Best Kept Secrets (16 page)

Samuel hadn’t realized that he’d closed his eyes until Everett shook him roughly. “What is it?”

“Paullina wants to know if you want a friend.”

He squinted at the beautiful face awash in the red-gold glow of the setting sun. “Friend?”

Paullina smiled, displaying small, white, even teeth. “Yes. I have a friend who would like you very much.”

Weaving slightly, Samuel affected a wide grin. The rum had dulled his senses. “How much?”

“For you—only a few American dollars.”

All he had in his pocket were a few American dollars. He’d left most of his money and his gold watch in a safe at the hotel. Dressed in his favored
guayabera
, slacks and sandals, he could be taken as local—until he opened his mouth.

Demon rum, the tropical heat, the sound of a trio playing steel pans, and because he’d bested the United Fruit Company in their scheme to breach their contract, made him euphoric, cocky and reckless.

“Ish…is she clean?” His words were slurring.

Paullina’s eyes widened. “Of course she’s clean. She would never lie with a man without a rubber sheath.”

It took two attempts before he was able to come to his feet and stand unaided. He did not remember leaving the beach, or in which direction Paullina had led him and Everett.

He did not remember the face of the woman whose talented mouth left him moaning in the most exquisite pleasure he’d ever experienced.

He did not remember how he’d gotten back to the hotel or who’d put him to bed.

What he did remember fourteen hours later when he sat on the side of his bed was that the woman who had suckled his penis while he ejaculated was not his wife.

S
amuel paid the taxi driver and walked up the path to his home. He unlocked the door, moved into the entryway and left his luggage on the floor beside a small bench. He’d been away nine days, although it felt longer.

The house was quiet even though it was the middle of the day. M.J. couldn’t have gone far because his car was still in the driveway. Streams of bright sunlight glinted off the tables. The house was spotless.

Samuel found his wife in her garden. Crossing his arms over his chest, he smiled at the figure she presented in a pair of slacks, one of his shirts and a battered straw hat. Kneeling, she used a trowel to loosen dirt around a flowering rosebush.

“Hola, mi amor.”

“Sammy!” M.J. dropped the trowel and launched herself at him, her arms going around his neck. Picking her up, he fastened his mouth to hers and spun her around.

“Why didn’t you let me know you were coming home early?”

He’d sent her a telegram indicating he wouldn’t be home for another week.

“I needed to see you. I needed to feel you. I needed to smell you.” His voice and gaze lowered as he stared deeply into the dark eyes filling up with tears.

M.J.’s lower lip trembled with an emotion that made drawing a normal breath difficult. Her gloved hands cradled his stubbly cheeks. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” she whispered against his mouth.

She’d confessed to Samuel that she loved him, but his absence had forced her to face her true feelings. She had married Samuel Cole for all the wrong reasons; he’d offered a freedom the men in Cuba couldn’t, and for that she was grateful. But what she felt for her husband wasn’t gratitude. It was love, a love that made her look forward to the next sunrise, a love that left her with a sense of fulfillment and peace that made her able to face any obstacle.

After her aborted Wednesday bid whist luncheon she’d kept her distance from the other women. She’d instructed Bessie to inform Peggy that she wasn’t accepting visitors when she’d come to see her. She didn’t blame Peggy for Winifred’s behavior, but she had expected her new friend to at least chastise the pompous Mrs. Mansfield for her insults. And like a coward she’d waited two days to come to offer her apologies.

Marguerite-Josefina Isabel Diaz Cole did not need Winifred, Peggy, Edna, Shirley or any of the other heifers, as Bessie tended to call them, in their so-called exclusive residential enclave. All she needed was her husband, Samuel Claridge Cole.

She smiled, her dimples deepening. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” she said, wrinkling her delicate nose.

“Do you want to show me how much?”

Her smile faded. “I’ve told you. How can I show you?”

His expression mirrored confusion. Samuel didn’t know why, but there were times when he forgot how young and inexperienced his wife actually was. Tightening his grip under her knees, he left the garden and reentered the house.

“It looks as if I’ll have to show you how much I’ve missed you.”

M.J. let out a small shriek when he carried her into the bathroom. It took less than a minute to relieve her of her clothes and remove his own. Standing under the spray of a warm shower, they reunited and reconciled in the most intimate way possible.

Samuel luxuriated in the water spilling over his body, washing away the residue of salt clinging to his hair and skin, and his hardness moving in and out of his wife’s body eradicated the memory of another woman who’d taken him into her mouth when he refused to penetrate her. Passions spent, they lay motionless, waiting for their heartbeats to resume a normal rate.

