Reckless Desire (13 page)

Frank’s reminder made Mary blush. It was true. Many of the men in their circle of acquaintances did flirt with her, complimenting her, teasing her, making outrageous proposals and promises of undying love. She had little experience with such things and usually stammered and blushed like a schoolgirl. Still, it was flattering to have nice-looking men of good breeding flirt and laugh and tease her.

She had never thought much of her looks before, but now, sitting at her dressing table as she prepared for bed, she realized she was attractive. Her hair was thick and long, a rich brown in color. Her mouth was well-shaped, her nose small and straight, her brows delicate and gently arched. Her eyes were her best feature. They were a clear gray, brimming with laughter and a zest for life.

She smiled as Frank came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Tired?” he asked.

“A little,” Mary admitted. She closed her eyes as Frank began to massage the back of her neck. Gradually his hands moved to her shoulders and then around to her breasts and then, as she gave a little gasp, he picked her up and carried her to bed.

Later, Mary wondered if she would ever grow to enjoy Frank’s lovemaking. She knew it was supposed to be pleasant. On the night before her wedding, her mother and Vickie had made a few veiled references to the joys a woman could find in the arms of her husband, hinting that the act of love could be beautiful and wonderful. Mary had not found it so. Her wedding night had not been what she had hoped for. Frank had been eager to bed her, and for Mary the act had been quick and unsatisfying, even a little embarrassing. Frank had seemed pleased, however, and he made love to her frequently. Mary enjoyed the closeness of being held in Frank’s arms, but she never really enjoyed the act itself. It never occurred to her that Frank might be at fault; instead, she wondered if there were something wrong with her, some flaw that kept her from finding fulfillment in her husband’s embrace.

As the days passed, Mary began to be troubled without knowing why. The people around her were always laughing and happy. They seemed to have no cares, no worries other than what to wear, what to buy, or what party to attend. The women were vivacious, the men charming, and yet they all seemed to be searching for some elusive magic that would bring them true and lasting happiness.

Sometimes Mary felt that she was searching for it, too. At first she bought a new dress or something for the house whenever she felt depressed, but new things soon lost their charm and the emptiness she felt inside remained.

In time she realized that it was her marriage to Frank that was lacking. She had hoped that she and Frank would have the same kind of marriage her parents had. She wanted to experience the same feelings of love and companionship and caring that her parents felt for one another, that sense of security and strength that was always there no matter what troubles came their way.

Because she wanted her marriage to succeed, Mary made every effort to please Frank. She prepared his favorite foods, entertained his friends, laughed at his jokes, wore her hair in the style he preferred. She learned to play golf because he enjoyed the game, even though she thought it somewhat silly and a waste of time.

One of Frank’s friends began paying more attention than usual to Mary. His name was Robert Hellman. He was a man in his early thirties with light brown hair, blue eyes, and a trim moustache. He was quite wealthy, having made several shrewd investments in railroad stock.

At parties Robert invariably found his way to Mary’s side, insisting politely on several dances. Sometimes he took her outside for a walk through the gardens, his hand at her elbow, his eyes seeking hers.

At first Mary tried to avoid Robert, but as Frank became more and more involved in other pursuits, Mary found Robert’s attention soothing to her hurt pride. Perhaps her own husband no longer found her attractive or interesting, but Robert did.

They were at a birthday party several weeks later when Robert made his intentions known. The party was for one of Frank’s wealthy clients, and it was the most lavish affair Mary had ever attended. She wore a white-on-white silk gown with a square neck and long, tight-fitting sleeves. Tiny seed pearls were sewn around the neck of the dress and woven into the design on the bodice. It was the most elegant gown Mary had ever owned, and she felt like a fairy princess as they entered the Singleton mansion. But, once inside, she felt like a moth in a garden of butterflies. The gowns the other women wore were breathtaking. Fine silks and satins adorned with glittering jewels. The women wore diamonds and emeralds around their necks, on their wrists, on their fingers, in their hair. The men wore finely tailored suits with silk cravats, gaudy diamond or sapphire stick pins, solid gold watch fobs and chains.

Mary felt overwhelmed at the sight of so much wealth, and totally out of her element. At dinner she was careful not to spill anything on her gown, or on the elegant French lace tablecloth. The food was excellent, tender roast pork, tiny squab in rich sauce, thick steaks, turkey with all the trimmings, four kinds of vegetables, three kinds of potatoes, a variety of salads, rolls, and hot biscuits.

Mary ate until she was stuffed, and all the while she was conscious of Robert sitting across from her, his eyes openly adoring.

There was a lull after dinner. The men adjourned to the parlor for brandy and cigars while the women went into the solarium for sherry, or went upstairs to freshen their makeup and gossip.

At ten the orchestra began to play. Mary danced the first waltz with Frank. He was having a wonderful time, she could tell, and seemed excited about a business deal he was on the verge of signing with one of the guests.

Mary danced several dances with other men, some who were familiar to her, some who were not. And then Robert came to claim her for a dance.

“You look ravishing this evening,” he said as he waltzed her around the dance floor. “Your perfume is divine, and that dress makes you look like an angel.”

“Thank you,” Mary murmured.

“None of the women here tonight can hold a candle to your beauty,” Robert went on, his arm drawing her closer.

Mary laughed self-consciously. “Oh, Robert, how you do run on.”

