Blessed Assurance (26 page)

Cecy didn't like the way he said his late wife's name with near reverence. While he'd held her in his arms, had he thought of his late wife? “Who's Susan?”

“Susan was my mother's best friend.”

She stared at him, open-mouthed.

“That surprises you?” He raised an eyebrow, throwing her on the defensive.

“I never knew black and white people could be best friends. How did they?”

“My mother was a Civil War widow who ran a boardinghouse with Susan's help.” He sat on the arm of a wing-back chair.

“Then how did you become related to Boston bankers?” She stood in front of him.

“Through my stepfather.”

She nodded knowingly. “Oh, your mother married well the second time.”

He shook his head and grinned. “My mother would have said she married well both times. She adored my father.”

Doubtful, she ran her fingers over the top of the smooth cool
leather of the chair he sat in. No doubt some love matches existed. Anything was possible. “Who's Del?”

“Susan's grandson. When he was five, his parents died and Susan and he came to live with me.”

“I like Meg.”

His face lit with a brilliant smile. “She's my treasure.”

An ache, an old one, clenched within Cecy. Her father hadn't treasured her.

“Your father should have treasured you.”

At hearing her own thought said aloud, she shied like a frightened filly. “I don't want to talk about him.” A salesman approached them. Cecy glanced away, regaining her composure.

Linc ordered the four red leather chairs Cecy had preferred. Then the salesman led Cecy and Linc to a section of smaller desks and left them. “Cecilia, did your aunt tell you when she'd be coming back?” Linc asked close to her ear.

“I don't think she's coming back.” He'd forced this admission out of her. Cecy went on comparing wood grain with her finger tips.

“Your aunt didn't give you good advice. Now she's abandoned you.”

The anger in his voice startled Cecy. Had Auntie misled her?

He stared over her head. “You'll stay a few days with me, but it's imperative you go back to your own house as soon as possible.”

“I'm sorry to be an imposition,” she answered stiffly. She wished she could say, “I'll go home today.” But she couldn't face that empty house and silent servants.

“You're not an imposition.” He glanced down at her, his brows drawn together. “But Susan isn't an adequate chaperone in the eyes of society.”

Society
. The word stung.

“You'll sleep at Mrs. Hansen's until we find you a chaperone.” He touched her shoulder and changed topics. “Do you like this?”

“It's fine.” She scarcely looked at the desk.

“It could be yours.”

“Mine?” She stared at him.

“I'm offering you a position on my weekly journal.”

“Me? A journalist?”

“You don't need to make it sound like an exotic tropical disease.” He opened and shut a desk drawer, grinning at her.

“After the newspapers've made my life miserable spreading this scandal, you think I'd want anything to do with them?” She turned her back to him.

“The newspapers didn't make Hunt pull a knife at your ball.”

She wouldn't look at him.

“You need to take action to repair your reputation.”

“I can't talk about that now.” Though she spoke with bravado, she began shuddering inside.

“I've wanted to interest you in my work since we met. You could do a great deal of good. Plus your writing for a social-issues magazine would show society they've no power over you. They've consigned you to that dismal mausoleum of a house for a life sentence.”

These words brought to mind the grim image of her mansion, all hooded windows and gray stone. Mr. Wagstaff had described it and her situation too accurately for comfort. But become a reporter? No matter the scandal—a well-bred lady working as a journalist? The idea was shocking.

“First, we need to find you an adequate chaperone.”

Thinking of a chaperone brought her mother to mind. If her mother were well, she could come home and serve as chaperone. But her mother wasn't well enough, was she? Or had Auntie misled her about that, too? She'd wanted to go to see her mother to find out the truth, but how could she face her mother after the scandal? But perhaps her mother would understand. It seems she had a scandal of her own.

He rested his hand on her shoulder. “We have a few days before we must act. But no more.”

After ordering desks and chairs, Linc drove Cecy home and then walked past just-budding yellow daffodils into the front hall.

Cecy was untying her veil when Susan stepped out of the parlor. “Miss Jackson, you have a visitor in the parlor.”

Cecy turned to bolt.

Linc caught her by the arm, stopping her. “Who is it, Aunt Susan?”

“It's I.”

The soft Southern drawl made Cecy strain against Linc's clasp on her shoulder.

Giving Cecy a stern look, he said, “Miss Fourchette, we're happy you came.”

Cecy wanted to run up the stairs. She couldn't face her triumphant rival. But her rigid boarding school training leaped to her rescue. She pasted a brave smile on her quivering lips. “Fleur, how kind of you to call.”

Susan beckoned them into the parlor. “I'll get tea.” Linc went to stand by the fireplace.

