Heart of Glass (7 page)

K
ate was tempted to fling the bucket of soapy water on him, but she put her back into mopping Colin’s muddy floor instead. He probably wouldn’t believe her if she told him she’d turned down half a dozen proposals.

She dunked the dirty mop into the bucket, yanked it out, and twisted the wet, flopping ends before she slapped it against the floor again.

He knew nothing,
nothing
about the offers she’d refused from fine, decent men who would have made wonderful husbands. Men in Boston and Ireland, some from right here in Louisiana. Men who were polite and good humored — nothing like him. A few she denied because they’d seemed more interested in her inheritance than in what she had to offer as a wife. The rest she’d turned down because none had measured up to her ideal. None of them held a candle to the young man who had captured her heart so long ago.

She sneaked a glance in Colin’s direction, then let her gaze linger while he stared out the open French doors. She’d all but given up hope of ever seeing him again until the day Myra returned from the market and told her rumors were rampant about the madman living at the Delany plantation. Kate had ignored the gossip and danced a little jig.

Now surly and unkempt, he was straining her patience. She could barely tolerate the way he was treating her. It was hard to imagine what she’d ever seen in him. Myra had tried to convince Kate that the torch she was carrying for Colin was merely childhood infatuation. The man she thought she loved was not the brooding man who had locked himself away from the world. There was certainly nothing admirable about Colin’s anger or his self-pity.

What did she know of him or what he’d become? Was she taking on too much?

Wielding the mop, Kate vowed right then that once he was on his feet again, and once the house was cleaned and repaired, her work here would be done.

Ignoring him for the time being, she finished mopping the floor, then picked up his untouched luncheon tray. Leaving the front door wide open behind her, she marched the tray back to the house. When she returned not more than three minutes later, he remained silent, but she felt his dark eyes boring into her. She toted the bucket outside, tossed the dirty water, and then went back for her rags and mop. She was about to leave when she remembered the Delany photographs tucked in her right pocket.

When she walked over to Colin’s bedside, he looked mad enough to spit nails. She ignored his scowl.

“I don’t remember you having any gumption before. I don’t think I ever even heard you squeak around here,” he growled.

“Maybe you weren’t listening. I earned my gumption standing up to people who constantly told me no. People who insisted I couldn’t be what I wanted to be or learn what I wanted to learn because I was a woman. I learned to fight for what I wanted.”

She prayed he would soon muster enough courage of will to fight his pain, to believe in himself and this place again.

“I found these in the attic.” She slipped the images out of her pocket. Though she felt like tossing them on the bed, she set them down gently.

“If you’re waiting for me to thank you, you’re wasting your time.” He didn’t even glance at the pictures lying within reach, though he balled his fingers into a fist as if to keep from reaching for them.

It suddenly dawned on her that his anger had a purpose — it kept everyone at bay. He used it not only to isolate himself, but to hide his pain.

Kate softened the moment the realization hit her.

“Would you like me to trim your hair?” The words had come out too soft, almost as if she were coaxing a temperamental child. She desperately needed to find out if there was something, anything, left of the Colin she once knew. Perhaps after a haircut and shave …

“What I would like is for you to disappear.”

“I’m only trying to help, but I’m beginning to think you don’t deserve it.” Suddenly it didn’t matter why he was so angry and morose. Her Irish temper was already strained to the limit. “You have a dark heart, Colin. You didn’t always.”

She looked at the empty chair waiting beyond the French doors. She so wanted to see him in the dappled sunlight filtering down through the oaks. She started to walk away.

“What would you know of me or my heart?” His softer tone stopped her. “You were a child when you last saw me. I was too for that matter.”

She walked over to the open doors and stared outside. The garden was empty. The intense sunshine had driven Myra inside.

“I’d rather have a dark heart than one like yours,” he said.

She turned to him. “What do you mean?”

“You have a heart of glass. That’s very dangerous, you know.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It is too fragile, too full of a disgusting overabundance of optimism and hope.”

“What’s wrong with optimism? What’s wrong with hope?” His words hurt more than anything else he’d said or done. Rapidly blinking away tears, Kate was bound and determined not to let him see how easily he could wound her.

