White Dreams (13 page)

Hester Mae whirled around, her face turning an unbecoming shade of red. “I was trying to do what was best for the child. Emma was too young to handle Renny. You weren’t here. Someone had to take care of matters.”

“You never wrote me.”

“You made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with your daughters.”

The truth stung, and it silenced him for a moment.

“You
knew
how much I wanted to raise them, yet you denied me. None of this would have happened if you’d just let them live with me.”

“None of this would have happened had I remained home to do my parental duties,” Grady said softly.

Hester Mae dismissively waved a gloved hand at him. “No one blamed you, Grady, dear. Why, even after all these years, it’s difficult for
me
to come here.” She wiped her eyes with a plain white handkerchief. “I still miss Margaret. Not a day goes by where I don’t think of her. And to know that her two precious daughters had run off into needless danger near broke my heart. If anything had happened to them—”

Leaning back in his chair, Grady stared into his brandy. He swirled the caramel-colored liquid, then took a sip. “I accept the blame. I should never have left, but the past is over and done with. I am here now.”

“Of course, Grady, dear. Of course you are.” Composed now, she approached him. “And now that you no longer have your sister to oversee your household, I shall be more than happy to assist. I will see to the hiring of your staff and come each day to make sure your household is run smoothly. And of course, I’ll be here to help both Emma and Renny while you go about your business. In fact, we should talk about Emma—and the need to find her a husband.”

Grady stood and rested his fingertips on the smooth surface of his wooden desk. “I won’t require your assistance, Hester Mae. Everything has been taken care of.” Well, he still had to hire a housekeeper and butler yet, but he could manage that. Charles had already seen to the cook, a footman and three maids.

Affronted, his sister-in-law drew back. “Well, if you insist. But about the girls. Renny will need a governess, and—”

Grady held up his hand, its unspoken order silencing the woman. Being blunt would be the quickest way to end Hester Mae’s visit. “Emma did not return with me. She has recently married. As for Renny, I’ve already hired a companion for her. So you can rest assured, everything is taken care of here, Hester Mae. Thank you for your consideration, but it is unnecessary. Now, it’s been a long day—”

Hester Mae gaped at him. “Emma married? How? To whom—”

“Papa, come see our room!” Renny and Morning Moon suddenly burst into the den. Grady’s daughter skidded across the polished wooden floor and careened into her aunt.

“Whoops, sorry.” She stepped back, saw who the visitor was, then glanced sideways at her father. “Uh-oh. Told you so.”

Hester Mae’s eyes were riveted on her niece. She went down on her knees. “You are so like your mother, Ranait. How about a hug for your aunt?”

The little girl moved tentatively forward and allowed her aunt to hug her. The woman gushed. “I’m so glad you are back safely. I was so worried. You must come visit and tell me everything that happened.”

Renny smiled hesitantly, glancing from her aunt to her father. Grady kept silent, unwilling to expose the child to his memory of past difficulties with his sister-in-law. When he saw Renny reach into her pocket he came around the desk, quickly guessing her intentions. “Renny, I don’t think—”

He was too late; Renny held out her rats. “Look, Aunt Hester. I have two pets now. Their names are Anna and Bella. Want to hold them?” The rodents’ twin noses and long white whiskers twitched.

Nose to nose with the animals, Hester Mae screamed and backed away, nearly falling in her haste to put distance between them. “Ranait! Get those filthy creatures away from me.”

Renny backed away, looking uncertain. Grady noticed Star standing in the doorway, biting her lower lip to keep from laughing. He wanted to, himself, until he noticed his daughter’s hurt expression.

Hester Mae’s gaze bounced from Renny to Morning Moon, then settled on Star Dreamer, for the first time becoming aware of the other woman. Grady had hoped Star wouldn’t have to come face-to-face with Hester Mae before having a chance to get used to her surroundings, but there was no possibility of avoidance now. He came around the desk and pulled both girls to him. “Hester Mae, this is Matilda Cartier, of the Nebraska Territory.”

He held out his hand to Star, urging her to enter and deliberately uniting the four of them for Hester Mae’s benefit. “And this is Matilda’s mother, Star Cartier. She has graciously agreed to watch over Renny and see to the household.”
And thereby remove any need for you.
He struggled to hide his distaste for Hester, though it would be a cold day in hell before he allowed her any foothold in his household.

Stunned, Hester Mae’s gaze traveled from Star to her daughter. White lines appeared around her pinched lips, her eyes narrowed with anger, and she gripped her gloved hands tightly in front of her. “And, Emma? Where is she? I must congratulate her on her marriage and welcome her home.”

