Her Safe Harbor: Prairie Romance (Crawford Family Book 4) (14 page)

“But Little William died of the influenza, and Turner, too.
It is no wonder you were unable to concentrate on anything but your own
sanity.”

Jolene stood and poured herself a cup of tea. “My son’s
death is a tragedy I will never escape from; however, his memory fills me with
joy for the time I had with him. I didn’t always feel that way. As I’m sure you
were well aware, I was bitter about events in my life. I am no longer,” she
said and turned to Jennifer. “Turner did not die of the influenza. He hung
himself in my rooms with the drapery cords. Alice and I found him just as he
died. I was in the carriage ready to leave and realized I needed to change my
gloves. Alice and I went back to my rooms . . . and there he was. Swinging and
gurgling, and still, I think, able to see us.”

Jennifer covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh dear Lord!”

“Did I drive him to it with my accusations that he brought
the influenza into our home and killed our son? Perhaps. But ultimately, I did
not hang the cord, or put the noose around his neck, or push over the chair
stacked on a side table he’d balanced on. Turner killed himself. How desperate
must one be to take their own life? Did he suffer from melancholia? Most
likely,” Jolene said, reseated herself, and looked at Jennifer. “There. I have
revealed all of my secrets.”

“I am not a person who easily shares her feelings, but I
must in the face of your courage,” Jennifer said, and walked to the other side
of the room, touching the drapery and feeling the chill through the window.
Maybe there was some comfort in speaking to an inanimate object such as a pane
of glass when making these sorts of confessions, she thought. Looking away
instead of into her sister’s face gave her some sense of anonymity, even
knowing that Jolene could hear everything she said.

“Jeffrey began escorting me to functions or meeting me at
the doorway of an event, making it seem as though he and I were always
together. I wasn’t even aware on some occasions that he’d be riding with Mother
and Father and me, and now I believe Mother arranged it to be that way. It was
very romantic at first and he told me he could not get enough of me. He would
hold my hand while I sat out many dances with other gentlemen as he would say
he couldn’t bear being parted from me. One of the bank’s vice presidents
retired and Father told me that he was considering Jeffrey. I approved
heartily. Now Father says I asked him to hire Jeffrey, but I didn’t. But then .
. . well, Jeffrey’s behavior stopped being flattering and began to be stifling.
Even if I was going to the lady’s retiring room, he waited for me. If I stopped
and spoke to a friend from Ramsey, Jeffrey would interrupt and tell me that he
needed to speak to me. He wanted to know everywhere I went, everyone I spoke
to, and everything I did.

“I’d really become tired of it all, and that’s when I
decided to visit you in Texas. I thought it would cool his passion. We argued
over my going and he was very adamant that I shouldn’t be traveling alone and
that he would be worried about me and that Mother needed me and, well, what he
said made me feel very needed and cared for. Looking back, it was not said out
of a sense of caring for me, but rather to make me feel guilty. And I did. Feel
guilty, that is.”

“But you came to the Hacienda anyway.”

Jennifer nodded and glanced at her sister. “The day I left
was the beginning of the violence. I thought he had resigned himself to the
fact that I was going; he had not, however. On the morning I left, he stopped
here and walked me into the little room near the parlor. Supposedly to talk
privately, and I was hoping that he would apologize for being so high-handed,
and even knowing he was not the right man for me, I was hoping he’d kiss me. He
hadn’t yet, you see, and I’d never really been kissed and well . . .”

“You were curious.”

“Yes, I was. I was even thinking that if he kissed me that
all his hovering would bother me less and I would be content to marry him. But
he was not going to apologize or be nostalgic. He was furious! He said he could
not believe I was going through with the trip knowing it displeased him. The
next thing I remember, I was on the floor of the room, in horrible pain,
Jeffery’s face above me. I asked him what happened, and he told me that he hated
to punish me but that was the nature of a relationship between a man and a
woman. Then he yanked me to my feet and told me to straighten up in a hurry or
I would miss my train. I let him lead me out the door and into the family
carriage. That is when he kissed me, before he handed me in that is, for all to
see.”

Jolene groaned and shivered. “What a sickening display that
must have been. How were you able to travel?”

“It was a long and arduous trip. And then the Dallas train
station was overrun with people trying to escape the influenza and my maid, a
silly thing who was no help, ran away from me with half of the cash money I’d
brought with me. I barely had enough to hire a wagon, and then the driver left
me in the middle of nowhere. Thank God Max came riding by.”

“Did you tell Zebidiah any of this? Is that why he is
concerned for your safety?”

