Heartstrings (2 page)

She leaned down, and while she pressed a tender kiss to her sister’s smooth forehead, the fragrance of lemon verbena floated around her. “I’ve something wonderful to tell you, Lillian,” she said, struggling to maintain a calm demeanor. “Dr. Wallaby has agreed to interview me for the position as his research assistant in Brazil.”

True happiness lifted the sorrow from Lillian’s eyes. “South America,” she murmured through her smile. “Your dreams are all coming true for you now. You must write to me every day. Upton, my love, how long will it take for our Theodosia’s letters to arrive from Brazil?”

“I’ll be writing from Texas first, Lillian,” Theodosia clarified. “That is where Dr. Wallaby will conduct the interview. He has exhausted his research funds, has left Brazil, and is in Templeton, Texas, waiting for further financial backing. Once he receives the grant, he will return to Brazil. And if he accepts me as his assistant, I will go with him.” Upton put his arm around Theodosia’s shoulder. “You’ve worked very hard for the opportunity. I have no doubt that once Eugene interviews you, he will hire you on the spot. Why, I’d venture to hypothesize that the interview is a mere formality, Theodosia! After all, the two of you have been corresponding for almost two years, and he most certainly understands the extent of your interest and intelligence.”

“That he does,” Lillian agreed, reaching for the envelope in Theodosia’s hand. “May I, darling?” When her sister relinquished it, Lillian opened the envelope. As she unfolded the letter, a stiff oval-shaped paper fell to the bed. “Why, he included a miniature painting of himself,” Lillian exclaimed. “Probably so you will know what to expect when you first see him. How thoughtful.”

“A miniature?” Theodosia asked. “I must have overlooked it.” She glanced at the small painting, then leaned forward for a better view. “My goodness, he looks like you, Upton! Same thin, angular face, long straight nose, bright blue eyes, and gray hair. He’s obviously older than you, but the resemblance is nothing short of amazing.”

“He’s nine years my senior, which would make him fifty-three,” Upton said. “He’d already graduated when I entered Harvard, but he continued to avail himself of the library, and that is where I met him. The two of us soon became a familiar sight on campus, and many people believed he was my older brother. He was a fine friend, Theodosia. A pity he never married and raised children, for I am sure his offspring would have inherited his passion for scientific research. The world might have benefited from their studies. For personal reasons, however, he chose to remain unwed. But he is a good man. Of course, I haven’t seen him in many years, but his reputation remains untarnished. You will be in excellent hands, my dear.”

Nodding her agreement, Lillian scanned the letter. “Upton, Dr. Wallaby writes that Theodosia is to travel to Oates’ Junction, Texas. From there, she will ride to Templeton, in the company of an escort he will send to meet her.”

“You must leave at the first opportunity, Theodosia,” Upton declared.

“Don’t be silly, Upton,” Lillian admonished him. “Our Theodosia will need no less than a month and a half to prepare for her trip. She might need as much as two. One cannot pack a simple overnight bag for such a journey, and there are many things we must purchase for her.”

“Very well,” Upton conceded, smiling indulgently. “You will leave when Lillian deems you are ready, and you will take John the Baptist with you. The parrot will keep you company during your travels.”

“You will also take the gold that Father left to us,” Lillian added. “I’ve kept it for you all these years. You know very well that Dr. Wallaby will be unable to pay you a salary in Brazil. He will need every cent he has to continue with his research. The gold will see to your needs for a long while, and when it is gone, we will sell Father’s business. It continues to thrive, and I am sure we can sell it for a substantial amount of—”

“We will not sell Father’s business, Lillian,” Theodosia argued. “It means as much to you and me as it did to Father, and you know it. And as for the gold, I will take my share of it. You must save your half for—”

“For what? I’ve no one else to spend it on. I— what I mean to say, is that I—”

It took only a moment for Theodosia to understand what Lillian was thinking. There were no Peabody children to spend the gold on, so she wanted Theodosia to have it. “Lillian—”

“You will take the gold. I have no need of it.” Lillian glanced around the opulent bedroom. “I have everything a woman could want. A beautiful home. A loving sister. A wonderful husband. Everything…”

Her voice trailed away as she lost the battle with her sorrow. Tears blinded her to everything except her all-consuming grief. “I have everything except what no one can give me.”

