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The burn was bad but not the worst he’d laid eyes on. He squeezed some of the juice from the plant onto the wound.
“What on earth is that?” Ada demanded. “It looks like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s aloe vera. It’s a desert plant. It grows wild out in west Texas,” he replied, gently rubbing the juice onto the wound. She flinched and held her breath. He took care to be gentle, given that her skin was raw and her wrist delicate. “I took a cutting years ago, when I was bringing some cattle through Odessa. Folks out West use it to help heal burns.” He paused, surveying his work while trying to maintain calm. Ada was now a permanent member of the household, and he needed to get used to being around her without thinking of her as a woman—if that made any sense. “Does that feel better?”
“Yes, surprisingly.” Ada stared at her wound. “It doesn’t sting nearly as much.”
“Good.” He released her hand and tossed the aloe onto the table. She looked at it pointedly, but he refused to pick it up. He would eat at a table and even eat vegetables, but he would not tidy up in the midst of a meal.
Was now a good time to bring up the trip they’d have to make? Probably not, but then, there might not ever be a perfect time. He took a bite of his chicken sandwich to fortify him for the task ahead.
“So,” he began in what he hoped was a conversational tone, “are you up for a honeymoon?”
Chapter Three (#ulink_4881464d-65e1-551f-8358-7a35635bac51)
Ada stood on the train platform, waiting for her husband’s private train cars to be hitched to the train itself. Just a few short days ago, she had occupied this same spot, waiting for Aunt Pearl and an unknown future. Now she was waiting to go to St. Louis, to collect the stepdaughter she’d never met. An unlikely honeymoon, but one completely in keeping with their arrangement.
She glanced down at the pocket watch on her lavender lace lapel. She had changed to half-mourning after her first day in the Burnett home and not just because her sudden matrimony should, at least to outsiders, seem like a cause for celebration. No, it was merely that her frocks in shades of purple and gray were made of lighter fabrics for summer wear and thus more practical for life out on the prairie.
“Well, don’t you look pretty as a picture,” a female voice crowed behind her.
Ada jumped and whirled around. “Aunt Pearl,” she gasped. She was not really ready to see her aunt yet. A large part of her was still angry at being traded as casually as a mule, even though she admitted it was a practical solution to her problems.
Some of her hesitation must have shown on her face, for Aunt Pearl held up her gloved hands in protest. “Now, now, I’m not here for a lecture, Ada. I just wanted to say goodbye and God be with you. Lord knows that poor child has been through enough already. It will be such a wonderful thing for her to be home with her daddy.”
Sudden nervousness flooded Ada’s being. She wasn’t ready for this. She was not prepared to be this great a part of a stranger’s life. What if she couldn’t measure up? She glanced down at her burned wrist and bandaged hand, recalling accident after accident she’d had in the past few days. Sugar in the saltshaker. Baking soda in the bread instead of baking powder. So much starch in Jack’s shirts that they stood up by themselves. One broken item after another. True, there were two maids to do the work, but she insisted on helping. The only problem was, her attempts to assist met with constant catastrophes. If she was this big a failure at being a wife, how much more of one could she possibly be as a mother?
“Aunt Pearl, I can’t do this,” she cried. It was a relief to voice her fears aloud. “I know it’s part of the bargain that I make sure the house is clean and presentable, but it isn’t ready for a child. I’ve been working with his maids, but they are used to slacking because Jack won’t raise a fuss. It’s been his bachelor headquarters for years. I don’t know how to take on this role. I’m not ready to be anyone’s mother.” She held up her hand. “I can’t even take care of myself.” She was angry at Pearl, to be sure, but Pearl was family. She could show a little weakness to her own flesh and blood.
“Don’t take on so, child. You’ve done more in a few days than most women could do in a year. Besides, remember what I told you. It’s time for you to grow in faith. This is a good chance to see the hand of God in your life.” Her aunt gave her a hearty slap on the back. “Now, I heard you hired Cathy. Do you need more servants than that? Has Cathy started yet?”
“Yes, and yes.” Ada gazed at her aunt in wonder. “How did you know I had hired anyone?”