Jennifer shook her head. “No. When I arrived at the Hacienda
and Melinda was so ill, Max asked me to tend Mr. Moran. He was the only one in
the bunkhouse and he was in a deep, fever sleep when I lifted my blouse to see
if my bruises had faded any more. I was still having some trouble breathing.”

“He was not asleep, I presume?”

“No. He was not. He asked me several times when he was well
how it had happened. He was very persistent.”

“I’m sure he was. He still is where you’re concerned. Has he
told you he intends to tender his resignation to return to Boston and keep you
safe?”

“Yes,” Jennifer said. “It is such a sacrifice. I know he
cares deeply about the work he does. I hate to see him lose this position, but
I am finally able to sleep at night, knowing that he will keep Jeffrey away
from me.”

“It is interesting, is it not, that Jeffrey wanted
you
to do as he requested, to change for him, and Zebidiah is willing to change
for
you in order to serve you best? One man has his own interests at heart, and one
has only yours.”

Jennifer blushed. “He is a very busy, important man, though.
Once Jeffrey understands that I will not be marrying him, Mr. Moran will move
on to other matters.”

“Has Rothchild hit you again?”

Jennifer started to shake her head, to deny it, but stopped
and looked at her sister’s concerned face. “Yes. We were at the theatre and he
took me for air after the first act and pulled me into a closet. He hit me again.
Very hard. It was right before I was to come to Washington and he did not want
me to go. I told him I wouldn’t. But Eliza employed Luther to take my bags on
the day before and I told Jeffrey I was meeting friends for a luncheon. I left
it for Father to tell him.”

“I don’t believe that Jeffrey Rothchild will give up easily.
He must be furious with you after dinner tonight when Zebidiah made it clear
that he would not allow him access to you,” Jolene said and joined her at the
window. “You must be very careful. This man is dangerous. I know women
personally whose husbands hit them regularly and require some violence as a
prelude to sex and are inevitably controlling and strict, much more than the
restrictions society already places on women. Sadly there is little done. They
brutalize their wives and daughters as well, knowing full well that there are
few judges who would not think it is within a husband’s rights to discipline
his wife. I believe Jeffrey Rothchild is such a man.”

“But what can he do? Certainly, he will back down now.
Certainly he will see that I will not marry him.”

“He is a violent man. Do not pretend to be able to reason
with him, Jennifer. Stay in your rooms or close to them while Zebidiah travels
with me. I have told him I would go alone, or with a servant and be perfectly
fine, but he feels obligated to keep the promise he made to Maximillian.”

“I will be fine, Jolene,” she said and grasped her sister’s
hands. “But you must go to bed. You are barely standing.”

Jennifer went to her mother’s room early the next morning.
Her eyes were dry and she was tired as she’d not gone to bed until well after
midnight and slept fitfully then. Jane Crawford was propped up on pillows,
sipping a cup of tea.

“Mother? How are you feeling this morning?” Jennifer asked
as she sat down in the chair beside the bed.

“I have nothing to say to you,” her mother said with an
arched brow. “You are a spoiled girl. It is a miracle that Jeffrey was ever
willing to offer for you.”

“I am not interested in Jeffrey Rothchild. I will not marry
him.”

“You are being ridiculous! You must marry him, if he will
still have you! Who else will marry you?”

Jennifer took a deep breath. She was determined to be
resolved. “I am worried for your health, but you must understand I won’t marry
him. Do not invite him to dinner. Do not arrange for any meetings between the
two of us.”

“Freshen my tea, Mildred,” Jane said, and sniffed, wrinkling
her nose.

Jennifer stood and sat down on the bed beside her mother,
who continued to stare out the window. “Mother. Look at me.”

Jane took a slow sip of tea. “This is what ungratefulness
looks like,” she said as her eyes met Jennifer’s. “I have put this family,
especially my daughters, first, my entire life, and none of you have been
appreciative of my efforts. Julia, running away to live on a farm, embarrassing
us beyond belief, all because she wanted Jillian as her own daughter! Jolene,
losing my grandson and driving her husband to an illness he could not recover
from, and marrying a man so beneath her he would not be fit to shine Turner’s
shoes. And now you! Determined to humiliate your father and me by denying what
has been said by the best of Boston’s best. The perfect man to carry on our
family business, and you say you won’t marry him! You will ruin this family!”