“When it finally shatters and that light is gone, Kate, you won’t be able to survive it.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute. That hope is what sustains me through good times and bad.” She took a step closer to the bed
and stopped when his frown deepened. “I’d happily share it to see you through this. If only—”

“Are you always like this? Are you
real
?”

“I hope so.”

“I would think all that hope is exhausting.”

She took a deep breath, shook her head, and forced a smile. “No more exhausting than all of your self-pity.”

I
hate to see you go, Miss Kate.”

Kate crossed the open foyer at the bottom of the stairs in the main house and took hold of Eugenie’s hands. The woman’s eyes widened at Kate’s gesture.

“Given how much Colin wants me gone, I’ve been lucky to have stayed two weeks, but I dare not defy him any longer.”

Kate surveyed the changes: The stairs to the second floor were no longer dangerous. Her mother’s unwanted furniture was scattered throughout the formal rooms downstairs. Decent beds and bedding now filled the rooms upstairs, and she had left an ample supply of linens, lamps, and rugs. The walls were bare, but at least they’d been stripped of shredded wall coverings.

Kate nodded, satisfied with what she’d done in a month. Now it was time to return to the city and reestablish herself there. She’d done enough to stave off the inevitable at
Belle Fleuve
for a year or two. All she could do now was pray that Amelie would return before then and convince Colin to come to his senses.

“I’ve done all I can,” she said.

Just then Simon came downstairs toting Myra’s trunk and a traveling case.

“Where will you go now, Miss Kate?”

“Back to our suite at the St. Charles. I may even look for a
permanent residence.” She knew some lovely homes could be had for a song in the Garden District, but none that compared to
Belle Fleuve
. “I couldn’t have found a better carpenter anywhere, Simon. Please thank your crew for me, will you?”

“‘Course, Miss Kate.” He set down the trunk, reached into the pocket of his baggy homespun trousers, pulled out a miniature wooden carving that fit in the palm of his hand, and handed it to her.

“Why, it’s
Belle Fleuve
.” Kate turned the piece over and over, studying the intricate carving and detail. The columns were all there. So too were the gallery railings. It was a small masterpiece. She smiled at Simon through tears.

“I’m honored, Simon. I’ll treasure this always.”

“I know how you hold this place in your heart, Miss Kate. Now you can hold it in your hand. I’m hopin’ it’ll bring you back.”

“I sure wish things would have worked out different,” Eugenie said, as Myra made her appearance on the stairs.

Once her companion was beside her, Kate handed Myra the carving for safekeeping and thanked the couple again. The carriage she’d hired was due at any moment. Eugenie opened the front door, and as Kate walked out she saw a wagon coming up the long drive. Not exactly the carriage she expected.

“You didn’t order more supplies, did you?” Simon stepped up beside her as the four of them watched the approaching vehicle. A driver in overalls and a wide-brimmed straw hat was guiding the team of horses.

“Everything’s been delivered,” she said.

The wagon, loaded with burlap sacks labeled “Rice,” made its way to the circular portion of the drive that fronted the main house. The driver pulled back on the reins and set the brake, then looked over his shoulder into the bed of the wagon.

“We’re here.” He reached down to give someone a shake. “We’re here, ma’am.”

Someone in the wagon bed coughed. Before Kate cleared the
front steps, two small heads with coal-black hair appeared over the side of the wagon. Kate found herself staring at two children, a girl and a boy. Then suddenly a woman sat up, grasped the side of the wagon, and broke into a fit of coughing. She was thin and pale, her dark hair limp and matted, but Kate would know her anywhere.

“Amelie!” When Kate rushed to the wagon, it was indeed Amelie who grabbed Kate’s hand and held on tightly, wincing as if Kate’s hold might break every bone in her hand. Amelie’s lips trembled so hard she couldn’t speak as tears streamed down her pale cheeks.

At the sight of her friend so forlorn and fragile, Kate started rambling to cover her shock.

“I imagine this is quite a start, all of us lined up on the drive staring at you this way. Have you come a long way?” Kate turned to the children. “Why, don’t tell me these are your children, Amelie!” She leaned back and drank in the sight of the youngsters, mirror images of a young Amelie and Colin, except for the worry shadowing their eyes.

