Legacy (17 page)

Beaten, they both got to their feet and hesitated, not certain whether or not to go back towards their shop, with Billy Joe still in the doorway.

Then Billy Joe caught sight of me. 'Oh, my goodness,' he said, with a friendly smile that showed he was not the slightest bit embarrassed. 'Now look what I've gone and done. Howdy, ma'am, Hope I haven't done nothin' to offend ya!'

He came over and stood beside me while the two men in their aprons slunk back into the shop. 'Sorry I hadda do that while you were passin' by, Miss Rawlings, but those two had half the camp up sick the other night with their cheap, no-good . . .'

'That's quite all right, Billy Joe. I understand.' I gave him a smile, tilting my head back to meet his eyes. He was even bigger than he had seemed in the hospital. His tight-fitting red wool union shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and bulging with the powerful muscles of his chest and arms. But the amiable grin and the friendly blue eyes made him seem not frightening, really, but something just the opposite - almost the kind of man a woman wants instinctively to protect.

'Ya know,' he said, 'I never got to thank you for comin' in and spendin' time with us like you did. They just had me up and outta there before I knew it.'

'I enjoyed it. No need to thank me. In fact, you were a big help getting me off to a good start.'

'Aw, I was just there, that's all. That Hoyt is a bad 'un, just wants to spoil everything. We all knew it. Only a crazy man would try to give a woman like yourself a hard time.'

'Well, then let's just say we're even.'

I smiled again and he smiled back, momentarily awkward. Out here, both of us were conscious of the distance that separated our two lives. Then he found his tongue again. 'Well, it's good seein' ya, ma'am. But I better be gettin' back up to camp now that I'm done here. Wouldn't want your pa to find out old Billy Joe was loafin' around town on the company's time!'

'My father? I thought you worked for Justin McKay.'

'I did - till your pa bought the camp last week. I guess you don't keep up with that kind of thing, though. Well, you take care of yourself. Say hello to the boys at the clinic and tell 'em Billy Joe says to get back to work.'

Another grin, then he headed off in the direction of Hartman's stables, where I guessed he would pick up a horse for the twenty-mile ride back to his camp.

Later that afternoon I came downstairs from my hour of reading to the men at the clinic and was shown into the small, tastefully decorated office of Justin McKay. I say tastefully, because the furniture and the paintings on the walls did all go well together, though none was in any style popular at the time. Instead of the massive oak and walnut that most doctors' offices displayed, Justin had limited his furniture to frail-seeming, thin-dowelled pieces that had all been made more than fifty years earlier. Collecting was a hobby of his, he had said, though I suspected he simply did not care for the tastes that called for desks and chairs to be made in so much larger proportions. I did not, either, but I liked the French style, or the Oriental style then coning in from England called Chinoiserie.

Behind his desk Justin sat upright as usual, his head bound with a narrow white strip of gauze that held a more substantial gauze dressing over the wound he had received. His blue eyes seemed clear, but without their usual intensity, which was natural, I thought, after the fatigue he must have felt and the loss of blood.

Still, I thought it was odd that he did not get up from his chair and come around to offer me a seat. I took the small cherrywood caned chair that faced his desk and sat down. 'How do you feel?' I asked. 'I would have thought that you'd still be recuperating.'

'Well, needless to say, I am still recuperating.' He indicated the bandage with his eyes and went on, very businesslike. 'I should thank you. I understand you saved me from losing quite an amount of blood the other night.'

'Thanks are quite unnecessary.' His tone was beginning to put me off. 'Was that why you sent for me? I had intended to stop by on my own account . . .'

'No. I wanted you to come by for another reason. To make it short, and I suppose as painless as possible, I think you should consider today your last one at the clinic.'

'I don't understand! What possible reason could you have . . .'

He interrupted. 'I said I wanted to keep this short. Let's just say I'm aware that you'd prefer to be spending your time at some other place, shall we? We'll let it go at that.'

His eyes met mine. The blue in them seemed harder, opaque.

'What other place? What are you talking about?' I was genuinely bewildered, but growing more angry by the minute. How could he speak that way to me after what I had done for him the other night and since I was at his clinic out of sympathy for his patients? 'You sound as though you think you're dismissing one of your employees. What makes you think you can talk to me that way?'

'Not what - who. I had a visit from Steven Graybar. He tells me the two of you find each other's company quite fascinating. So I think you'll be happier to have more time to spend with him.'

I was unable to believe what I was hearing. I found it incredible that Steven could stoop to something like this. To take a woman's reputation and deliberately, willfully ... it was too much. What he had tried to do Saturday did not even compare with this.

I tried to protect myself, though the shock must certainly have shown on my face. 'I'm certain Steven was jealous,' I said, 'when I came to the ball with you. I have seen him in the past, spoken with him. But why would he say something like this to you? And why would you be so quick to believe him?'

The eyes held steady, though his expression softened a little. 'Catherine, I knew he was jealous. I could see that. But from what he told me, he has reason to be. From what he says the two of you' - he paused, shaking his head slightly - 'well, it's not necessary to talk about it. Just tell me that it isn't true, Catherine.'

'Tell you what? How can I tell you something when I don't know what he's said?'

'Don't mince words. Just tell me. If you say it's not true. I'll believe you. Just tell me.'