“Is this what I can look forward to whenever you return from your business trips?”

“Not for a long, long time.”

Her smooth brow wrinkled. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m taking you with me when I go to Tallahassee, then to Cuba.”

“When are we leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

M.J. screamed in childish delight, then placed tiny kisses over his stubbly cheeks.

Samuel had booked passage on a tanker sailing from West Palm Beach to Mobile, Alabama. It’d rained nonstop and he and M.J. were forced to spend the trip in a cramped cabin no larger than their bathroom.

By the time the ship sailed into the warmer water of the Gulf
of Mexico, the rain had tapered off to a light drizzle. They disembarked at Apalachee Bay, where he hired a driver to take them north to Tallahassee.

He’d followed through on Everett Kirkland’s hunch and withdrawn half of his savings from the bank. The manager of the West Palm Beach branch of the Sun Trust wanted to know if anything was wrong with their services, if any of the employees had displeased or insulted him in any way, but Samuel reassured him that everything was well, and that he planned to loan the money to a relative to start up a new business. He’d secured the money in a waterproof case, then in a canvas bag.

Belinda opened the door to Samuel’s knock. Reaching up, she hugged her son. “You made good time, especially with the weather.”

Samuel kissed his mother’s cheek. “We’re just glad we made it safely.”

Smiling at her daughter-in-law, Belinda offered her hands. “Please come in and rest yourself. You must be exhausted after spending so many hours on the water.”

M.J. grasped Belinda’s hands and kissed her on both cheeks. “Thank you, Mother. It’s good seeing you again.”

Belinda stared at the tall, slender woman with a wealth of black hair tucked into a tight twist on the nape of her long neck, sporting a stylish navy cloche that was the exact match of a lightweight traveling suit. She and Samuel were the perfect couple—tall, slender and stylishly attractive.

“I’m so glad Samuel decided to bring you.” She tightened her grip on the delicate fingers. “Come, let me show you to your room. Would you like something to eat?”

M.J. shook her head. “No, thank you. All I want is a warm bath and a comfortable bed.”

Samuel watched as his mother led M.J. to the room they would share for their stay. He left to pay the driver and assist
him with the luggage, instructing him to leave the bags by the door. He lingered long enough to remove the case containing thousands of dollars. Tucking it under his arm, he made his way into the kitchen, putting it on a pantry shelf. He would let Belinda know what the case contained, and together they would determine where to hide it in the event of a bank failure.

Samuel had hired Everett based on a sixth sense, the same sixth sense that made him get into black marketeering toward the end of the war, and the same sixth sense that made him forgo growing cotton in lieu of soybeans.

He knew he was paying the accountant more than what most men with families earned each week, but felt it crucial he ensure Everett’s trust and loyalty. Before leaving Puerto Limon to return to the States, he’d given Everett a three-month advance in salary with an edict that he relocate to West Palm Beach, and purchase a wardrobe befitting his position as finance officer for Cole International, Ltd. He also allowed Everett a month to finalize his move and to make preparations to begin working in an office.

He planned to spend two weeks in Tallahassee with his mother, brothers and in-laws, and another two in Cuba so that M.J. could see her relatives. Once he returned to West Palm Beach, Florida, he would begin to fulfill his own role as president of his company.

Samuel sat at the kitchen table with Belinda, talking softly. M.J., who’d readied herself for bed, promised not to fall asleep until he joined her.

“I want you to put the money where it will remain dry and animals can’t get after it.”

Vertical lines appeared between his mother’s eyes. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing taking your money out of the bank?”

“Very sure,” Samuel said confidently, even though he still
had to convince himself what he’d done would protect his future business endeavors.

“I have a place,” Belinda said in a quiet voice. “I’ll hide it down in the root cellar behind my preserves. There’s a loose board in the wall. It will be safe there.”

“Does anyone know about it?” Belinda shook her head. Pushing to his feet, Samuel leaned across the table and kissed his mother. “Thanks, Mama. I’m going to bed now.”

Belinda caught his wrist. “How’s married life?”

Samuel smiled. “It’s wonderful. M.J. is the perfect wife.”

“When can I expect grandchildren from the two of you?”

He lowered his gaze. “We’re working on it.”

Her smile was dazzling. “That’s good, son.”

He kissed her again, staring into a pair of dark eyes so much like his own. “Good night, Mama.”

Belinda held his gaze. “Good night, Samuel.”

Samuel slipped quietly into bed next to M.J. Her soft snores indicated she’d fallen asleep. He smiled. She’d promised to wait up for him.

