Rapture's Rendezvous (26 page)

Maria turned to go to her, to maybe use her as an ally, instead of an enemy, to face up to this man whom Maria had hated for so long. But Maria found the girl gone. She had disappeared into the air, it seemed. Maria now remembered how the girl had shown fright upon first seeing Nathan Hawkins. Now Maria knew that it hadn't been the money that had sent the girl's face to losing its color. It had been the fact that Nathan Hawkins was there, speaking with them. It was apparent that this girl had indeed been warned against him.

Now what was Maria to do? Here he was, and what was he insinuating? That she owed him something? That she had been paid passage to America by him? She knew the latter, but she felt the only thing she owed him was hate . . . revenge.

She bent down and placed her violin in its case, feeling the need to flee. When he stooped, to be beside her, she tensed, not knowing what to expect next.

“I know who you are,” he said, looking around, to see if he was being watched.

“No. I don't think you do, sir,” she whispered, flushing. She clicked the locks securely on her case, then hurried to her wagon. She placed the violin in the back, then untied the reins, wishing there weren't so many
miles between Creal Springs and Hawkinsville. There just wouldn't be any way to escape him if he chose to follow her.

He moved toward her, with his hat on his head now. He reached up and took the reins away from Maria. “I wish to see you, Maria,” he said flatly. “You are to follow me home. My carriage is over there. You have no choice but to follow me. Do you understand?”

“Give me the reins, sir,” she said, fuming. “I have no desire to go to your house. I have no desire to be near you. You have the devil in you. I don't wish to have anything to do with you.”

Nathan Hawkins laughed as he handed the reins to her. “I like a girl with spirit,” he said. “Yes. I like that. You are more beautiful even when you are angry. Now. You just follow me. Then I won't have to ship you and your brother and father back to Italy on my ship's next voyage. I think I make myself clear. Do I not?”

Maria's heart began to pound rapidly. “What did you say?” she said, clutching the reins, trying to hide the trembling in her fingers. She watched his eyes grow even lighter in gray. There seemed to be absolutely no bottom to them. And his craggy features worsened as he frowned.

“You heard me. Quite distinctly, I am sure,” he said, walking away from her, toward a fancy carriage of black.

“I shall not,” she yelled after him, slapping the reins, causing the horse to lurch forward. “Hahh!” she then shrieked to the horse, glad when she saw that the horse had finally decided to pick up speed. She had to return home in haste. She couldn't hide the fact that she was
frightened. She couldn't believe that she could be,after seeing the smallness of this man. But his words terrified her. What had he meant about shipping them all back to Italy? Surely he couldn't have that much power over her Italian family? They were Americans now. They had been Americanized. Could Nathan Hawkins truly take this away from them?

She screamed at the horse once again, feeling the need to cry. She hoped that her Papa and Alberto would be home, but she knew that by the sun's angle in the sky that it was way too early. What if Nathan Hawkins did indeed follow her home? What was she to do?

She turned her head, looking behind her, searching the road, then breathed a sigh of relief when she found that he wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere in sight. Surely he had been only jesting. But she had to force the horse to speeds it wasn't accustomed to, to get her inside her house, where she could lock the door, just in case this crazy scheming man would decide to seek her out. And how … how had he .. . known . .. her name … ? Knowing that he did indeed know her gave her an eerie feeling. As though he may have been watching her long before now .. . just waiting to confront her. But why? Creal Springs was surely filled with beautiful, rich women. Why would Nathan Hawkins single her out?

The breeze continued to whip her hair around her face, sometimes even blinding her, but she continued to urge the horse onward until she guided it onto the street that led her past all the houses that were like her own, for once glad to be able to have this house to go to .. .
be a part of. Even though it was in no way a comfortable house in which to live, it was home. A hideaway. A part of the Lazzaro family now.