Renny rocked back on her heels, leaning against her father. “She didn’t come home with us. She’s married to Star’s brother, Striking Thunder. He’s a Sioux chief and a brave warrior with lots of horses.”

Hester Mae’s mouth moved, but nothing came out. Grady bit back his groan. What was the point in making up a new name for Star if they were going to announce that she was an Indian princess?

In the back of his head, Grady felt sure that Renny had deliberately set out to shock her aunt in retaliation for her adverse reaction to her beloved pets. His daughter had the same gleam in her eye as Margaret Mary had often shone when riled—and like with her mother, Grady knew chastising her would do little good.

“Is this true? Margaret Mary’s daughter married a savage heathen? Like these two?”

“Careful, Hester Mae. Star and her daughter are family, and they are here under our invitation.”

Hester Mae laughed uneasily. “Much has happened, I see. There is so much we must catch up on. My husband has just returned home from one of his little trips.
You and Renny
must come to dinner tonight.”

“Not tonight, Hester Mae. Another night, perhaps.”

The excuse, while understandable, seeing as they had just returned home, must have sounded hollow, for fury glittered in Hester Mae’s eyes as she picked up her skirts and sailed out the door. Moments later, the front door slammed shut.

Renny edged around Star, but Grady stopped her. “Not so fast, young lady. You and I are going to have a nice little talk.” Star and Morning Moon left the room.

Hester Mae stormed through her front door, startling the footman who’d hurried to open it. She tossed her hat, gloves, reticule and coat at the poor man, then slammed the heavy oak door shut, gaining a small measure of pleasure at the thundering crash that echoed through the large entryway.

From a doorway down the dark paneled hall, a short, stocky man with hair going silver at the edges and a neatly trimmed goatee peered out. “Must you make so much noise, Hester? I’m trying to work.”

Hester Mae glared at her husband. Baxter Olsen looked disgustingly healthy, which only fueled her fury.

Without replying, she shoved past him and stormed into his domain. Going to the sideboard, she poured herself a shot of whiskey and downed it. “Leave me alone, Baxter.”

He leaned against the door frame, his eyes sharp as he took in her agitation and shaking fingers. She gripped the shot glass tightly, fighting the urge to throw it at his head. Instead she glared at him, for once perversely glad she was taller by several inches—not that it had ever mattered to him.

His bright blue eyes took on a nasty gleam. “Judging by your fouler than normal temper, I’m guessing you’ve seen Grady?”

Hester Mae sucked in her breath. “How did you know he’s home?”

Baxter shrugged. “I spoke to him down at the wharf.”

Splashing more whiskey into her glass, she put it to her lips, welcoming the smooth heat burning her throat. “And you said nothing to me, knowing how worried I’ve been?”

“I figured I’d give the man a chance to settle in without having to contend with you. If he was less than pleased to see you, I can’t blame him. He’s made it perfectly clear that you’re not welcome in his home. When are you going to accept that, Hester Mae?”

“When hell freezes over, you damned old goat. Those are my nieces. I have the right to see them.” Remembering Renny and her rats and Emma’s supposed marriage to a savage, broke her tenuous hold on her temper.

With a low shriek of anger, she threw her glass into the fireplace. The sharp shattering of breaking glass was satisfying, knowing she’d destroyed another of her mother-in-law’s precious crystal glasses. Glancing up at the painting of the woman’s formidable face, she silently cursed the old biddy. The woman had, until her dying day, made life in this house a living hell. When Baxter was gone, that damn painting was going into the fireplace.

Baxter smiled grimly but said nothing. He went back to his desk and sat down.

Hester Mae paced. “I suppose you also know about that woman—that savage and her brat that he brought back with him?”

“Yes. Pretty little thing. Can’t blame the man.”

A sudden, utterly distasteful thought occurred to her. “What if that child is his bastard? What if he’s been bedding that woman?”

“I’d shake his hand and tell him he was a lucky devil.”

“Well, I won’t have it. That’s immoral, I say—as bad as allowing my dear, sweet Emma to marry some savage! Something must be done.”

“Ah, Grady did mention something about the birth of his first grandchild come fall.” Her husband smiled thinly.

Hester Mae sank into a chair. “My Emma, my baby with child. And he left her out there without proper medical care. My God, the man’s lost his wits. Whatever would Margaret Mary have said?”

“Your sister would have been happy for her child.” Baxter regarded his wife with a look of pity, but his voice had hardened. “You will leave them alone, Hester Mae. If I hear you’ve caused any trouble, I’ll cut you off. You have caused that poor man enough trouble already. I’ll have no more.”

Jumping up, Hester Mae paced, her mind in turmoil, “You don’t understand—”

“No, it’s you who doesn’t understand. Their affairs are none of your business.”

