Silk and Stone (33 page)

Jake sat on the steps of his empty, dark house, his shoulders slumped. The early winter darkness had an icy edge. Bo lay on the porch close beside him, watching his face. Jake dropped a hand to the dog’s head. Bo was puzzled. Why wouldn’t Jake leave the cold dusk and take him inside?

“What’s the point,” Jake said. He was closer to defeat than he’d been since the time Uncle William died, when he’d first understood that knowing the truth didn’t always make a difference.

“I don’t believe Bo can hear
or
smell,” Mother said. Jake raised his head and quickly passed a hand over his damp eyes. Mother stood in the shadows at the end of the porch, hugging herself over a long white shawl. “Both of you let me walk right up.”

Jake said nothing. Mother might recognize the misery in his voice and ask questions. She sat down beside him, and he stared stiffly ahead. She touched the sleeve of his black suit. She knew. She knew about Mrs. Ryder, and where he had been, and he didn’t feel any anger in her.

“And if that isn’t strange enough,” she continued, “here you sit, dressed in the last thing I expected to see. When was the last time you wore a suit? Hmmm. Graduation. Four years ago. That’s why I took so many pictures. To prove to future generations that my son actually owned a matching coat and pants.” She put her arm around him. “And this is a
new
suit too. Should I get my camera?”

Jake cleared his throat. “Father told you about Samantha.”

She was silent for a second. Then she said, “Yes, he can’t manage to keep a secret for more than, oh, five, maybe ten years, tops.”

“Maybe he thought it’d never come to anything.” He paused, then added quietly, “Maybe he was right.”

“If I could choose any girl for you to love, it wouldn’t be one who shares even a drop of Alexandra’s blood.”

“I know.”

“But that’s a moot point, I guess. Do you love her, son? I just need to hear you say so.”

“I love her.”

“No doubt? I mean, does it go way beyond the superficial things, like looks and—okay, you’re forcing your ol’ mother to take a big, flat, frank step forward—does it go beyond—”

“Sex is only a part of it. I love her the same way Father loves you.”

Mother sighed raggedly. “Boy, you know how to settle a discussion.”

Jake’s head sagged. “I couldn’t even talk to her today. Orrin had men around. If I’d tried to get through, there’d have been trouble. I couldn’t risk it, not at her mother’s funeral. So I kept back, like I’ve always done. Like a damned helpless coward.”

“
No
, like a man who cares more about her feelings than his own pride.”

“She wouldn’t even look at me. She kept her arm around Charlotte and her head down. She’s trapped.” Jake clenched his fists on his knees. He shivered, not from the cold. “I talked to a lawyer in Durham. Abraham Dreyfus.”

“The same Dreyfus who represented the tribal council in a timber-rights suit against the government?”

“Everyone says he’s the best. I asked him what the chances are of me and Samantha getting Charlotte out of Alexandra’s custody.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Her voice filled with sorrow. She patted his back.

“He showed me a picture of his son. He said even if his own son came to him and asked what I asked, he’d tell him he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. He said no judge in his right mind would tell the lieutenant-governor’s wife she can’t keep custody of her
own niece—especially when the girl’s mother wanted it that way.”

“I’ll never believe Frannie would have made that decision if she’d known about you and Sam—”

“I should have gone to Samantha sooner. I should have seen this coming. Why does it let me down sometimes when I need it most?”

“What, sweetie? Why does
what
let you down?”

Jake silently kicked himself for being careless. “Mrs. Big Stick told me once that I’d bring some kind of curse down on us if I did what I wanted. Maybe I believed her more than I thought.”

“Listen to me, son. I respect Clara’s ideas, but the
curse
on this family started the day Alexandra married your uncle. Nothing you’ve done or can do will change that.”

“But I’m the one who has to finish it. Samantha and me. I know that much. I just don’t know how yet, and it’s tearing me up inside.” He looked at Mother. “There were people who thought you shouldn’t marry Father. What if they’d been able to stop you? What if all you could think about was being with him but you couldn’t do it?”

“Oh, no, you’re not getting hypothetical sanctions from me, mister. Let’s stick to reality.”

“You’d have found a way to do it. No matter what that took.”

Mother gave a sigh of defeat. “All right. Let’s talk turkey.” Her voice filled with grim humor. “We’ll just kidnap Charlotte and scoot off to Mexico. We’ll rent a nice hacienda and hide her until she’s eighteen. You and Sam can have a mariachi band at your wedding.”

“I won’t get you and Father involved. But don’t worry—I’ll write to you after we’re settled.”

“Jake!” She craned her neck, studied him with open-mouthed alarm, and shook him lightly. “My Lord, you’re serious. Don’t even
think
that way.”

He got to his feet, hands clenched, wanting to hit something, to punch one of the porch’s thick, rough supports until pain drove away all other feelings. “Tim hates her. She’s always been his mother’s prize, and he knows
that. If he gets the chance, he’ll hurt her somehow. And if he does that, I’ll—”

Mother leapt up and grabbed his fists. “From all I’ve heard about Sammie, she’s not the type who’ll let Tim get away with anything. Son, you have to trust that she’ll come to you for help if she needs it. Now it’s up to her.”

Jake lifted his head. The first stars of the January night glittered like small crystals—distant and unreachable. He would sleep under the quilt Sam had made for him. Her grief and fears would never be separate from his.

And if anyone hurt her, God help them.