I looked at his face, and in its smooth, narrow lines I could see pain and hurt, as well as selfishness and anger. In that moment I felt, too, the hopes he might have felt, at the chance to make a fresh start after his first marriage ... It would be so easy to lie.

But the words would not come out. I turned my head aside, away from his gaze. Then I got up from my chair.

As I left I heard his voice, and it sounded almost sympathetic, yet still quick with that brisk professionalism. 'I hope you'll excuse me if I don't walk you out to the door, but I'm still not feeling too well, and, needless to say, if I weren't really pressed, I wouldn't even have come to work . . .'

He stopped talking as I closed the door softly behind me.

Outside I hailed a carriage to go back to the hotel. I would not admit to myself that Justin was a loss. Who did he think he was, calling me to account that way? If he thought he could make judgments about my past, then he simply was not the man I wanted, that was all!

But one day, I vowed, I would have my revenge on Steven Graybar. I hated him. I would never speak to him again. Or I would marry him and then humiliate him by tantalizing his friends. I would see his father ruined and his fortune gone. With Father, I would . . .

And then, with a shock that made me suddenly fearful, came the question: What if Steven decided to tell Father? If he had told Justin, Steven might be capable of doing anything. And I had seen the emotional strain erupt in Father only yesterday. I shuddered to think how quickly only a few arrogant words from Steven would destroy the peace of mind that seemed to have come to Father this morning.

The fear haunted me as I walked past the people in the lobby of Father's hotel, some of them lounging in the wicker chairs reading newspapers, others seeming to just idle away the remaining few minutes until the dining room opened for dinner. At the desk I forced myself to be calm as I arranged for my things to be sent back to the house, though for some reason my hands trembled momentarily as I picked up my jewels and Mother's after the clerk had retrieved them from the hotel safe. I held the emeralds in my hand for a moment or two before I put them back into their box and into my purse. Not long ago I had been depending on these shining green stones to help carry me through. Now I was depending on - what? Father, obviously. And what if Father changed his mind again?

Then, when I entered our house and was told by Emily that Father wanted to see me in the library, the questions began to fly around in my mind so that I had to steel my nerves and think clearly for a few moments before I gave Emily a reply. Finally, I said, 'Very well, Emily. Tell him I'll be there within five minutes.' Then I went upstairs for a quick word with Mother. As I had thought she would, Mother urged me to keep her emeralds as a small insurance policy against Father's whims. I took them to my room and hid them, and then I walked down the carpeted stairs to the library with a sinking emptiness beneath my heart. I would prevail, I kept telling myself. I would prevail whether Father chose to help me or cast me off. I had friends . . .

I stood before the heavy oak double doors that walled off Father's library from the rest of the house. I grasped the brass knob firmly, turned it, and pushed the door open, expecting the worst.

Father had a large leather valise open on his desk, into which he was putting his three large green account books: one for the mills and lumber property, one for other investments, and one that he kept for personal accounts. A fourth, for the household expenses, was kept by Mother. I knew, because these were the books that Father had let me 'balance' several summers ago. I would add the columns and make the entries in pencil, and he would check my work later when he made the final entries in ink. Why, I wondered, was he taking these books away with him?

He looked up, saw me, and, to my relief, smiled. 'Have a seat,' he said easily, still appearing as calm as he had this morning. I took one of the red leather chairs near the door and sat down as he told me he was going for a trip upriver. One of his lumber camps had a lot of men laid up from accidents, a string of them that looked like sabotage. Another camp, one he'd just bought, he said, had half the men sick with food poisoning. It was good business practice to get up there now and take them some good food and a few treats to cheer them up. That way they'd know they weren't working for somebody who just wanted the job done and nothing else. After that, he'd be heading over to the new resort hotel he was about to open at Eagles Mere Lake for a last-minute check.

'I can't afford to take chances nowadays.' He gave the valise a pat. 'These books in here tell a tale, you know. And they say we can't afford less than a bumper year all around.'

'Is that right?' I asked. Mother had said he might be overextended again. It might do him good to talk about it. I smiled. 'I thought we always wanted a bumper year all around.'

'Well, we do. But this year we've got to have it, or else in fourteen months we could find ourselves in trouble, just like old Brad Graybar is now.'

He paused and lifted the silver lid of his cigar humidor and took one out, long and thick. 'What I did, you see, last night when I got back from the judge, was take a look at these figures in here, and they tell the tale, all right. When I got done, I realized that it didn't matter whether Brad got rich or was hanged in the next few weeks. I still had to make a high-paying proposition out of what I've got right now. And I can't do that by wasting my time trying to knock off Brad Graybar.'

My heart lifted with pride. Father had changed his mind on hard facts and common sense. And from the sound of things, he knew he was going to have to stick by the change. 'I'm so happy to hear you say that, Father!' My eyes felt moist.

He puffed smoke and made a joke out of it. Here was his daughter, who'd kept his books and knew about these things, and when he told her he was in debt up to his ears she says she's happy! He'd never understand women, never!

He zipped shut the big brown valise. 'Anyway, I'm going to be away for just about a week, which ought to be enough time to get things on the right track. Then not too long after that you and your mother and I will leave for the cruise. Don't worry, we can afford it. What we spend on ourselves this summer won't be enough to make any difference one way or another. We either have a good cash flow come in from the mill and the hotels, or we fold. In fact, if I were to keel over tomorrow, which I have no intention of doing, we'd fold sooner than that.'