Pearl laughed, and the ruby earrings she wore bobbed against her cheeks. “Ada, you need to know something about life in Winchester Falls. It’s not like living in New York, where all you need to worry about is Mrs. Astor’s Four Hundred. Here, you have four hundred people in all, including every single family and every single servant. Word gets around. We’ve got no one else to gossip about.”
Ada was no stranger to tittle-tattle. The Four Hundred her aunt spoke of so lightly had begun cutting her out as soon as her father’s scandal had broken. After enduring the petty slights of her former friends for weeks, a complete change had seemed in order. That was, after all, how she’d decided that making a clean break and starting life anew in Texas was the only sensible course of action open to her.
Yet here she was, failing already.
“Listen, Aunt Pearl,” she added hastily, “I need your assistance. The house is improving, but I’m afraid, now that I’m leaving, it will fall right back into chaos. I can’t bring Laura home to a dusty, musty house. Would you help me to make sure the servants are doing the work? I can send telegrams at every stop.”
“Why sure,” Aunt Pearl replied. She gave Ada a searching look. “Are you so desperate for help that you would ask anyone right now? Or am I forgiven?”
Ada stiffened. Blood had to be thicker than all the problems in the world. “I don’t know what to say, Aunt Pearl. I mean, I’m angry still that I was pressured into marrying Jack Burnett, but I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”
“That’s good enough for me.” The older woman wrapped Ada in a tight hug.
“Hey, Pearl,” Jack called, making his way up the station platform. “Did you come to see us off?”
“I sure did.” Pearl broke free from Ada and gave Jack the same tight embrace she had given Ada. They really must think of each other as family. How very odd. “Take care of my gal, there, Jack. And bring Laura home to me safely. I don’t think I’ve seen her since she was knee-high to a june bug.”
Ada stood slightly apart from them, watching her aunt. Funny, Aunt Pearl had been raised in the same family as Father. She went to an elite boarding school and women’s college. She had made her debut at the age of sixteen. But when she married R. H. Colgan, it was as though all those years of polish and breeding fell away. Here she was, using outlandish phrases and hugging them all like children. Father never embraced his daughters and certainly never used hyperbole or exaggeration.
Was Texas responsible for Aunt Pearl’s roughened character?
Would Ada be the same way in twenty years?
What an appalling thought.
Jack offered Ada his arm and, with a final wave to Aunt Pearl, Ada followed him down the platform and to their waiting car. Then he helped her make her way up the steps. The pressure of his arm was both familiar and strangely exhilarating. She must be more nervous than she thought. She certainly wasn’t developing any kind of silly, girlish feelings for Jack Burnett, for that would never do. She was a strong and sensible suffragist.
As she entered the car, Ada looked around in awe. Not that she hadn’t seen grand living spaces before, but a private train car so luxuriously appointed rather took her breath away. The ceiling was padded with sky-blue satin, and heavy velvet draperies shut out the blazing morning sun. Brass and crystal lamps glowed invitingly on graceful mahogany tables.
She sank onto a leather armchair and placed her feet up on a deep blue hassock. “This is lovely. I had no idea you owned such a fine thing. When you said private cars, I thought for sure you meant something in which you hauled cattle at one time or another.” Teasing Jack seemed to be the only way to get along with him. In the brief time she had known him, she realized one thing about Jack Burnett. If things got too serious, he would simply leave for hours at a time.
He took off his hat and cast it into a nearby chair. “Nope. When I was first married, I commissioned this. We’ve got a separate sleeper car, too, with bedrooms for each member of the family. I wanted for us all to travel in comfort. We didn’t use it much, though.” He frowned deeply, as he usually did when speaking about his first wife.
She didn’t know what to say. When he went silent like that, he would usually stalk off. There was no way he could do that on board a train. So they had to find a way to be polite in each other’s company for the duration of the journey. How long would she have to strain at being civil?
“When will we reach St. Louis?” she asked, stripping off her gloves and laying them beside her on the table. She had been living with him now for days, but she had her own room and he rarely stayed for long in the house. The close proximity forced upon them by the car made even small gestures like removing her gloves seem somehow more intimate. Perhaps the sudden rush of heat to her cheeks could be blamed on Texas weather.