Jennifer stared at her mother, the woman’s red cheeks and
her eyes darting from left to right as if waiting for something or someone to
climb over the side of her bed. Why had she not recognized her mother’s
distance from reality prior to this moment? Why had she doubted her own
opinions of events, deferring instead to Jane’s warped view of their family
history? They were questions that deserved some introspection, but not now. No
matter how much her mother’s insults cut, she could no longer afford to deal
with them emotionally, as she had always done, inevitably reviewing her own
behaviors, rather than questioning her mother’s version of her daughters’
lives. Jennifer refused to give into tears or hysteria, nor would she slink
from the inevitable conversation. If she was to heal, if she was to have a
chance at happiness, or even some normal life, she had best begin by objecting
rather than acquiescing, because after all, something outrageous said often
enough is eventually the truth.

“No, Mother. I will not ruin this family as you say and I
will not marry Mr. Rothchild. You must come to terms with this. Jolene is
leaving in a few days, and I will be planning a small party for her and some of
her friends to be held here at Willow Tree. You are ill and I will handle all
of the details.”

“The idea! You will do no such thing! I will not allow it!”

“It is too late. I have made the invitations and spoken to
Cook and Mrs. Gutentide,” Jennifer said and turned to Mildred. “Please find me
if Mrs. Crawford is in any discomfort.”

Mildred eyed her mistress, now shouting her displeasure and
pounding her fists into the silk coverlets, and looked back to Jennifer. “Yes,
Miss Crawford.”

“You are not the mistress of Willow Tree! You are nothing!”
Jane shouted and turned to Mildred. “Send a message to Mr. Rothchild. I must
speak to him immediately.”

Jennifer folded her hands at her waist. “You are ill. I am
in charge of Willow Tree for the time being and your care, Mother. Mildred will
not be sending any messages to an unmarried man to visit with you in your
bedchamber. Get some rest, Mother,” she said as she walked toward the door, her
heart pounding in her chest.

Chapter Twelve

“The banking legislation is
critical. We must have the trust of our fellow citizens if we are to prosper,”
Jennifer said. Mr. Owens and Mr. Winslow leaned closer, and her father looked
at her strangely. Owens, Winslow, and her father were conversing about bank
business in regards to proposed regulations, but of course making no mention of
their respective businesses’ obligations. Jennifer had been reading yearly
reports, following the financials in the
Globe
, and listening to members
of the Boston bank community for as long as she could remember and was well
acquainted with the particulars.

“What did you say, my dear?” Mr. Owens, the vice president
of the Massachusetts Bank, asked.

“We must guarantee our depositors’ money in some fashion if
we are to continue and attract new investors,” she said. “Not just today’s
investor but tomorrow’s as well.”

“This panic has all been caused by those Argentinians, who
don’t have the stomach to control their own people. Now they’re in the middle
of a coup! This will be a disaster for us, mark my words,” Mr. Winslow said.

“The Sherman Act is the problem,” Mr. Owens said. “Cleveland
will be the death of free banking.”

“We cannot control anarchy or unrest or poor decisions that
we do not make,” Jennifer said. “But we must control the outcome.”

“How do you propose that, Miss Crawford? We will be taxed
and regulated so much we will not be able to turn a profit!”

“We really have no choice, Mr. Owens. I think you all,” she
said, and stopped to look each man including her father in the eye, “realize
something must be done to stabilize commerce and calm nervous investors but you
hesitate to act until your tenures as the heads of some of Boston’s most elite
banks are near to a close. You certainly do not want to be the ones blamed for
lower profits.”

“Now, Jennifer,” her father began.

But Mr. Winslow stopped him and smiled shrewdly. “She does
you credit, William, and you despaired of having no sons. I have two
extraordinarily lazy ones who do not understand the world of finance nearly as
well as Miss Crawford. Perhaps she would consider marrying one of them and
explaining to them how commerce works.”

“But she is affianced to Rothchild,” Mr. Owens said. “What a
lucky man he is!”

“He is . . . he is not my fiancé,” Jennifer said. “I am not
engaged to him.”

Zeb watched Jennifer while he stood leaning against the
mantel, near enough to listen, but not so close as to be part of their
conversation. Her hands shook, and she spoke barely above a whisper, but had
the full attention of these clearly powerful and wealthy Bostonians.

“
Humph
,” Owens said. “I think some of your investors
were looking to see some new blood at your bank, William. There is some talk
behind the scenes that some of your books are not up to snuff. But if Miss
Crawford has declined his offer . . .”

Jennifer straightened as if she’d been slapped, and her
father reached an arm around her as he replied. “We have uncovered a clerk who
is challenged by columns of figures. We have found him new tasks at the bank
more to his abilities. The books are in order.”

 “My wife’s cousin’s son cannot add or subtract sufficiently
to count stacks of one dollar notes. I finally had to fire him. Christmas
visits with my wife’s family will be interesting,” Winslow said.