Maria pulled the wagon to a halt behind her house, then jumped from its seat to hurry to the horse, seeing how it was panting. Guilt plagued her for having worked the horse so hard. It had even worked up into a muddy lather. “Sorry, boy,” she purred, wiping him down with a handkerchief she had pulled from her rear breeches pocket. “I won't do this to you again. Hopefully, I won't have a need to.”

The approach of clattering hoofs sent Maria's heart into an erratic pace. She stooped behind the horse, watching the road, then sighed heavily when she saw that it was a neighbor, Mrs. Colletti, returning home from the grocery store with her daily supplies.

“I must get inside my house,” she said, hurrying to remove her violin case from the back of the wagon. With quick steps, she rushed to the back door and almost fell into the house, then went to the front window, watching. She still felt that he would follow her. He had said that he knew who she was. He would also know where she lived. The only thing that she had going for her was the fact that she had never seen Nathan Hawkins, or the likes of his fine carriage anywhere near the street that she lived on. For him to come there would be to cause many eyebrows to tilt upward. Surely he wouldn't want the Italian community to know that he was after one of their own … for whatever reason he had. Would Nathan Hawkins even now send one of his representatives to ask for her presence in his house? Was that the way he did
these things?

She continued to watch until her eyes ached. A chill on her chest reminded her of what she still wore and how it gaped open in front. She looked downward, suddenly remembering the time, and how she would have to search for words to explain this attire to her Papa should he come home and find her dressed in such a way. She wasn't ready for explanations. Too much had already happened this day. She had to change into her usual attire of cotton house dress before the mine whistle blew, a reminder that the men would be lifted to the surface and be set free from their ugly chores for one more night.

Lifting her violin case, she went to her bedroom, placing the case on her bed. Having the need to take one more look at her violin before slipping it beneath her bed, she unlocked the case, raised the lid, then gasped. She felt an ache circle her heart when she found that the rough trip back from Creal Springs on the floor of the wagon had been too much for her delicate instrument. A wide crack gaped open on the front of its body, just below its bridge, making the strings lie loose and limp from it. Tears formed in Maria's eyes, hating Nathan Hawkins even more. He was responsible for her haste. It was because of her haste that she had forgotten that her violin had to be treated as delicately as possible.

“Oh, how I hate you, Nathan Hawkins,” she said, sobbing. She picked her violin up, hugging it to her. She had guarded it… protected it.. . coddled it as though it were a baby on that long voyage from Italy. And now? To have it broken because of Nathan
Hawkins? It added insult to injury. She had hated him for so long. Her wish to seek revenge was now building inside her once again. She would find a way. Yes . . . she would find a way.

A knocking on the front door made Maria tense, knowing that possibly her opportunity to do just that had arrived. If Nathan Hawkins was seeking her out, she would play a game with him. She was a woman. A woman had ways, much different than a man, to complete a plan of revenge.

The knocking persisted. Maria began to tremble, now suddenly feeling less brave. Had he truly come? Her knees had grown weak, imagining the likes of him knocking on her front door. “But I must go to the door,” she whispered, placing her violin back in its case. “And I must do it quickly. Very quickly. For won't Papa and Alberto be home much too soon? What if… ?”

With a pounding heart, she inched her way to the door. She hesitated for a moment, then opened it slowly, swallowing hard when she saw that indeed it was Nathan Hawkins standing there, with hat in hand, circling it between his fingers. Their gazes met and held as Maria opened the door even more widely.

“What do you want?” she hissed, holding on to the door's edge until her knuckles whitened.

“I want you,” Nathan said, smiling crookedly. “Let me come in. We must talk.”

“No. You cannot,” she said, leaning out a bit, to see if anyone was watching. Her Papa just couldn't hear about this. He just couldn't. It would worry him so. And didn't he have enough to worry about? His health
was failing. And it was all because of the cruelties of this man . .. Nathan Hawkins.

“You don't seem to understand,” Nathan said, curling his lips in a lewd grin. “You don't have any say in the matter. This house you are living in is mine. I can enter whenever I wish. Now will you please step aside?”

