A Veiled Reflection (24 page)

“Oh, Mac, it's wonderful. But why in the world did you buy a wedding ring for a wedding that will never take place?”

He frowned. “I didn't buy it. This belonged to my mother. She bequeathed it to me. It's been in the family for generations and didn't seem fit for life in the jungles of South America. She left it with my grandfather with instructions to give it to me when I came of age.”

“Well, I'm sure my father and mother will be impressed. Material wealth usually appeals to them.”

“But not to you?” he questioned softly.

She looked at the ring and smiled. “I love beautiful things, Mac.

But I love it here and I love my simple life. I don't have to worry about the latest fashions because Mr. Harvey dresses me like a nun in a convent anyway. When I do have days off, it seems completely acceptable to dress as I am now, in a very simple manner.”

“You do look quite beautiful. I was going to tell you earlier, but you got me sidetracked.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the train depot and tracks. Soon her parents would arrive and her world would be turned upside down.

“Don't worry,” he said softly. “It's all going to work out.”

She shook her head. “You don't know my father. He's so demanding. He won't give you a moment's peace. He'll harangue you and cut you to shreds.”

“You don't have much faith in me, do you?” Mac said, his tone sounding hurt.

“Oh, don't get me wrong, Mac. I admire you greatly. You have strength and courage and a genuinely good heart. You're kind and considerate and . . .” She stopped in mid-sentence, realizing he was grinning. He seemed to enjoy hearing her sing his praises. “Well,” she continued, not wishing to take any of it back, “you're my dearest friend, along with Mary, and I'd hate to see you hurt.”

Mac reached out to take hold of her shoulders. “Like I said earlier, you worry too much. I'm fully capable of taking care of myself. I don't recall if I told you, but my grandfather MacCallister was a bear of a man who demanded I walk a straight and narrow line. He refused to deal with excuses and he always commanded every situation. I know how to deal with men like your father.”

Jillian looked into his eyes. He seemed completely confident of himself. Surely he knew his own limitations. And she hadn't demanded he participate in this—he'd volunteered. Apparently he wasn't overly concerned, so why should she worry? But Jillian knew it was much more—she wanted Mac for herself. She wanted their engagement to be more than a farce. She wanted to explain her heart on the matter and hear him say that he felt the same way.

“I'm twenty-three years old, Mac,” she muttered, still thinking.

“And I'm thirty. What of it?”

He was eyeing her quite seriously, and Jillian couldn't help but quake at the realization that she was very nearly in his arms. She licked her lower lip nervously and felt her breath quicken. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was about to kiss her.

The train whistle sounded in the distance. A mile away to be precise. The spell was broken between them, but rather than turn away from Mac, Jillian threw herself into his arms and clung to him. It didn't matter that they were in broad daylight in the middle of town—she needed his strength.

“I'm going to be sick,” she whispered.

Mac held her close as her quaking increased. “You aren't going to be sick.”

“How do you know?”

He laughed and hugged her close. “I'm a doctor, remember?”

She said nothing but held tightly to him. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world. To be held by Terrance MacCallister and to feel his arms around her, his fingers lightly toying with the hair at the nape of her neck. Why couldn't this be true love for him as well as her?

“Mac,” she said without pulling back to see his reaction, “you've come to mean a great deal to me.” She gathered her courage. She would just tell him how she felt. Explain why she had used his name when telling her mother about the man she'd come to love. Because she did love him and it seemed only fair that he know it as well. She thought she heard him moan, low and soft down deep in his throat. Perhaps—just perhaps—he loved her too? A hope sprang fully born from her rapidly beating heart. Could he love her?

The whistle blew again.

“Mac?” She said the name questioningly. She had to know the truth.

He broke his hold on her and stepped back. His eyes darkened in intensity, and for just a moment, Jillian was certain that what she saw there was a mirrored reflection of her own passion and need. He looked away and tucked the ring box into his pocket.

