene. You can feel
it. So can I. I’m rock-hard half the day for wanting you,” he whispered and slowly
pressed her against the wall till her breasts were tight against his chest, and
his knee was between her legs. He moved her hair back and ran his tongue around
the shell of her ear. She groaned. “You make me out of my mind for wanting
you.”

* * *

Jolene’s eyes were barely open, and
her lips rubbed against the rough bristles of his beard when she spoke. “I have
no intentions of having sexual relations with anyone, Maximillian. There’s no
reason to.”

Maximillian dropped his hand to her hip and drew it slowly
up her side and up the underside of her arm, picking it up as he went and wrapping
her hand around his neck. “No reason to, Jolene? How about pleasure? How about
two adults giving each other pleasure and filling their desires?”

“Oh, Maximillian,” she said, her eyes closing and her lips
parting.

He put a hand on her behind and pulled her tight against
him. “God, Jolene, I want you.”

Jolene heard a giggle from the doorway and opened her eyes.
What had she been thinking? She brought her hands to Maximillian’s chest. “Stop
it. Someone will see us.”

He growled. “Maybe they’ll think that the boss is the
luckiest, horniest man in Texas.”

Jolene’s hand came to her mouth. She’d nearly laughed out
loud at him, and she could not withhold a smile. “Really, Maximillian,” she
said and blushed. “You say the most outlandish things. Now let me go before
someone sees us.”

Maximillian put a hand on each of her cheeks and held her
still. They were staring at each other, just inches apart. “You’ve always been
the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but when you smile . . . when you
smile at me like you did just a minute ago, I’d lay down and die for you. I’ve
never seen anything to compare.”

He kissed her forehead and walked away. Jolene slid into the
chair at her desk. She absently toyed with the ribbon laying on a box and
thought about how unnerving her husband was and how forceful her reactions to
him were. The side of the box slipped open and papers fell onto her lap. Jolene
picked them up and saw Maximillian’s signature at the bottom and his first
wife’s name at the top. She looked in the box and realized it was full of
letters he’d written Melissa. She unfolded one completely.

To my sweetheart,

Thank your mother and father for me in allowing me to
visit it with you this past Sunday after services. They are so kind to me. I
can hardly wait to see you again and while our acquaintance hasn’t been of long
duration, I am quite sure of my feelings. You are the face I see in my dreams
and the woman I want to spend my lifetime with. I love you, Melissa. I will . .
.

Jolene laid the letter in her lap and closed her eyes. She
could hear Maximillian’s voice in head. What would it be like to feel the full
weight of his emotions? Be the woman in his dreams? The woman he loved? Melissa
was lucky in her short life in Jolene’s estimation. She fingered the other
letters stacked in the box. How jealous she was, she admitted to herself. She
went to her rooms and pulled out her pale pink stationary. Perhaps it was time
to see how others were dealing with the monumental changes that had come their
way.

Dear Julia,

It has been quite some time since I received your letter;
however, I have read and reread it time and again. I am glad that you are happy
with your husband and family. It is hard to write those words, as I spent such
an inordinate amount of time thinking the worst of you over the years. I do not
mean to have this letter come across harshly, but as you mentioned in your
letter, you resented me for some time, and I returned the feeling, so it is the
truth on both of our sides, and perhaps it is harsh.