Quickly, Theodosia stepped aside as Upton moved to take Lillian into his arms. Watching the couple cling to each other, she felt a wave of helplessness course through her.

If only there were something she could do to repay them for saving her very life. Something that would make them as happy as they had made her. If only…

Her desperate thoughts ebbed away when the miniature of Dr. Wallaby fluttered to the floor and landed by her foot. For one fleeting moment, she thought it was Upton, not Dr. Wallaby, looking up at her from the dark green carpet.

Same thin, angular face, long straight nose, bright blue eyes, and gray hair.

Same brilliant minds.

An idea struck so suddenly that she staggered backward, forced to grab the bedpost for support. Her distress vanished as swiftly as a shadow confronted by light.

She
would give her sister what no one else on earth could give her.

A child of Lillian’s own bloodline, one who would inherit many of Lillian and Upton’s personal traits.

And the man who could assist in the creation of that very special child was in Templeton, Texas.

Chapter One

“D
r. Wallaby, would you be
willing to impregnate me?” Oblivious to the appalled stares of the nearby passengers aboard the train, Theodosia hugged her parrot’s cage to her breasts, settled back into her seat, and contemplated the sound of her query. Ever since leaving Boston five days ago, she’d been pondering the all-important question. Now she felt the need to hear it with her own ears.

Nibbling at her bottom lip, she glanced out the window and saw a mass of huge pecan trees. Primrose and thistle painted the edge of the grove with bright hues of pink and purple, and yellow butterflies floated above the flowers like bubbles turned gold by the kiss of the sun.

But the beauty of the landscape began to fade, finally escaping her altogether. She could not concentrate on anything but the estimable Dr. Wallaby. Indeed, she imagined she could see the renowned scientist’s face within the sun-filled windowpane.

“Dr. Wallaby,” she began rehearsing again, “it is imperative that I conceive a child. You meet all the qualifications regarding the paternity of the child, and it would please me enormously if you would consent to be his or her sire. The act required for the conception is, of course, a mere scientific procedure, and I don’t believe I am mistaken in believing that it can be accomplished in a totally objective manner and, no doubt, in a relatively short amount of time.”

Gasps and loud whispering filled the compartment. Theodosia focused her attention on her fellow passengers, noting their mouths were agape. “I apologize for disturbing you. I was conversing with myself.”

“I was conversing with myself,” John the Baptist echoed. “Awk!” he screamed, then splashed a beakful of water onto Theodosia’s dark blue skirt.

Cooing to her bird, Theodosia met each person’s stare directly. “Allow me to elaborate. I’m of the inclination that the ear must hear thoughts before the mind is able to grasp their full significance and keep them in separate and precise order. And if one’s thought pertains to a specific conundrum, said problem is quite likely to be solved if one simply voices it rather than merely contemplates it. That is the reason why I converse with myself.”

John the Baptist stuck his beak through his cage bars. “That is the reason why I converse with myself,” he mimicked.

Theodosia sprinkled a few sunflower seeds into her parrot’s cage, then turned back to the window. Fondling her small heart-shaped ruby brooch and the delicate gold chains that hung down from it, she realized the train was slowing in preparation for the arrival at Oates’ Junction.

She dug into her reticule and withdrew the slip of paper upon which was written the name of the man Dr. Wallaby had arranged to escort her to Templeton. “Roman Montana,” she read quietly. “Tall. Long black hair. Blue eyes.”

