Pamela Morsi (12 page)

Rome looked at the man. He knew the answer as fully as if Miss Gussie had explained herself in great detail. She was trying to get Amos Dewey to come
around. She was trying to get Amos Dewey to notice her. She was trying to get Amos Dewey to marry her.

The man’s failure to do this was certainly some failing of his own, but Miss Gussie had put it, at least in part, to her lack of feminine charm. Rome remembered his first sight of her this afternoon. She was blushed and pretty and hourglass-curvy. He understood now the price she had paid to look that good for Amos Dewey. He was not about to allow the fellow to have a good laugh at her expense.

“I suppose it was seeing the two of us together,” Rome lied. “She probably feared it might come to blows. This has all been too much for her.”

Dewey’s expression was so incredulous, Rome was tempted to plant him a facer. It was as if he thought fighting over Miss Gussie were beneath his dignity. Rome didn’t know why that made him so angry. He wasn’t a man to sink to that level. But at this moment, with the woman lying faint just a few yards away, he could have cheerfully pummeled the man.

Rome glanced around to see who was watching and what they might be saying. Everyone within sight was looking in their direction, with as much interest focused upon Rome and Amos as upon Miss Gussie. Even the band seemed to be looking instead of tuning up.

He was tempted to start yelling at the whole crowd to mind their own business, but fortunately, he recalled that getting attention was part of the plan. He hoped that sacrificing Miss Gussie’s health was not.

“She’s a fine woman,” Amos said beside him.

Rome turned abruptly toward the man.

“Yes, she is,” he answered, the tone of irritation still unmistakable in his voice. Miss Gussie should not have to plot and scheme and lace herself too tight to breathe just so that Amos Dewey could be persuaded
to do what any fool could see was the smartest move to be made. The day she cast her eye in the barber’s direction, the man should have got down on his knees and thanked his lucky stars. She was smart and hardworking, generous …

“She deserves a man who genuinely cares for her,” Amos pointed out.

Rome couldn’t have agreed more. His thoughts trailed off somewhat. She was his employer and as such, he’d often thought of her as difficult and stubborn. When had he changed his opinion of her? When had his part in this scheme changed from a mercenary one to the concern of a friend? He didn’t know. But somehow it had. She did deserve a man who could really care for her. He was no longer completely convinced that man was Amos Dewey. And Dewey apparently didn’t believe it was Rome.

“Miss Gussie should have someone who is devoted, faithful and besotted by her,” Amos continued.

“And you think that I am not?” Rome asked the question made obvious by his tone.

The expression on Amos’s face was judgmental and vaguely disapproving.

“I don’t know if you care for her or not,” he said. “You certainly came onto the scene as gentleman caller very quickly.”

“Perhaps I was just waiting for you to step aside,” Rome said.

The other man’s eyes narrowed and his tone became clipped. “But you managed to hold off loneliness in the meantime.”

It was more the way he said it than what was said that called out a warning to Rome.

Dewey’s eyes were cold as steel. “Since my wife’s passing, I often wander the darkness late at night. It is
amazing what secrets a person can happen upon in a dark alleyway in the glow of moonlight.”

A stillness settled upon Rome as the words were spoken. He was wary now, extremely wary. He had always known that his illicit affair with Pansy Richardson might be found out, might catch up with him. But now was not at all a good time. The people of Cottonwood would be scandalized by such behavior and Gussie would be forced to publicly shun him. The scheme would be completely ruined. Even the hope for him to ever become a partner in her business could be lost.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he lied admirably.

Behind them, only a few yards away, the ladies crowding around their fallen sister began to stir. The movement caught the men’s attention and they turned in that direction. Rome saw that Miss Gussie was now sitting properly upon the bench. She looked more flushed and embarrassed than pale and drawn.

His impulse was to rush to her side. But he glanced over at Amos. Surely the man felt the same need to make sure she was all right. Maybe this was the moment that he would act upon it. Rome deliberately held himself back, waiting for the man to make a move, willing him to go to Miss Gussie’s side.