William Crawford directed the men to the buffet laid out
with pastries and cheeses. Jennifer turned to Zeb.

“You are white as my hanky. What has happened?” Zeb asked.

“Owens heard our books were not up to snuff,” she said. “I
am concerned that rumors have begun.”

“Your father smoothed it over nicely, I thought.”

“Do you think they were convinced?”

“It is that critical?”

She nodded. “Yes. Banks have closed their doors on less.”

“You think Rothchild is doing this?”

“Absolutely. He already threatened it.”

“I think this party for Jolene proves exactly the opposite
of what Rothchild may be saying. Your sister adds her considerable skills, and
your father and yourself looking and sounding competent and confident,
undoubtedly belies Rothchild’s descriptions, which I imagine are that you are a
family in crisis.”

Jennifer nodded. “Yes. That is what he would be saying,
although it would be just a word dropped here or there. He would be subtle and
believable.”

“And you are believable as well. Jolene, for her part, has
not denied that Max is considering a run for the presidency.”

“The presidency? I did not know that Max had those aspirations.”

“I don’t think he does, but when the woman over there in the
green dress said that the next thing Max would be eyeing is the executive
mansion, Jolene just smiled and said nothing. Of course, now the room is
buzzing with gossip that Jolene Crawford Shelby’s husband is considering a run
for the presidency. It doesn’t hurt the family reputation.”

“Mother thinks it does. She says politicians are crass.”

Zeb smiled. “She’s right, but they are also powerful men
with the ability to bestow favor and displeasure even in the business world.”

“I am not sure if my comments were well received by Owens
and Winslow. Women are not welcome amongst bankers, except, of course, for Mrs.
Ebbitt. There she is,” Jennifer pointed out with a nod to a frail-looking
white-haired woman speaking to several men and women. “I was very glad she
accepted my invitation.”

“The pale woman in the black dress? She looks quite
elderly,” he said.

“She must be near seventy years old. She still goes every
day to the offices at Ebbitt Bank,” she said and turned to him. “Mrs. Ebbitt is
famous here in Boston. She was a renowned debutante in her day from what I’ve
been told and married Mr. Ebbitt, the son of the founder of Ebbitt Bank and
Loan. He was no more than forty when he died from an insufficiency of the
heart, and Mrs. Ebbitt’s children were not of age. She took over her husband’s
position at the bank, and as she was the majority stockholder, there was little
to be done about it by the board of directors. She kept the bank afloat and prosperous
until her son was able to take over. Although rumors are that she still runs
the company and he is merely a figurehead.”

“She is to be admired,” Zeb said, and leaned close. “But
there is nothing she has done that you would not be able to. Your father is a
fool if he does not recognize that.”

Jennifer shook her head. “No. I am not clever enough for
that sort of thing.”

“So you choose to believe what your mother has told you all
these years.”

“I . . . I don’t have the background or the courage to do what
Mrs. Ebbitt has done.”

“You are already doing it, Jennifer.”

She turned her head sharply. “No. I’m merely—” But she was
cut off by her father.

“Come along, Jennifer,” he said. “Owens is insisting you
join in the conversation we are having with some investors, and I think we have
managed to quiet Rothchild’s rumors. What an excellent idea this party was, my
dear. Jolene is at her best, even in her delicate condition, and you are giving
our partners, and our competitors, confidence. You know as well as I that if
one Boston bank goes down, it is only bad news for all those remaining. Come.
They are waiting.”

* * *

Zeb waited near the stairs as
Jennifer and her father said good night to the last guest. Crawford stayed to
give the butler some instruction, and Jennifer walked to Zeb. Her eyes were
shining and she was smiling.

“Quite a successful soiree you’ve hosted, Miss Crawford.”

“It was, was it not? Cook outdid herself with the food, and
father was in his glory with Jolene to show off,” she said. “Yes. It was a
roaring success!”

“You had no small part in that. I watched you in
conversation with a variety of people. They were waiting to hear your comments
and leaning in close to hear your every word. You had Boston’s banking elite
hanging on every word.”

Crawford stopped at his daughter’s side. “I am going to
check on your mother. Good night, Jennifer. Well done. You are going to your
rooms?” he asked with a sideways glance at Zeb.

“I am coming very shortly, Father. I am exhausted,” she said
and watched him climb the stairs before turning back to Zeb.

“I am leaving tomorrow, very early, to escort your sister to
Washington. I will be back Monday morning at the latest but I may be back as
early as Sunday afternoon. Please tell me you will remember to stay here at
Willow Tree until Sunday evening when either I or Calving Billings arrives to
escort you to the Hospital Soiree,” Zeb said.