“I'd better get back to my office. You said earlier that you wanted to meet them alone.”

She nodded, not at all sure what she had done wrong. Perhaps he'd been offended by her brazen embrace. Maybe she didn't know him as well as she liked to think. Her hope of true love began to fade.

“All right,” she said, barely able to force the words from her mouth.

He gave her one quick glance, then took off for his place. “This is all going to work out, Jilly,” he called over his shoulder.

She nodded. If only that could be true.

Slowly, she walked back to the front of the Harvey House and over to the depot platform. She prayed for strength, not completely convinced that God would hear her prayer. There was a great deal that lay unresolved between her and God. What if that kept Him from listening to her heart?

The train pulled in, churning black smoke from its stack and spewing white steam puffs from pressure spigots. The groaning and grinding of metal on metal was enough to set her teeth on edge, but Jillian stood fast and waited for the porters to lower the steps.

Then before she had time to think about anything else, Jillian saw her father step from the train. He had dressed in a light brown suit and sported a stylish straw skimmer. No doubt he thought this fashion would be cooler protection against the Arizona heat.

He reached back to assist her mother from the train. True to her need to outdo those around her, Gretchen Danvers wore an elaborate traveling ensemble. Tailored to her petite frame, the alpaca traveling suit of burgundy and black drew everyone's attention. First, because it was quite smart and the woman wearing it looked very lovely. Second, however, seemed because those around were wondering how long it would be before the poor woman succumbed to the heat and passed out from her layers of clothing.

Leaning on her husband's arm, Gretchen Danvers lifted a parasol over her elaborately ribboned hat and glanced around her.

Jillian stepped forward with a smile. “Father, Mother,” she said in greeting. “It's so nice to have you here.”

Colin Danvers gave a grunt. “I don't suppose we had a choice. Where's this man you plan to marry?”

Never one to waste time, Jillian's father had simply skipped past the proprieties and moved right into the pertinent information he desired.

“He's in his office. I asked him to allow me to greet you privately,” Jillian replied. “I thought perhaps you would both feel better if you had a chance to go to your hotel room and freshen up a bit.”

“Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt,” her father replied, surprising Jillian.

“I thought we might all meet at supper this evening, and you could rest and prepare yourselves in the meantime. You both might prefer to wear something lighter. It stays quite warm until the sun goes down, and Mother looks quite spent.”

“I'm perfectly fine, Jillian.” Gretchen Danvers spoke for the first time since alighting from the train. “This is quite fashionable back home.” She was always rather reserved in the presence of her husband. “Yes, I'm sure it is, but here you will quickly see the folly of wearing too many layers of clothing.”

“I will remind you, young lady, to address your mother in a more respectful manner.”

Jillian felt herself cower under his words. “I assure you, Father, it wasn't meant in disrespect. I simply would hate for Mother to faint on the depot platform.” She tried to keep her voice steady and sure. She had to show her father that she was capable of making choices and decisions for herself, or he might never allow her to remain in Arizona. “If you're ready, I'll show you where to check in to your rooms. They'll bring your luggage over so you needn't worry about waiting for it.”

“I suppose we might check in,” her father muttered. “Come along, Mrs. Danvers. We
should
get you out of this heat. I must say, it's hard to think much of a man who would come here to make a way for himself. Are you certain that doctor of yours has all his senses?”

Jillian sighed. It was going to be a long, long evening.

Once inside the hotel and out of the ghastly heat of the afternoon, Gretchen Danvers seemed to come alive. When they had settled her in her own room upstairs, with her husband in the adjoining room, she became quite animated.

As soon as her husband dismissed himself to go inspect the town, Gretchen took Jillian aside and motioned to the three trunks that were stacked at one end of the room. “Your father has hired a hotel maid to come and unpack for me, but I must tell you about the contents. I've bought you the most beautiful wedding dress. You're going to love it. I had it handmade in that little shop on Fifteenth. You remember the one, don't you? The woman who owns it is French.”