“I will not,” she said stubbornly, beginning to close the door, only to be stopped by his jerking it away from her. She gasped, putting her hands to her throat. She began to step back away from him as he stepped across the threshold and was indeed in the close confines of the room with her. “Please. . . .” she stammered, her courage suddenly having left her. She stood, trembling, as his eyes moved around him, seeing the shabbiness in which Maria and her family lived. Could she see a glimmer of laughter in his eyes? Did he enjoy making people live in such a squalid way?

“And how do you like the house I have given your family to live in?” he asked, moving around the room, touching the few pieces of furniture that were there.

“You know that no one could enjoy living in such a way,” she said, lowering her hands to her side, circling them into two tight fists. Her hate for him was growing to such an intensity inside her that she found her courage slowly returning.

Nathan turned on a heel, reaching up to caress the thickness of his mustache. His eyes were narrow slits of gray this moment as they raked over Maria. “You don't have to live in such a manner,” he said smoothly. He tossed his hat onto Maria's father's favorite overstuffed chair, then moved toward her. “Maria, you could even move into my house with me. I've been waiting for the
likes of you for years. I know that what lies beneath that ugly attire is the body of a woman. The woman I could even take as my wife. When your father first described you to me those many months ago, I knew that you had to be what I had been waiting for. Now that I have seen you, I know this to be true.” His bony fingers reached upward and touched Maria on the cheek.

She recoiled, as though touched by a snake. But her thoughts were confused, not believing what Nathan Hawkins had just said to her. His wife . .. ? Her Papa had told him about her … ? When . . . ? Why .. . ? Her head was spinning from all that was happening. “I don't understand any of this,” she finally murmured. “You probably don't even know the meaning of the wprd ‘truth'. My Papa wouldn't tell you anything about me. And you surely can't think I could lower… . myself… to marry such a despicable person as yourself. Do you think you honor me with such a proposal?” She laughed raucously. “Your proposal makes me laugh. In no way could I .. . would I .. . ever let you touch my body. Take your words elsewhere. I don't need the likes of you. Ever.”

His eyebrows moved together in their briar-thicket thickness as his face darkened in shadows of yellow-grays. “No one speaks to Nathan Hawkins in such a way,” he snarled, taking her by the arm, jerking her to stand next to him. He reached up, grabbing her by the hair, and pulled her face down to meet his, lips searching hers out in a slick wetness, making Maria feel suddenly ill to her stomach. She began to strike out at him, then kicked him in the shins, laughing when he
jerked away from her, cursing wildly beneath his breath.

But then his cursing turned to an ugly sort of laughter. “Yes. I do like women to have fire in them,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “And, yes, you will be mine. You have no choice.”

Maria's eyes widened into two dark pools. “What do you mean?” she snapped. “No one can force me to do anything. And why aren't you after those women who wear beautiful dresses in the town of Creal Springs? Why can't you just leave me and my family alone? Don't you know that all we Italians hate you? You've made us prisoners in this country of America. Papa has told me that he can't even leave to go to another town for fear of what you might do to him. What kind of power do you hold over us all? I don't understand.”

Nathan went to a window and placed his back to Maria, letting her only now see the baldness of his head and the small curve to his narrow shoulders. He clasped his hands together behind him and said, “I have explained to you before. I have been generous enough to pay for all your passages to America. This is why you all owe me so much.” He swung around and faced Maria. “This is why you owe me. When your father asked for special favors those many months ago, describing you, his daughter, to me, asking that you have special privileges, to let you and your brother believe it was your father's money that was paying your way instead of mine, and because of your beauty and innocence, I agreed, only because I knew that you would be the one I would choose to wed. I am sick of all American women. They bore me. Your description was
all that it took to make me realize that you would be the one for me, at long last.”

Maria's face had paled. “You say . .. that you .. . planned this? From the beginning?” she whispered. “But.. . Papa .. . ?”

“He had no idea of my true intentions,” Nathan said, working with his moustache, curling its ends with the caress of a finger. “He just thought I was being generous.”

“But . . . Papa .. . ?”