“I will,” she said. “I told my father that Jeffrey was ill
and couldn’t attend this evening. I never sent him an invitation. Father thinks
I have judged him harshly and I will damage his reputation in the banking
community if I am not careful.”

“He has hit you, I’m sure of it, and I suspect he is doing
something nefarious at the bank. I will be happy to damage more than his
reputation.”

“Perhaps that will not be necessary. Maybe he will have some
understanding now that I am not going to marry him. Perhaps we can just be
polite to each other and go our separate ways.”

Zeb laid his hands on her shoulders. “No, Jennifer. He is
not the type of man to give up. Trust me on this. He will not quit until he has
hurt you in some way even more than he already has. Promise me you will be very
careful. Promise me you will not leave Willow Tree until I’ve returned, or
unless you are with Calvin Billings.”

“I promise.”

He touched his lips to hers and felt her breath against his
mouth. “I will not be satisfied until I am back in Boston and able to see to
your welfare.”

She looked into his eyes. “You have no obligation to me. We
are not courting, or affianced. Why are you doing this?”

“Let us worry about that later after you are safe. After
your secrets are out or solved.”

Jennifer stepped back and searched his face. “I will see you
on Sunday or Monday, then. I must go up now, even though I’d prefer not to.”

“Yes. You should go up before I kiss you and do not want to
leave.”

“Good night, Zebidiah.”

“Good night, Jenny. You will be careful?”

She nodded and turned to hurry up the steps.

* * *

Jennifer kept to her rooms both
days, other than checking on her mother every few hours. Jane was in so much
pain that she’d not left her bed for three days and was willingly taking the
laudanum that Dr. Roderdeck had prescribed. When Jennifer did leave her rooms,
she found Luther lurking nearby.

“Luther,” she said finally. “Are you following me? I don’t
think that is necessary within the confines of Willow Tree. How are you getting
your other duties performed if you are constantly in my attendance?”

“I work through the night, Miss Crawford. Do not worry about
me. I’m hoping to better myself, and Mr. Moran told me if all goes well here,
he may have a position in Washington for me, working for him.”

“You would be interested in working with Mr. Moran in
Washington?”

He nodded. “He told me I would start out by getting him to
and from his offices every day and other places he needs to go, that he doesn’t
have a moment to spare to hire carriages and such. He said I’d be reading and
learning while I’m waiting for him and that he would see to my education.” He
continued softly, “That is if he still has his job when this danger to you has
passed.”

“He will have his job, Luther,” she said. “I think the
danger
has
passed, and the senator values Mr. Moran’s counsel. I think
he will be back in Washington within the week once he has seen that all is calm
here.”

“I hope all is calm, but I’ll still do as Mr. Moran has told
me to do.”

Clearly those around her thought that she was still in
danger, and now this drama was disrupting schedules and lives. How she wished
she’d never encouraged Jeffrey Rothchild all those months ago, even believing
Jolene that anyone could have been fooled. Even knowing that there were no
signs early on, that she didn’t have an inkling that he was not honorable, that
he was, in fact, violent. She’d spent her life avoiding others’ notice, staying
clear of her mother’s attention, as that only brought embarrassment and pain.
How she hated being center stage! She much preferred to be part of the silent
observers, content to follow the tides rather than make one.

Jennifer left Eliza laying out her clothes for the Hospital
Soiree and mending her pale blue satin slippers that matched the Dutch blue and
cream watered silk gown that she would be wearing that evening, to check on her
mother’s condition.

“You are sitting up,” Jennifer said with a smile when she
went in her mother’s room. “You must be feeling considerably better.”

“Where is my bath, Mildred? Did you call for it?” Jane
demanded.

“I will check on it for you, ma’am,” Mildred replied and
scurried from the room.

Jennifer hurried to her mother’s side as she rose from the
edge of the bed on unsteady legs. “Take your time, Mother. You have been abed
and in pain.”

Jane shook off Jennifer’s hand on her elbow. “I need no
assistance from you. Leave. I must prepare for the Hospital Soiree.”

“What? No! You are in no condition to go out, Mother,” she
said, and watched as her mother wobbled to the end of the mattress and grabbed
the bedpost to steady herself. “You will make yourself ill and your surgery is
this week. Surely Dr. Roderdeck would not approve.”

“That quack does not determine my social calendar. I have
never missed a Hospital Soiree and don’t intend to!”

“Father is still at the Banking Association meeting held at
his club and told me he will meet me at the soiree. Calvin and Eugenia Billings
are coming here to take me with them.”