Drawing off her gloves, Cecy settled on the nearest chair, sitting as straight as if a poker had been jammed up her spine. So Fleur had come to pity her.

“Are you well, Miss Jackson?” Fleur asked.

“The other night was a dreadful shock, of course.” Cecy had no trouble looking sad.

“I've been having dreadful nightmares, too. And Mr. Bower's recovering. He's so sorry that you've been—”

“Blamed?” Cecy snapped.

“It is unfair,” Fleur agreed without hesitating. “When Mr. Bower recovers, he intends to do what he can on your behalf.”

“Is he better?” Cecy asked, seeking reassurance.

“Yes, they permitted me to see him today. When I told him your aunt had left—”

“How did you know that?” A hot flush burned upward from Cecy's neck.

“Miss Fourchette alerted me that your aunt had left,” Linc said.

“Your aunt drove by my window with all her valises and trunks
piled at the back of the carriage,” Fleur explained earnestly. “I'd been so worried about you.”

“You shouldn't have worried.” Cecy's throat tightened. “Until I find another chaperone, I'm staying with a neighbor here.” Cecy took a deep breath. “And Mr. Wagstaff's offered me a position on his weekly journal. He's reminded me that there are more important things in life than parties.” Cecy watched for Fleur's reaction. “It's time I turned to more serious pursuits.”

“Is that so?” Fleur asked with a bewildered expression.

Good.
Cecy began to feel more like herself. She couldn't let herself be a weak Nellie. But she still needed a proper chaperone to gain respect again. Cecy drew back her shoulders. “I'm hoping my own dear mother is able to join me at home. Mr. Wagstaff has offered to take me to ask her.”

In the creeping shadows of early twilight, Cecy perched on the edge of the featherbed in Linc's guest room. Cecy had resisted Susan's insistence she nap, but as soon as she had laid her head on the down pillow, she'd fallen asleep. Now the softly ticking bedside clock said it was almost evening. The hours since breakfast felt more like days. Where was Linc?

Linc? She'd never thought of him as anything but Mr. Wagstaff, a man who alternately irritated and protected her. She remembered his sweeping her into his arms the night before, his strong fingers on her ankles as he'd unbuttoned her shoes. Earlier, Linc had held her in his arms and she'd wanted him to kiss her. A week ago that
would have been unthinkable. A week ago she'd been Miss Cecilia Jackson, heiress and debutante. Who was she now?

Why did Linc always turn up just when she needed him? Why had he offered her a job? What did he want from her?
I don't want to need him. Or anyone else.
The image of her aunt, all in black, marching out the door, flickered painfully in Cecy's memory. If she couldn't count on her aunt, the only relative who'd visited her every week all those years since she'd been sent away to Boston, whom could she trust? No one.

Restless, she began pacing on the braided rag rug. San Francisco society had consigned her to lifelong seclusion and shame. Who did they think they were? Because one San Francisco man had no breeding whatsoever,
she
was to be blamed. Could she become another of the few women journalists in America, women like Annie Laurie or Ida Tarbell? Was there a possibility that Cecy, too, could reap that kind of reputation and influence?

After father's funeral, Auntie had counseled that since Cecy never wished to marry—never wished to be under any man's thumb—that Cecy must at all costs be acclaimed a “belle.”

Auntie had explained that a woman who had achieved social success, who could have married well, but inexplicably chose not to, would not be scorned like other spinsters. Often society conjured up a rumor of an impossible love to explain the belle's not marrying, which only added to the unmarried beauty's mystique. She could even indulge in eccentricity and be socially sought after

With the flash of his knife, Hunt had killed the possibility of Cecy being proclaimed a “belle.” But being a career woman might serve her ambition to be free of male interference and yet be respected. Hearing a motor, she looked out the white-curtained window. Linc drove up with Susan, Del, and Meg. Wasn't it late for the children to come home from school?

She hurried to the side window to watch Linc pull up to the carriage house in back. As soon as the car stopped, Del jumped out and ran toward the house. Cecy heard the side door open and slam,
then furious feet pounding the wooden floor downstairs. Within seconds, she heard agitated voices. Cecy moved to her door to listen. Meg was crying. Who had hurt Del, Meg? Cecy opened her door just a crack.

“Sugar,” Susan said down in the first-floor hall, “I know you're upset, but you're going to make yourself sick. Come. I'll wash those tears off your face.”

Meg tried to answer, but started hiccupping.

“I'll go to Del.” From below, Linc's voice sounded disturbed. That surprised Cecy. Even when she'd been nearly kidnapped, he'd sounded unruffled like the calm center of a storm. Not wishing to be caught eavesdropping, Cecy stepped back. Susan huffed and Meg clattered up the steps.