“In about a day and a half.” His handsome face had settled into a brooding expression. “But we won’t see Laura right away.”
“Why not? Won’t her school allow it?” Ada withdrew her hat pins. If she stayed busy and kept peppering Jack with questions, perhaps her ridiculous blushing would pass by unnoticed. It was absolutely appalling for a young, serious suffragist to be simpering like a debutante at her first ball. She was stronger than that...wasn’t she? She laid her heavy hat to one side.
“The school will.” Jack rubbed his thumb meditatively over his lower lip. “But my father-in-law might not.”
* * *
Jack strode around the perimeter of the Grand Hall of Union Station, jostled along by hundreds of fellow travelers. The sunlight streaming in from the stained glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors onto the faces of the passersby. His mouth was dry and his brain feverish. If only Ada would hurry up. But she had insisted on taking time to change and arrange her hair in one of the station dressing rooms.
“Well, why can’t you dress here?” he had demanded, waving his arm at the ridiculously luxurious private car.
“I want to look my best, and there is no full-length mirror here,” she had stated flatly. “I need to see the overall effect of my costume. After all, we have one opportunity to impress your father-in-law.”
So here he was, pacing the crowded station, as Ada primped and preened. He should be happy that she was working so hard to be presentable to his father-in-law. As it was, his anger at having to dine with the old man and meet with his approval yet again was galling.
He took out the souvenir he had purchased for Laura from one of the peddlers in the station. It was a little doll, dressed in silk and lace. A banner wrapped diagonally across her middle read “St. Louis.”
A ten-year-old would still play with dolls, wouldn’t she? He stuffed it back in his pocket.
The clock tower, a massive structure that rose majestically to the ceiling, tolled the hour. Out of habit, he checked his pocket watch to make sure it was keeping accurate time. It was. Both clocks showed that unless Ada hurried up, they would be late to meet Edmund St. Clair.
He circled back around to the ladies’ waiting area and dressing rooms, and as he grew closer, Ada stepped out. She was swaying against the press of humanity swirling around her, but in the midst of utter pandemonium, she was an oasis of calm. He caught his breath a little, looking at her. She was stunning, as pretty as the society debutante she had been raised to be. She had changed into a violet dress trimmed with black ribbons, the dark colors setting off her pale complexion and vivid blue eyes. A wide black hat trimmed with purple feathers was settled atop the waves of her black hair.
He’d grown so used to seeing her in simple housedresses that he didn’t realize how lovely she could be.
He’d have to guard his heart carefully with this one. He had been turned by a beautiful face before, and it had ended in disaster. There was no sense in repeating the process.
“Jack,” she called, raising her voice over the din.
He held up his hand in greeting and made his way over to her side.
“I declare, I’m not used to crowds any longer,” she gasped with a little laugh. “Though I’ve only been in Winchester Falls a short time, it seems to have rubbed off on me already. This seems quite daunting.”
“It’ll be fine. We only have a little ways to go. St. Clair is meeting us at the train-station restaurant.” He tucked her arm into his elbow and ventured out into the milling throngs of travelers. Somehow, he felt calmer now that Ada was with him. So many times he had argued with his in-laws alone. Now he had someone on his side. True, she was somewhat forced to be on his side, but it was comforting, anyway.
He steered them over to the restaurant. St. Clair stood at the entrance, leaning on an ebony walking stick. The old man was as immaculate as always in his Savile Row suit, with a carnation in his buttonhole and his gray hair brushed sleekly back from his head. The old man took in Ada, surveying her from the crown of her hat to the tips of her boots peeking out from beneath her skirt.
“My dear,” he enthused, his thick Southern accent making it sound as though he said mah deah. He came closer and held his hand out to Ada. “You must be Miss Westmore.”
“Mrs. Burnett,” she corrected him, giving him a graceful smile. “Mr. St. Clair, I believe?”
“You believe correctly,” he replied, kissing the back of her gloved hand. Then he turned his gaze to Jack. “Burnett,” he barked.