Simon lowered the tailgate of the wagon so that Myra and Eugenie could help the children climb down. Amelie watched with a mother’s eye until they were safely on the ground.

Amelie had barely moved. Kate enlisted Simon to lift her friend out of the wagon. Amelie’s condition was shocking. Her once-plump, rosy cheeks were sallow and sunken. A faded calico dress of fabric unfit for the rag bag hung from her thin shoulders. What terrible things must have happened to reduce her to this state?

“Can you stand?” Kate asked.

“I think so.” Amelie’s voice was hoarse. “But I’d appreciate the help walking.”

As Kate took hold of her arm, Amelie introduced her to the kind farmer who had carried them all the way from Baton Rouge. Kate tried to imagine Amelie’s suffering on lumpy bags of rice and riding over pockmarked roads for hours.

“No wonder you look exhausted.” But there was more to her
friend’s haggard, stooped condition than exhaustion. “We’ll have you feeling right as rain in no time at all,” Kate promised.

When the girl, older and taller than her brother, moved up beside Amelie, the boy trailed after his sister. He didn’t appear in the least shy, openly staring at Eugenie and Simon before taking in Myra and Kate.

“These are my children. Marie is ten and Damian is four.” Looking at them, a light shone in Amelie’s eyes.

“I’m almost five,” Damian added. “My birthday is in January.”

“Then we’ll have to celebrate,” Kate assured him. She turned to Amelie. “At least I hope you have planned a long visit.” Amelie hadn’t mentioned the man with whom she’d run away during the war, so neither did Kate.

Amelie looked toward the second-floor gallery, her eyes bright with tears.

“Is Mama inside?” Her voice cracked.

Simon cleared his throat and stared at the worn toes of his shoes. Eugenie pressed the back of her hand over her lips. Myra shut her eyes and whispered a prayer.

“Let’s get you and the children inside, shall we?” Kate acknowledged the driver hovering beside the lead horse with a quick nod. She turned to Eugenie, afraid the cook was about to burst into tears.

“I left my reticule on the trunk in the foyer,” Kate quietly told Eugenie. “Would you mind bringing it out to me?”

Eugenie, looking ready to fall apart, seemed thankful for the excuse to leave. She hurried across the gallery. Kate rested her hand on Damian’s shoulder. “Eugenie has some molasses cookies in the kitchen. Why don’t you go with Myra and have some while your mama and I chat? There’s some fresh milk there too.”

Damian reached for the hand Myra offered. His sister looked to her mother for permission first. “You go right ahead, honey.” Amelie fell into another fit of coughing. “I’ve known Myra since Katie and I were your age. She’ll take fine care of you.”

Marie seemed hesitant to leave her mother, but when Amelie bid her go, she took Myra’s hand. They headed through the main house to the kitchen in back.

“Do you have any bags?” Kate asked.

Kate wanted to kick herself when Amelie bit her lips and shook her head no. Eugenie had collected herself by the time she returned with the reticule, and Kate paid the driver. When the man asked if he could water the team, Simon volunteered to show him where.

With Kate and Eugenie flanking Amelie, they walked slowly into the house. They’d barely cleared the front door when Amelie looked around and whispered, “She’s gone, isn’t she? I can feel it. Mama’s not here.”

They ushered Amelie into the sitting room. She moved as if in a trance as she looked around the sparsely furnished room. Eugenie left them as soon as Amelie was seated on a satin upholstered settee that had recently belonged to Nola Keene.

“All of Mama’s lovely things are gone,” Amelie noted. She gazed around again, then met Kate’s eyes. “I don’t seem to have any tears left,” Amelie whispered. “I believe I’m all cried out and didn’t even know it.”

“She’s been gone since ‘65,” Kate said. “There was no way to let you know.”

“I broke her heart. I’m sure that’s what killed her.”

“Your mama went upriver to live with your Baudier cousins not long after you left. She fell ill shortly afterward. You mustn’t blame yourself.”

“I should have never run away.” Amelie’s smile was wistful when she looked at Kate. “How lucky you were that your father sent you up to Boston. The war …” she swallowed, shook her head, and squeezed Kate’s hands. “The war changed us all. We had to do things we would have never dreamed of, but the world was upside down, Kate. All upside down.”