“I don't like that school.” Meg hiccupped.

Susan wheezed as she climbed, her each step slow. “I don't either.”

“I'm not going there any more!” Meg declared.

“Your father and I need to talk that over—”

“I won't!” Meg cried hysterically.

Cecy sucked in her breath, fearing she'd hear a sharp slap. At school, seeing others slapped for impudence, she'd never once spoken out of turn.

“Sugar, we'll talk about that when you're calmer. Your papa won't let anyone hurt you.”

“They hurt Del. But I punched them—”

“You're just getting yourself into a state.” Susan's voice sounded firm, but gentle. “There will always be mean people in this world. You did right to fight them. But you have to calm down or you're going to be sick. Please.”

“I feel sick.” Meg sobbed.

“Come into the lavatory. I'll wash your face and hands, then we'll put a cold cloth on the back of your neck.”

“All…right,” Meg choked on her words, then sobbed between hiccups.

Cecy longed to comfort the little girl, longed to thank Susan for
being so kind. But she was a stranger in this house. For just a second, a soothing voice, similar to Susan's whispered, in her memory. Had it been her mother's? Cecy turned back to the exchange she'd just overhead in her mind. Who had hurt Del? She listened to the sounds of Susan soothing Meg.

Quickly, Cecy smoothed her hair and dress, then slipped outside her door. Her curiosity over Del and what had gone wrong at their school propelled her silently down the steps. She heard Linc's voice immediately. He was in a room toward the back of the first floor. She tread cautiously down the hall and drew close to the door, which stood open just a fraction.

“I hate them.” Del repeated, “I hate them.”

Linc replied in a steady voice, “Why didn't you tell me things were getting out of hand at school?”

“I don't care about that. I hate them.”

“You mean you're just like them?”

“I'm not anything like them!” Del shouted.

“If you hate them, then you are just like them—”

“You don't know how I feel!” The boy began weeping.

A pause. Cecy's heart went out to the child. She'd felt just the same way after the opera party. Hunt had dealt her a death blow. She hated him. Why shouldn't Del hate his tormentors?

Linc said, “Perhaps not. But I do care how you feel. I love you.”

Silence, except for the sound of the boy crying.

Cecy backed up and tiptoed into the parlor. Linc's words, “I do care how you feel. I love you,” echoed in her mind. She sat down, pondering Susan and Linc and their love for two very fortunate children. A presence, a memory, nibbled at her conscious mind but remained elusive. Someone had loved her once.

 

The rosy spring dawn radiated over the green hills of San Francisco. Cecy perched on the front seat of Linc's Pierce Arrow as they drove out of the city to her mother's sanitarium. Cecy's nervous stomach objected to the wide turning Linc made around a mountain curve.

“Cecilia, what did the doctor tell you over the phone?”

“He said that Mother could see me if she felt up to it.” Her voice betrayed her by quavering on the last phrase.

“If she is able to come home, Susan said she'll come and stay with you until you hire a nurse for your mother.”

Cecy cleared her thick throat. “That's very thoughtful.”

“Susan is angry with your aunt. She says family stands by family—no matter what.”

Cecy gave a mirthless laugh. She'd thought her aunt had been the only one in her family who wouldn't disappoint her. Tears threatened, but she steeled herself against them.
What if my mother can't come home?

Glancing sideways, Linc confounded her again by saying, “I'm sure your mother will
wish
to help. But she might not be well enough.”

“I know.”
I have to try.
Something, a little like hysteria, ignited in the pit of her stomach. What if her mother wouldn't come? Having to hire a stranger as a chaperone—humiliating.
I won't do it. I'll defy convention and live alone.

Linc's even voice called her out of the vortex of emotion. “Did your mother ever visit you in Boston?”

An arrow of pain pierced her. “My father wouldn't let her at first. He said I should adjust to school before she visited me.” Adjust to being abandoned.

“And then?”

“And then she was too sick to come.” Desperate in her loneliness, Cecy had written many times over the years, inviting her mother to school events, begging to come home for the summer. In all those years, no one but Auntie had ever come. Her father had paid her school, clothing, music, and summer camp fees, but she'd only received civil replies from his lawyer. Why had her father hated her so? She closed her eyes trying to block out all she'd endured.

“The sanitarium's just around this bend.”

She opened her eyes, forcing the past back, driving it back into its cage. “Yes, I recognize where we are now.”

After they drove through the gate, the gatekeeper swung the
black wrought iron gate closed behind them. Its clang resonated through Cecy's every fiber.