“Sir,” Jack replied. There was no shaking of hands, and no politeness in their meeting. There had been too much ugliness between them over the years.
St. Clair turned his attention back to Ada. “Come, my dear. I’ve reserved a table for our party.” He offered her his elbow.
With a puzzled glance at Jack, Ada broke free of his hold and took St. Clair’s elbow. Jack followed behind them into the restaurant, already beginning to seethe. The old man knew exactly what it took to enrage him, and already he was making progress.
St. Clair held Ada’s chair for her. Once she was settled, the two men sat. The glasses on the table were filled with water and lemonade, and no menus awaited their perusal.
“I hope it’s all right, Mrs. Burnett, but I presumed to order our meal,” the old man drawled. He cast a malicious glance in Jack’s direction. “If I let your husband order, he might make us eat a bowl of chili con carne with cornbread muffins.” He chuckled in appreciation of his dig at Jack.
Jack would not be riled. Too much was at stake. “Yup,” he responded, keeping his tone light. “There’s nothing like a good bowl of chili and corn bread.”
Ada was smiling, but it was a smile he had come to know as being one of tremendous strain and not of genuine good feeling. She took a sip of her lemonade. “I’m sure that any meal will be quite fine, Mr. St. Clair. In fact, I relish this opportunity to know you better. I understand that your daughter was married to Mr. Burnett.”
“Yes, my only daughter, Emily. She was a rare creature, Mrs. Burnett, as blond as you are brunette. I have no idea what such a gentle, sweet child saw in Jack Burnett, I can tell you that.” St. Clair flicked an appraising glance at Jack. “He came out to our home in Charleston to buy a few of my horses, and they fell in love, I suppose. They eloped and he carried her back to Texas. Emily died only a few years later.”
“I am sorry to hear it.” Ada looked at a loss for words. She glanced at Jack, as though appealing to him to help carry the conversational load.
Although he’d like to rebut the older man’s story—and many detestable remarks hung on Jack’s tongue—he wouldn’t do it. Instead, he fisted his hands on his lap and gritted his teeth to keep his thoughts from spilling forth. Anything he said would make St. Clair angrier and more stubborn. Ada had a job to do. It was up to her charm and wit to bring Laura home. He had tried too many times in the past and failed.
St. Clair nodded as the waitress approached their table, bearing a tray of toast rounds and caviar. Jack despised caviar. He had never understood why such a disgusting thing was considered a delicacy. But if he refused, St. Clair would start ribbing him about being a backward cowboy, and he could only take so much of that before he snapped. So he helped himself to two, ready to choke them down.
“So, Mrs. Burnett, you are of the Westmore family in New York. I knew of your father, Augustus. I never met him personally, but one hears of such a powerful man, you know.” St. Clair took a careful bite of his caviar. “Tell me, did the scandal surrounding his memory have a basis in truth? The word is, he was trying to fix a local election.”
Ada grew pale and pushed her toast round away. “I never had a chance to ask him, Mr. St. Clair. He died before I could learn what really happened. Of course, I don’t believe it has basis in fact.”
“Pardon my asking, my dear.” St. Clair leaned across the table, his gray hair glinting in the sunlight. “It’s just that I have to make certain that Laura is going to a good home. I want her to be raised in a proper manner, in genteel surroundings. Now, as you have seen yourself, Winchester Falls is a rather rough-and-ready town.”
Ada inclined her head a trifle. “Yes, it is.” She fixed St. Clair with an understanding look. “On the other hand, I must say that Jack’s deep love for his daughter is abundantly clear to me. I think that having a loving parent—two loving parents, that is—accounts for as much or even more than a polished atmosphere.”
Jack glanced over at Ada. No one except Pearl Colgan had defended him to the St. Clair family. She gave him a warm smile, her blue eyes twinkling.
All talk lapsed as the waitress took away the caviar and replaced it with bowls of clear chicken broth. This was better than the previous course but, still, hardly filling.