Chapter
            Fifteen
 

“T
hey’ve been here a month, and all you do is pamper them,” Tim told his mother bitterly. “But I come home from school to tell you I’ve been offered an internship with a judge on the state supreme court and you act as if it were a crayon drawing I’d brought you to pin on the refrigerator.”

Alexandra leaned back in a chair in the library and gazed at her son with weary exasperation. “Don’t take that air of wounded pride with me. Orrin arranged the internship for you.”

“I
earned
it.”

“Hardly. Left to your own initiative, you’d fritter away your opportunities. Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? I’m trying to help your cousins cope with their mother’s death. Be a man about it.”

“I’m always second-class. You’ve got bigger dreams for
them
than you ever had for me.”

“Samantha and Charlotte are handicapped by years of benign mismanagement. I have to concentrate on setting them on the right course as quickly as I can.”

“Then send Sam to college. Get her out of here. Why did you let her talk you into staying in town until next fall?”

“Because Charlotte is a weepy little clinging vine, and Samantha thinks she’ll wilt if she leaves her so soon.”

“Sam is playing you for a fool. She wants to stay here so she can be close to Jake.”

“No, we’ve had some long discussions about that matter. She has absolutely no interest in encouraging him. I think losing her mother made her realize how needlessly difficult and lonely their lives really were. She’s ready for something different.” Alexandra gave Tim a reassuring nod. “There’s room for both of you in my plans. You have a future in law, and then politics. Samantha has an excellent aptitude for business. If all goes as I expect—and it
will
—I’ll need her to manage various concerns of mine after Orrin becomes governor. I’ll have too many new responsibilities to handle them myself.”

Tim appeared only slightly mollified. “What about Charlotte?”

Alexandra bit her tongue. She had no intention of telling him that she saw Charlotte merely as an extension of Samantha, a tool who could be used to keep Samantha’s loyalty. Charlotte was endearing and affectionate in the same way Frannie had been, but, like her mother, utterly without serious ambitions. “Charlotte is a born hostess,” she told him. “Any family in the public eye needs one of those.”

Tim’s eyes flashed. “What do you think I’ll do—marry some social retard who’ll embarrass you?”

“No, because if you ever wanted to marry such a creature, I’d make certain you came to your senses. So far your taste in women has been dictated indiscriminately by your hormones.”

“Would you rather people around here whisper about me the way they do about Jake—and Ellie? I had to go
through high school listening to kids snicker about my
queer
cousins.”

Alexandra frowned. “Jake, unfortunately, has proved he has an interest in the opposite sex. I wish he hadn’t chosen Samantha to do it.” She waved one hand dismissively. “I won’t object to your indulgences while you’re in law school. People are suspicious of men who don’t have a few youthful escapades to their credit. An overdeveloped streak of virtue implies a lack of know-how—or worse, a lack of interest. But they’re equally suspicious of a man who doesn’t know when to settle down. Until you’re ready to do that, don’t whine about my low opinion of your women.”

Tim stared at her. “Everything I say and do is just a petty annoyance to you.”

“Only when you’re in one of your childish moods.” Sarcasm tinged her voice. “Competing for my attention against Samantha and Charlotte—as if I’m handing out ice cream cones and you’re afraid you’ll be overlooked. I won’t put up with it. When you’re at home, I expect you to be pleasant to them. I
demand
it.”

“If Dad had lived, he wouldn’t let you—”

“I’m so tired of hearing that. He was foolishly sentimental, and someday you’ll thank me for making certain you didn’t turn out just like him.”

“Someday you’ll wish you hadn’t treated me like shit.” Tim left, slamming the library’s massive door behind him. Alexandra picked up the book she’d closed when he stormed into the room. Tim would comply with her orders. He always did.

Charlotte wandered the maze of upstairs hallways, aimless and bereft, trailing one hand along the handsome mahogany molding that kept chairs and tables and people from bumping against the wallpaper. Everything in Aunt Alex’s house was protected from carelessness and uncertainty. Charlotte needed that sense of sanctuary, though it churned her grief into frantic regrets.

If only we’d come here sooner. Mom would have been safe here too
.

She never said that to Sam, because she was sure Sam blamed herself for not recognizing it in time. Sam never cried in front of Charlotte or anyone else, but at night Charlotte crept into the bath between their bedrooms and listened at her sister’s door, hearing terrible sobs even huge down pillows couldn’t muffle.

Charlotte continued down the hall, blind with sorrow, guiding herself by the molding. She’d tried desperately to make Sam feel better by telling her she was happy here, because Sam wouldn’t have to worry about making money to take care of her, and Mom had wanted it that way.

At the end of the hall were open double doors. Charlotte blinked as if waking up, and stared at them in dull curiosity. Aunt Alex and Uncle Orrin’s suite. They had gone to the country club tonight, to play bridge.

She pushed one of the heavy doors aside and stepped into the room. It was large and plush, with the hardwood floors covered in Oriental rugs and good reproductions of the Impressionists on the pale peach walls. The furniture was massive and European; the room had the feel of a fine antiques store. A broad, tall bedstead with handsomely carved posts and coverings of richly stitched satin dominated the room, facing French doors that opened onto a balcony.

Charlotte moved around the room, wistfully touching an ornate lamp here, a tapestried throw pillow there, running her fingertips over crystal boxes on the dresser, and a small ceramic statue of nudes on a table by a draped window. Touching her aunt’s beautiful possessions filled her with comfort; Aunt Alex was surrounded by so many pretty things; she was invincible.