Linc looked uneasy. “I take it this is one of those exclusive hospitals for the very wealthy?”

“Yes, the security is very good here…Auntie said.” For a fleeting second, she yearned to rest her aching head on Linc's broad shoulder. Would her mother even see her?

At the impressive carved, double oak door, a staff doctor welcomed them. He led them down an empty corridor to his office, their careful footsteps echoing. They sat down by his desk and he faced them.

Cecy drew herself up, clutching at the shreds of her tattered courage. “Is my mother well enough to see me?”

“Yes, I think she is.” The doctor, an earnest-looking young man, steepled his fingers and gazed at her over them. “I explained to her earlier this morning that you and Mr. Wagstaff would be coming. You mentioned that you hoped she might be able to come home with you for a visit?”

She nodded.

He eyed her warily. “May I be frank, Miss Jackson?”

“Please.” The word scraped her throat like a nail file.

“The last time you visited, your mother seemed so much more agitated. But this time when I said only you and a gentleman were coming, she seemed much calmer. Miss Jackson, has anyone told you about your mother's condition?”

“No.” Why had she quietly accepted the polite phrases with which Auntie had covered up her mother's illness?

“Please tell me doctor. My aunt was not open with me about my mother's condition, but I'm very concerned about her.”

He leaned his chin on the back of his hand. “Your mother's illness is a combination of things, but primarily she is, or was, an inebriate.”

Cecy gasped. “What makes you say that?”

“I'm new here, but I went through her file thoroughly.”

Nodding woodenly, Cecy couldn't take her eyes off him.

“Nearly a decade ago, I think your mother was admitted here because of delirium tremens.”

“What is delirium tremens?” she asked haltingly.

The doctor exchanged glances with Linc. “When a person imbibes alcohol too liberally over a long period of time, the alcohol takes its toll on the mind—”

“My mother is unbalanced?” Cecy nearly rose.

“No. Delirium tremens ends as alcohol consumption decreases. The mind usually recovers its natural tone.”

Thank God
. Cecy felt weak.

Linc leaned forward. “How is she physically?”

“She's very frail due to liver damage, common to inebriates.”

“Is that why she has stayed here?” Linc persisted.

The doctor fingered papers on his desk. “I believe Mrs. Jackson preferred staying here to going home. Was your parents' marriage a troubled one?”

To say the least.
Cecy didn't reply. “But she could go home now if she wants to?”

The doctor pinned her with his gaze. “Yes, but I insist she lead a very quiet life. I warn you too much change might trigger her returning to alcohol, which could begin the damaging cycle again.”

“Quiet would be no problem.” Cecy wouldn't meet his gaze.

“Very well. I'll take you to your mother.” He ushered them out into the hall. The atmosphere was hushed, but not repressive. No matter the outcome today, she'd discover if she and her mother could become a family again.

The doctor left them in a spacious sunroom at the end of the hall. Cecy sat down on a wicker chair. Linc settled nearby. She wished he'd sat nearer.

Within minutes, a nurse dressed in a white uniform and cap entered with a thin woman.

Cecy stood. “Mother.” The nurse walked away.

“Amelia isn't with you, Cecy?” Her mother's voice was barely a whisper.

Cecy's heart raced. Would her mother be angry with her over Aunt Amelia leaving? “Auntie has gone back to Boston.”

“When will she come back?” Her mother's gaze pierced Cecy.

No more secrets, no more lies. Cecy forced herself to tell the plain facts. “She's washed her hands of me.”

“She won't be back, then?”

“No.”

“What a relief.” Her mother shut her eyes, then opened them. She smiled. “Now I can go home.”

 

Later, alone with Linc in his cozy parlor, Cecy cupped a mug of warm tea with both hands. Her fledgling confidence flowered like the pink blossoms on the almond trees, budding all over town.

She glanced at Linc as he read the evening paper. Before she'd been so busy flirting, she'd thought of Linc as just another suitor. But he was different. Would it be possible to love a man, to love Linc? For a second, she fantasized that she and Linc were husband and wife.
Foolish thoughts.

Linc closed his paper. “Tomorrow we'll hire a nurse for your mother.”

For the first time since Cecy was seven years old, she and mother would live together. Joy and fear leap-frogged inside Cecy. What had gone so dreadfully wrong that her mother had preferred a sanitarium to her own home? Why was her mother so relieved that Aunt Amelia had gone back to Boston for good? Old whispers and secrets rustled all around Cecy.

Pushing these aside, she asked, “What happened to the children at school?”

He frowned. “The children are having some problems adjusting to their new school. Children can be cruel.”