St. Clair sipped at his soup. “You are active in the suffragette movement, are you not?” He spoke so abruptly that Ada choked on her broth. The old man waited until she had taken a sip of water and then pressed on. “I’m not certain that I want Laura exposed to progressive ideals.”
Ada, red faced from swallowing wrong or from the line of questioning—or possibly both—turned to Jack, the light of appeal in her blue eyes.
He gave in to pity. She was doing the best she could, and he needed to step up, too. He turned to the old man. “Laura’s my daughter, St. Clair,” he responded. “If I don’t mind Ada as her mother, then neither should you.”
These were fighting words, and he knew it. On the other hand, he wasn’t going to permit St. Clair attacking Ada. She was trying to help. Because of her, he might get Laura back. If the old man wanted to mock him for being a rube, he could have at it. These insults were nothing new. Insulting Ada was an entirely different matter.
St. Clair glared at him. “You know full well that my daughter’s will gave me authority over certain aspects of Laura’s life. She didn’t trust you to do much of anything with Laura in the event of her death.”
Jack fixed his father-in-law with a defiant stare, all the rage he had initially felt over Emily’s will rushing back, filling him with anger so potent that he clenched his fists.
The waitress chose that opportune moment to clear the soup bowls away and brought the main course.
“Chicken à la King,” Ada murmured appreciatively. “I haven’t had this since leaving New York. It’s one of my favorites. Our cook had just learned the recipe.”
Jack shifted his attention to her. How could she even have an appetite now? Was the woman made of stone? Yet, as he glowered at her, her hands trembled when she took up her fork. Her face was now drained of all color.
Her enthusiasm was a ruse to break the tension. She took an unsteady bite of her dinner, and as she chewed, her jaw squared. She was girding herself, in the same way he had done, for battle. Ada was nobody’s fool. By this time she had surely learned his father-in-law’s manner. First, flattery. Later, he would go for the kill.
“I understand your hesitation, Mr. St. Clair,” she continued, as though the fracas between the two men had never happened. “After all, you are Laura’s grandfather. She is your treasure, too. I assure you that my intention is to help bring her up as a young woman should be raised.”
St. Clair nodded, looking at Ada, and his keen brown eyes narrowed. “I worry that if I release her to your care, I’ll never see her again. St. Louis is neutral territory. If she goes with you to Winchester Falls, then I would probably have to journey to that rustic community just to see her.”
Ada shot Jack a pleading glance. “I’m sure my husband would have no objection if Laura came to visit.”
“I want her to come to Evermore, our family home, for two weeks every year. The rest of her family—cousins, aunts, uncles—wish to see her as much as I do.” St. Clair’s voice took on a clipped tone. He was in full bargaining mode now.
“One week,” Jack countered. He was feeling reckless. St. Clair had managed to rile him up enough that he was beginning to enjoy the thought of needling the old man.
“It will take at least a few days for her to journey there and back,” Ada spoke up. “Two weeks must include her traveling.”
“Two weeks if Ada goes along as her chaperone,” Jack snapped. Ada had no business lengthening the visit without his consent.
“Don’t you want to go?” Ada asked, her eyes widening.
“I’m never setting foot on Evermore soil again.” He leaned across the table, staring down his father-in-law.
“That, young man, is certainly fine with me,” St. Clair retorted.
Ada gasped. “Gentlemen.” It was the first time she had intervened without merely trying to change the subject.
Things must be too far gone if she was stepping in like this. A hollow feeling filled the pit of Jack’s stomach. Had he allowed himself to be goaded to the point that there was no way Laura could come home?
“Perhaps it would be best if I laid out a few plans,” Ada continued, giving each man a glare that easily said, clearer than words, Behave yourselves. “After all, each of you feels passionately about Laura’s welfare. That speaks highly of both your characters. Let us, then, come to an arrangement that will benefit the child, and not one borne of a grudge.”
St. Clair opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Ada quieted him with a wave of her hand.
“Your first concern was of my pedigree, Mr. St. Clair. As you have demonstrated, you know as much about my family as most people do. If my family background is repugnant to you, I beg you would say so now. It is still difficult for me to speak of my father’s passing. As much as he was flawed, I loved him in my way and I miss him.”