The fellow did not portray even so much as the slightest inclination to do so. He caught Rome looking at him and momentarily seemed uncertain.

Rome knew he was staring the man down, but he simply couldn’t seem to stop himself. The moment was drawn out nearly to infinity.

“I just …” Dewey hesitated. “I just want what is best for her. I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect her.”

It was a threat, plain and simple. Rome couldn’t
interpret it as anything less. And he could make no reply. There was nothing to say.

Without another word, Amos nodded a good-bye and turned away.

Rome gazed after him, angry for a moment, and then, unwilling to neglect Miss Gussie another moment, he hurried to the woman’s side.

From the little bench, she smiled up at him shyly.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

She nodded.

“It must have been this awful humidity,” Madge Simpson fibbed gracefully. “It’s worse than the summer heat for stealing a woman’s breath.”

“Yes, it is,” Rome agreed affably.

He seated himself beside Gussie and quite naturally took her hand in his own. Her eyes still held that luminous, dazed quality as he gazed into them. He’d always thought her so strong, so self-reliant. He had never thought about her heart, her feelings. There was a vulnerability about her that he had never noticed before. Rome didn’t want to hurt her. And he didn’t want to see her hurt.

Quickly he glanced back in the direction of Amos Dewey’s retreat. The man was no longer anywhere in sight. Rome felt bad. He wanted to apologize for Amos, to apologize on his behalf for not being the man he should be. Rome wanted to apologize for being the man by her side instead of the man she dreamed about.

“Are you all right?” he asked. He had meant to voice the question in quiet concern. But the words came out low and intimate. They were too close and they knew each other too well.

“I’m fine,” she answered, though she sounded a little shaky.

He quickly rose to his feet, grateful to be able to put some distance between them.

“Shall we move closer to the gazebo?” he suggested. He wasn’t sure why. Certainly they were after attention, but nobody could have missed her fainting spell, and even those who might have been looking the other way at the time had focused in on his discussion with Amos. Maybe they should move down to the front because they actually were the show!

Gussie walked with perfect steadiness on his arm. She had recovered her composure completely. Any lingering pallor was disguised by the bright brush of embarrassment in her cheeks.

The gown that had shown off her figure to such perfection was now slightly ill-fitted, evidence that within the closed circle of concerned matrons, someone had loosened her stays. Rome didn’t like knowing that. It felt wrong somehow to be privy to such intimate information.

A lot of this whole scheme was beginning to feel wrong, he decided. Making Amos jealous was turning out to be downright dangerous. Not just to him, but to Pansy as well. He owed the woman at least discretion.

“What did you and Amos say to each other?” Miss Gussie asked him quietly as they seated themselves upon the front bench.

Rome hesitated only a moment.

“I think it’s working,” he said honestly. “I think the man definitely does not like the idea of the two of us together.”

Miss Gussie smiled at him, so pleased, that he could not even worry about what the repercussions of this scheme might mean to him. He cared only about what they could be for her.

P
ANSY
R
ICHARDSON STEPPED OUT OF HER BATH RELUC
tantly. The water had already cooled and her skin was pruney, but she was hesitant to give up the most pleasurable activity she had planned for the day.

Sundays were always unpleasantly long. When Grover was alive she had risen early and excitedly. Eager to wash and dress and wear her newest hat to church; to sing and pray and be among friends. That was what Sundays were all about. Not anymore. These days she woke long before she wanted to and deliberately ignored the bells that called for her. A house of worship was no longer a sanctuary for her.

She picked up a piece of thirsty cotton toweling and began to dry herself. Her movements were slow, careful. There was absolutely no hurry. The only bright spot on Sundays for her now was that Rome did not have to work. Usually he managed to sneak down the back alley and into her house. They would loll around, in bed and out Living the day as if it were their last together. She liked that about him, that he understood how temporary everything could be.

Rome wouldn’t be making his way to her house today. He’d told her all about his bargain with Gussie Mudd and his mission to get her set back up with Amos Dewey. It was a waste of time, Pansy thought, though she hadn’t voiced that opinion to Rome. Why discourage him when he was so hopeful? And perhaps if Miss Gussie saw how hard he’d tried, she would take pity upon him and give him the partnership anyway.