She wanted to believe Mr. Montana would be at the station waiting for her, but she prepared herself for the possibility that he was not. Upton had explained that in the South people were slower, their way of life unhurried. She wasn’t certain of the reasons behind such leisure but decided that in all likelihood Roman Montana would be late.

The tinge of irritation she felt impelled her to take a moment to analyze her mood. The train hadn’t even come to a complete stop yet, and here she was already impatient with Roman Montana.

“Theodosia,” she scolded herself out loud, “impatience is an emotion that is rarely advantageous and often leads to true anger. If indeed Roman Montana is unpunctual, you will accept the situation in a self-possessed fashion and keep in mind the fact that not everyone enjoys being as prompt as you do.”

As the declaration left her lips, the train came to a hissing halt. Theodosia pulled her gloves onto her hands and her escort out of her mind.

After all, she reminded herself, she had not journeyed all the way from Boston for the company of some long-haired, lackadaisical Texan named Roman Montana.

T
heodosia gave a great huff,
choking as the blistering heat filled her chest. “One would think there was invisible fire in Texas air,” she mumbled. One at a time, she lifted her overly warm feet off the sunbaked platform at the depot, hard pressed to keep from being knocked to the ground by the other passengers hurrying toward the shelter of the train station.

Where
was Roman Montana?

“There now, Theodosia dear,” John the Baptist squawked from within his cage. “Here’s a nice cup of hot tea.”

At her parrot’s words, Theodosia felt another heat wave shimmer through her. John the Baptist had repeated what he heard Lillian say every afternoon at precisely three o’clock. While Theodosia realized her bird didn’t understand what he was saying, his suggestion was unbearable at this moment.

“One sugar today, Theodosia, or two?” the parrot continued with his tea talk.

Theodosia frowned. “That’s quite enough out of you, John the Bap—”

“Impatience is an emotion that is rarely advantageous,” the bird stated. “Would you like cream in your tea as well, Theodosia, dear?”

Ignoring the loquacious parrot as best she could, Theodosia patted her moist brow with her lacy handkerchief and studied her surroundings.

Wagons crowded the dusty street that separated the depot platform and the train station. A drunken man wove among the vehicles. With each faulty step, he spilled whiskey from the bottle he clutched in his hand. As he neared Theodosia, he stopped and scratched his crotch.

“Sir,” she said, pinning him with a sharp look, “it must be close to one hundred degrees out here. Did you know that drinking alcohol raises the body temperature? You are out in this hot sun and drinking whiskey as well. Is it your intention to kill yourself?”

The man blinked several times, then raised his bottle. “Y’on’t some?”

She drew away. “No.”

Shrugging, he staggered back through the wagons, still digging at his crotch.

Dismissing the vulgar man from her mind, Theodosia scanned the area once more. A dog with a scarred ear barked at her. Nearby horses stomped their hooves, then sneezed as dust floated into their nostrils. Bags and trunks slammed onto the platform as a station employee flung them from the train. A street hawker selling flasks of an elixir for fatigue called out his prices to her. Someone shouted, “Go to hell, you damned son of a bitch!”

Theodosia shook her head. “Ah, these must be the sweet sounds of Texas.” Lips pursed in distaste, she stepped off the platform and made her way across the street. Mr. Roman Montana could look for her all week; she’d had enough of waiting outside in the torrid heat.

The interior of the train station wasn’t much cooler, but at least its roof kept the sun from beating down on her. Trash, cockroaches, and sleeping cowboys littered the hardwood floor, and the walls were covered with flies, train schedules, outdated Wanted posters, and lopsided paintings. One painting was of a seminude woman; someone had sketched a beard on her face and a bolt of lightning across her bare breast. In the far corner two old men played checkers. One was smoking a cigar and dropping ashes all over the playing board; his opponent kept blowing them off.

Theodosia’s distinguished life in Boston suddenly seemed a million miles away.

After a moment she spotted a refreshment bar and hurried toward it. “I’d like a cold lemonade, please,” she said, setting the bird cage on the counter.