Jillian nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

“The dress is the epitome of fashion. The style is straight out of Paris. I don't imagine there will be another gown like it west of the Mississippi. Maybe not even in the entire United States.”

Jillian knew such matters were important to her mother. Being the best, the first, the finest—all of these were important social status marks to be claimed for one's own prestige.

“I've also brought along all the proper necessities for a decent wedding, although you must realize it isn't at all what I had hoped for you.”

“I know, Mother.”

Gretchen studied her daughter for a moment. “It isn't too late, you know. The earl is in Denver, and I have his address.”

“No, Mother, that won't be necessary. As I told you, I'm in love with Mac.” At least this wasn't a lie.

Her mother let out the tiniest hint of a sigh. “Very well, but you certainly could have done better for yourself. Love isn't everything, and if a man cannot support his wife, misery will follow. I suppose I shall simply allow your father to make the final decision in the matter.”

“What do you mean?” Jillian questioned.

“Well, he hasn't exactly given his approval of this union. He'll have to meet this doctor and decide whether it's acceptable for you to marry him. He isn't one of us, you know. He's a mere doctor.”

Jillian frowned. “Mother, don't you ever tire of such thoughts?” She knew the words were harsh, but her irritation had been stirred. “I mean, the way you speak, I believe you think that others are less deserving of goodness and happiness merely because they have a different social setting or culture.”

Gretchen nodded. “But of course, this is true. You can't expect me to feel otherwise. I was raised with nobility.”

“Perhaps that's the problem. After all, they lock themselves away and rule from distant thrones. They have no first-hand knowledge of their people, but rather trust the intermediaries who act in their stead. Frankly, I've met a great many people here in Arizona—some very, very poor in possessions but rich in spirit and love. I've even had encounters with Indians, Navajo to be precise, and they are wonderful people.”

“Oh my,” Gretchen said, sinking to the straight-backed chair beside her dressing table. “You can't be serious.”

Jillian went to kneel in front of her mother. “But I am serious, Mother. People are people. They have feelings. They get hurt. They bleed just as we do. You can't go around the rest of your life believing that just because they are poorly educated or have a different color skin, that they aren't just as precious in God's eyes as we are.”

Just then a loud bang from the adjoining room let them both know that Jillian's father had returned.

“Please don't talk like this in front of your father, Jillian. He wouldn't take well to it,” Gretchen pleaded. “And you want to have him approve of your wedding.”

Jillian got to her feet and nodded. There was no sense in beating them over the head with their prejudiced ways. “Very well. Unless the matter comes up by another means, I won't say a word.”

Colin Danvers entered the room and looked at both women in silence. Then, with a narrowing of his eyes, he focused on Jillian.

“Now, I want you to tell me why you've dragged me to this hideous place. What do you mean, getting yourself engaged to someone without seeking me out on the matter?”

“Well,” Jillian offered nervously, “it just sort of happened. Look, I know you think me incapable of making my own choices, but, Father, I've grown up a good deal and I'm not the same person I was in Kansas City.”

He nodded. “I can see that for myself.”

She couldn't tell if he approved or disapproved as he crossed his arms against his chest. “I want you to understand that I love both of you very much, but I want to make a life for myself. I am twentythree, after all, and I feel like you both still see me as a child.” She took a deep breath and tried to focus on her father's firmly fixed chin. If she didn't have to look him in the eye, maybe she could manage to somehow work through this and send them back to Kansas without having to involve Mac.

“I don't feel like I need anyone's approval or disapproval in choosing a husband. As a grown woman, fully in my majority, I feel that I can reasonably ascertain what is best for my life.”

Her father half grunted, half laughed at this. “Next thing you know, you'll be expecting to get the vote.”

“And why not?” questioned Jillian. “I read the newspapers and keep on top of the affairs of my community. Why may I not also vote on the people who make choices and changes for the land I live in?”