M.J. is the perfect wife.
He’d told his mother the truth while he was living a lie. He hadn’t been the perfect husband; he’d been unfaithful when his wife had given him no reason to seek out another woman.

He lay motionless, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling, while listening to the steady beating of his heart. But had he really been unfaithful to his wife?

Could he be deemed an adulterer because he paid a woman for sex?

Sighing, he closed his eyes, turned over on his side and went to sleep, feeling as if he’d done nothing wrong.

“When do I stop stirring, Mother?”

Belinda peered into the pot of hominy grits on the stove.
“Give it another minute, then lower the flame and cover the pot.” M.J. had asked whether she could teach her to cook the Southern dishes Samuel had grown up eating.

M.J. covered the pot, making certain the flame was low enough to finish cooking the ground corn kernels. “I’ll fry the fish.” Belinda had coated filleted whiting with flour and coarse cornmeal seasoned with salt, black pepper and cayenne pepper.

Belinda smiled at the eager young woman. She found M.J. different from her two other daughters-in-law. Eugenia and Annie-Mae Cole had never offered to help her, so when she visited their homes she did not reciprocate. She watched as M.J. scooped up a serving spoon portion of lard from a tin and dropped it into a large cast-iron skillet.

“Make certain it’s hot, but not so hot that it will burn.”

M.J.’s dimples deepened in a knowing smile. “We do use lard when we fry in Cuba.” There was a hint of laughter in her voice.

Nodding, Belinda removed a container of chicken liver from the refrigerator. She was the only woman in her neighborhood to have a refrigerator rather than an icebox. And with the onset of the sweltering summer heat a block of ice usually didn’t last more than a couple of days, but the electric refrigerator had changed that dramatically, preserving meat and dairy products for longer periods of time.

“Maybe before you and Samuel leave you can teach me to cook some of your foods,” Belinda suggested.

M.J. hugged her mother-in-law. “I find many of our foods are similar. It’s the seasonings that give them a different taste.”

She fried the fish to a crispy, golden brown, placing them on a plate covered with brown paper to drain while the tantalizing aroma of sautéed, flour-dredged chicken liver with onion, green bell pepper and chopped garlic filled the kitchen.

“Now, isn’t this a sight to behold? The two women I love most cooking together,” drawled a deep voice some distance away.

Belinda and M.J. turned to find Samuel standing under the entrance to the kitchen, smiling.

He walked into the kitchen. “I thought you’d be in church by now, Mama.” He kissed Belinda’s cheek, then M.J.’s mouth.

Belinda’s gaze swept over his face, seeing things she hadn’t noticed the night before. There were streaks of gray in his hair. Samuel would turn twenty-seven in August, yet there was something about her youngest that made him appear years older, even older than Mark. She couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that his insatiable craving for money, fame and power had replaced the humility that she’d always admired in him.

She forced a smile. “Church will always be here when you and M.J. leave. By the way, how long do you plan to be here?”

Samuel stared at M.J. and smiled. “Two weeks. We’re going on to Cuba from here.”

Belinda glanced at her daughter-in-law. “Will it be your first visit since marrying Samuel?”

M.J. nodded, smiling. “Yes. I’m looking forward to seeing Papa and my aunt Gloria.”

“Do you miss Cuba, M.J.?” Belinda asked the young woman.

There was a moment of silence. M.J. nodded again. “Yes, I do.”

She wanted to tell Belinda that she was homesick, that there were nights when Samuel was in Costa Rica that she’d cried herself to sleep, and the days when Bessie did not come to clean the house she only got out of bed when nature forced her. In a moment of weakness she’d regretted marrying Samuel Cole and leaving her home, believing it would’ve been better to marry one of the men her father had selected for her if only to offset the isolation and loneliness.

Samuel wound an arm around M.J.’s waist, pulling her to his side. “After I open the office and get everything running smoothly, M.J. and I will take frequent trips to Cuba.”

Surprise siphoned the blood from M.J.’s face.
Office.
Samuel hadn’t mentioned that he was going to open an office. She
thought he was more than content conducting business out of their home. Resentment swelled in her until she felt light-headed.

She’d married a man who continued to confound her. He wouldn’t discuss business at their table, and didn’t discuss his business with her away from the table. Did he believe she was so unintelligent or disinterested in what he did that he felt it necessary to keep secrets from her?

She remembered what her father had told her:
Your novio is young and very ambitious. Which means you must be patient and support him in all his endeavors.

She did support her husband and she was patient—very, very patient. But she was almost out of patience. Some of the stiffness left her; she had enough patience to wait until they were on their way to Cuba. That way her husband wouldn’t be able to evade her questions.