That was Pansy’s hope. As far as she was concerned, there was absolutely no chance that Amos Dewey could be brought to his knees by Augusta Mudd.

Gussie was not a bad sort of person. Pansy actually liked her spirit and her drive. But her experience with men was extremely limited and she was ill-prepared for a challenge like poor Amos Dewey. Why else would she have chased the man unsuccessfully for so long?

Dry now, Pansy hung her damp towel upon the edge of the bathtub and put on her wrapper. The spring sunshine was bright outside. She considered sitting out on the second-floor porch and allowing those warm, comforting rays to smile down on her. But she decided against it. The last time she was caught outside in her wrapper had thoroughly scandalized the neighbors. Now they were all watching her, hoping she’d see her way to shock them again. Pansy wasn’t about to give them that satisfaction. But neither was she willing to be a prisoner in her home. She had as much right to enjoy the sunshine as anyone else.

Drawing back her sleeve, she reached through the cold, soap-skimmed bathwater to pull out the drain plug. The houses on Brazos Avenue were not yet connected
to the new sewer-pipe system being laid all over town. But Pansy wouldn’t be inconvenienced if the sewer system was never completed. When her house was built, Grover Richardson had a covered pit dug in the far back corner of his lot to allow his home the convenience of modern plumbing. This was how he’d developed his interest in a public sewer system. And why he’d prodded Judge Barclay to lure the Monday Morning Merchants Association into investing in the project.

Lure.

The word was an appropriate one. Barclay was so open, so friendly, he could entice with words, draw you in before you realized you were even interested. That’s what he’d done to the Monday Merchants. It was what he had done to Pansy as well.

She sighed. A wealthy and comfortable life was not necessarily a happy one.

Pansy went up the narrow steps from the basement bathroom to the kitchen and then to the stairway in the main hall. She would dress and go out, she decided.

Pansy Richardson could no longer avoid the truth about herself. Despite everything she did to please herself, she was not happy.

It was Sunday afternoon. Half the community, sated with a pleasant dinner and family togetherness, would be promenading through City Park. They would be laughing with friends, sharing time with spouses, tending children. Pansy had no children, no spouse, nor even a friend.

Of course she had Rome, but Rome was … Rome was … he washer lover, she supposed. Although that description was not all that finely accurate either.

He certainly made love to her. And in a generous,
giving way that was more friendship than romance, he was in love with her. But in her life he was more of a convenience than an object of affection. He fulfilled her desires. He was the bright, shining moment in her endlessly bleak landscape. He was a fine, loving, generous man. But she could offer him nothing in return. She had nothing of herself to offer.

Perhaps someone else could.

Rome Akers and Gussie Mudd. She allowed the names of the couple to drift through her thoughts slowly and methodically. They would undoubtedly spend the afternoon in the park. It was public, proper, and at least the place was familiar to both of them. Pansy considered the couple carefully. The ingenious match they’d come up with might in truth be very good for both. A marriage like that would hand Rome respectability on a silver platter. Forget the partnership—he’d have his own business and a certain standing in the community that only family connections could provide. It would create an immediate improvement of his lot in life, the kind that could otherwise take a generation.

And it could be good for Gussie as well. She would have a hardworking, devoted husband who could be extremely gentle and would be, Pansy was certain, absolutely faithful.

She smiled when she thought of that. Rome would be a much smarter match for her than Amos Dewey. And it would take more than the small bite of a green-eyed monster to bring him back to life.

Up the stairs and into her bedroom, Pansy retrieved her underclothing from the highboy chest and began to dress. Lawn drawers with a matching camisole were soft against her skin after much washing. Her corset, however, was not a pleasant companion. She laced it
herself on a dress form that had not changed since her trousseau. She wrapped it around her and lay upon the bed, holding her breath to hook the front fastenings. Once the closures were secured, she lay there for a long moment accustoming herself to the tight cage and her diminished lung capacity.