“But Margaret Mary was my
sister,
” Hester Mae whispered, fighting to keep from breaking down in tears at the unfairness of this. Her baby sister, her beautiful, gentle, sweet and kind sister had been taken so cruelly from her. The sister who had overshadowed her, but for whom Hester had overcome her own sickly gawkiness to protect. And Margaret Mary had loved her for that protectiveness, almost as much as her parents had appreciated it. How could she stop now?

“I mean it, Hester Mae! Leave that family alone.”

Hester Mae’s angry strides took her to the door. “You don’t understand, Baxter. You’ve never understood. All you care about is your business, making money.”

Baxter stood and leaned forward, his palms flat on his desk. “Money you seem to have no trouble spending, wife. As for not understanding, I beg to differ with you. I know you far too well. Now go upstairs. I have work to do.”

Hester Mae paused in the doorway. “More letters in the hope of abolishing slavery? What wasteful work, Baxter—but work is all you’re good for, isn’t it? Too bad you never sired any children to carry on your precious business. Believe me, it will give me immense pleasure to sell it!” She glanced at the painting. “As will burning that portrait of your mother.”

Baxter’s voice was icy. “Then perhaps I should talk to my solicitor. I’m sure Charles would be happy to change the terms of the distribution of my estate in the event of my demise.”

Furious, Hester Mae slammed the door behind her.

Baxter lowered his head into his hands, listening to his wife stomp up the stairs. Another door slammed. What had gone so wrong in their marriage? Though not a love match, he’d asked Hester Mae to marry him after his first wife died, believing she’d be a suitable wife. She’d been older, mature, relatively smart and, more importantly, she’d never been a simpering, addle-headed girl. And her family’s wealth and status had equaled his own.

Spotting the whiskey bottle on his desk, he recapped it and put it away. She was drinking too much again. During his three-day absence she’d consumed nearly half the bottle. Pulling out his brandy decanter, he stared at it with narrowed eyes. Hester Mae hated brandy, yet there was a significant amount gone. Opening his cigar box, he noted two were missing.

With a set expression, Baxter went to his desk and wrote out a letter. Calling one of his servants, he instructed the man where to deliver it. He hoped his friend still recalled the fact that he owed him a favor.

Stalling, not ready to face a night alone in her newly assigned bedroom, Star wandered through the downstairs with a lamp held high. She still marveled at all Grady’s furniture, the house’s wall and window coverings and the richly patterned rugs beneath her bare feet.

In the kitchen she grinned. What a room! Though she’d already explored it completely, she couldn’t stop herself from doing so again. She opened each of the cupboards, though the bin table was her favorite piece. On one side, it held flour, the other, potatoes and rice.

Maybe she could find a nice cup of tea to help her sleep. She eyed the pie safe. Maybe a slice of that too. Tempted, she opened the door and sighed at the desserts just sitting there. She’d sampled her first at dinner.

She took a small scone, then proudly poured water from the kettle. It was still hot from earlier. Thinking of Hattie, Star prepared a second cup and slipped down the corridor into the back of the house. Hattie had been given a room there, for she refused to take one of the guest rooms upstairs. The cook occupied the room next to Hattie’s.

From the basement, she heard male laughter. Grady’s scouts had also refused to sleep upstairs, preferring to come and go through the rear servants’ door. The two maids and footman had tiny rooms on the third floor.

It seemed odd to Star to have a staff to take care of the house chores. The fact that Grady also planned to hire a number of others left her reeling. If there were going to be so many people—a dozen for the house and outside staff—what was left for her to do?

Knocking on Hattie’s closed door, Star balanced the tea tray and waited for permission to enter. When given, she entered. The woman was roughly Star’s age and she lay on the bed. The white bandage wrapped around her head contrasted sharply with her skin, which was the color of newly tilled earth. One eye was swollen shut, and blood had crusted her lower lip from a gash. Dark, ugly bruises bespoke beatings, some several days old. “I thought you might like some tea.” Star set the tray down and helped Hattie sit. The woman gave a hiss of discomfort. “I added some herbs that will help ease your pain. I brought more salve too.” Star held up the teacup, urging the woman to drink from it.

“Thank you.” Hattie’s dark eyes swam with unshed tears. “You saved my life today. How can I ever repay you?”

“Rest and heal.”

Hattie leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes. “They think me a slave, but I am not. They stole my family.” Her voice echoed with despair.

Star set the teacup aside and soaked a strip of cloth in warm water infused with healing herbs. While on board the
Annabella,
she’d heard passengers discussing slavery. It seemed this was one horrible tradition that Indians and whites shared. She knew many tribes turned captives into slaves, though her own tribe usually did not. However, there was a difference between the traditions. For the Sioux, the slaves taken were not just of one race. They were taken in battle—from any who opposed them. It didn’t matter whether the captive was Indian, English, Spanish or French.

Star didn’t understand how an entire race could be enslaved just because of the color of their skin. It seemed terribly unjust.

On that thought, she left Hattie to rest. At the foot of the grand staircase, she noted a faint light coming from down the hall—Grady’s den. She hesitated, unsure of her welcome.

Would he resent her intrusion as Renny seemed to believe? The little girl had seemed to think the room was meant to be entirely off-limits. Moving silently, she peered in. Grady was seated at his desk, staring off into space. Her own sense of loneliness gave her the courage to step inside.

Ever the gentleman, the colonel stood. “I thought you’d gone to bed already.”

“I took Hattie some tea.” She paused. “What will happen to her? Where will she go?”

“If she is indeed free, she can go where she chooses. If she is a slave, the law says she must be returned to her owner.”

“That is wrong.”

“Yes, it’s wrong.” Grady reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

The warmth of his fingers sliding across her skin sent tingles of awareness through her. To combat her urge to lean toward him and beg for more of his soothing, yet disturbing touch, Star walked past him. At the window, she stared out into the night. Grady joined her, his palms warm as they rested on her shoulders.

“I’ll do what I can to help Hattie,” he said softly.

“Thank you.” Grady’s selflessness wrapped Star in a cocoon of hope that things might work out. Then she shook herself. She was leaning on him for too much. Still, her body longed to relax and fall back into the sheltering warmth of his arms. There, she knew she’d be safe. A yawn overtook her, Grady’s presence overcoming the stress of the day.

His hands began to massage the tension from her body. Beneath his touch, Star gave in to her need and leaned back into him with a sigh. It seemed so natural, so right. Tomorrow she’d worry about being strong. Right now she was much too exhausted. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to the magic of his fingers easing the tightness from her neck and shoulders.

“I should check on the girls, in case my daughter has difficulty sleeping,” she murmured. She felt guilty to feel this good.

Grady led her gently to the couch. It was set beneath another window to one side of the fireplace. Morning Moon slept at one end, and Renny sprawled on the other side. “They’re fine.”

New appreciation for this man who wanted so much to love his daughter and make amends for his past errors curled through Star. She hoped he’d find the happiness he deserved, even envied him a little. She spoke softly, so as not to wake the girls. “Renny was so sure you would refuse to allow her in here.”

Grady leaned down to stroke the tangle of red curls around Renny’s face. He stood, and the love in his heart shone in his eyes. “Because of the past, my daughter expects the worst from me.” His voice broke. “Unfortunately, I can’t say I blame her.”

Leaning over, he scooped the girl into his arms. At the slight disturbance of her friend, Morning Moon lifted her head and smiled sleepily at her mother.

“Weshawee has such a nice house,” she murmured.

Star held out her arms. “Yes, it is a nice house. Let’s get you to bed.” Morning Moon wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and her legs around her waist. Star pulled her daughter close, love swelling in her heart. She had so much for which to be grateful. Even if she’d lost her husband, she still had her children. As she climbed the stairs behind Grady, she thought of her son, Running Elk. How she missed him.

What fun he’d have in a place the size of this house. There were so many rooms and places to hide. And the stairs: he’d love to run up and down them—then slide down the banister as Renny did. She carried her daughter upstairs, the rough hemp carpet silencing her steps.

After tucking in Morning Moon, Star kissed the child good-night then moved to the doorway where Grady waited. Leaving the door partway open, she let him walk her to her room. As they passed one room—Emma’s, Grady had said earlier—Star glanced over her shoulder. On the other side of the landing, another long corridor boasted several rooms reserved for guests.

At last they reached her room, and Grady opened the door. Star entered. The chamber was beautiful, but she wasn’t used to sleeping in total solitude. In her tribe, and in her family, nights were a time of closeness. Many evenings she’d lie awake listening to her children breathe, and to her husband’s quiet snores. They had always been reassuring sounds.

Even on board the ship, she’d shared her cabin with the girls. But now, she was faced with sleeping alone—in a strange bed. Seeing no choice but to enter, she stepped inside. The bed, a huge four-poster with a canopy and heavy drapes, intimidated her. Perhaps she might sleep on the carpet in front of the wood stove.

Grady had explained earlier that this room had been designed for use by his wife—it was apparently common practice for husband and wife to have separate rooms—but she had never used it. His voice had been sad when he had explained that Margaret Mary had never used the room, preferring to share one with him. Both of their girls had even been born in his large bed.