“But it’s true!” he declared passionately. “They’re all painted and powdered like porcelain dolls, but your beauty is real and comes from inside.”

“Robert,” Mary protested, though inwardly she was pleased. It was nice to know that someone thought she was pretty. Frank had not even mentioned her new gown or commented on how she looked. Perhaps he was disappointed in her.

When the dance was over, Robert took Mary’s arm and escorted her out the side door into the garden. It was a lovely night, warm and balmy. The scent of roses permeated the air with sweet perfume as they walked down a narrow garden path lit with colorful Japanese lanterns. Mary paused to admire a bush that was thick with dark red flowers.

“Aren’t they lovely?” she mused. “They look like red velvet.”

“Your beauty makes them look like weeds,” Robert vowed, and pulling Mary into his arms, he kissed her deeply, passionately. She was so beautiful, so desirable, and she was wasted on that husband of hers. He had wanted to declare his feelings for her before, but he had cautioned himself to be patient. She was young and inexperienced. He did not want to frighten her.

Shocked, Mary twisted out of Robert’s arms, her cheeks flaming with righteous indignation. “Robert! What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m sorry, Mary,” he said contritely. “Please forgive me.”

“Very well,” Mary replied, flustered. “Please don’t let it happen again.”

“I love you, Mary,” Robert said fervently. “I know you aren’t happy with Frank. I’ve seen the way you look at him, and I know how he’s hurting you, how often he leaves you alone.”

Mary did not deny it. What was the point in lying? Everyone knew that Frank had a wandering eye, and though Mary was certain that Frank had never been physically unfaithful to her, it hurt to know he was looking at other women and finding them attractive.

“Leave him, Mary,” Robert said. “Come away with me. I’ll make you happy, I swear it.”

“Robert, please don’t say anymore. I’m a married woman and I love my husband. You should not be saying these things, and I should not be listening.”

“Do you?” Robert asked in disbelief. “Do you really love him?”

“Yes.” She spoke the word with assurance, yet deep inside she wondered if it were still true.

“Are you certain, Mary? I’m a wealthy man. I can give you anything you want, anything you need. I know we could be happy together if you’ll give us a chance.”

Mary shook her head. She was touched by Robert’s declaration and she was fond of him, but she was a married woman. She had promised to be faithful to her husband. It was not an oath she had taken lightly.

“I’m sorry, Robert. You’ve been a good friend, but I don’t think we should see each other anymore. Good night.”

Mary tried doubly hard to make her marriage work after that. She danced less with other men, she tried to be cheerful and understanding when Frank came home after a hard day at the office, she endeavored to persuade Frank to stay home more often, but all was in vain. Frank didn’t want to stay home. He liked going out, liked being seen with important people. It was good for business, he said.

As the days passed, it became harder and harder to smile and pretend that everything was fine when it wasn’t. When her two best friends, Christy and Stacey, came to call, it was hard to chat about the latest fashions and coiffures from Paris, or the new play at the theater, when her heart was breaking. Indeed, it seemed as if all the joy had gone out of life. Like champagne that had been left out too long, Mary felt dull and lifeless. She missed Robert. She had thought of him as a good friend, nothing more, and his vow of love had been unexpected and disturbing, putting an end to their friendship.

They had been married only five months when Mary began to suspect she was pregnant. Frank was disappointed when she told him the news. He liked going out every night, liked being carefree, able to run off to a party on a moment’s notice. A baby would tie them down.

Mary was hurt by Frank’s lack of enthusiasm. She was looking forward to having a baby. Indeed, she longed to have several.

As her pregnancy grew more advanced, she and Frank began to quarrel. He wanted to go out on the town and have a good time, but Mary was too self-conscious about her expanding girth. Most women did not go out much when they were expecting, preferring to remain closeted at home until the baby was born.

When Frank started going out alone, Mary felt as though she had been discarded and abandoned. It was his child she was carrying, after all. Why couldn’t he stay home and keep her company?

She cried many bitter tears in the days ahead. She was lonely and unhappy and she began to wish they had never left Bear Valley. They had been happy there. Perhaps if they had not come to Chicago they would be happy still. Frank had changed since coming here. He was so caught up in the glamour and excitement of their new friends that he had little time for a pregnant wife who could not go out dancing all night long.

As time passed, Mary began to hear rumors that Frank was having an affair with the daughter of one of Chicago’s wealthiest men. She refused to believe it. Frank might enjoy flirting, but he would never be disloyal to her. Women who were supposed to be her friends couldn’t wait to tell her the latest bit of juicy gossip.

“I knew you’d want to know,” they said.

Or, “I wouldn’t dream of telling you this, but we’re such good friends…”

Mary told herself over and over again that it was all a lie, until the morning she picked up the newspaper and saw a picture of her husband dancing with Caroline Sinclair at a fundraising dinner in one of Chicago’s swank nightclubs.

Mary stared at the picture for a long time, her heart aching with such pain she was certain it would shatter within her breast. It was not a particularly clear photograph, but Mary could see the way her husband was gazing into Caroline’s eyes, the look of adoration on his face, the way his arm held her a little too close. This was no casual flirtation, Mary thought, no innocent friendship.

She cried all that day. Locked in her bedroom, she let the tears flow freely. Frank had been unfaithful to her. She had left her home and family to spend her life with him. She was carrying his child beneath her heart.

Fresh tears welled in her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks. How could he hold their marriage vows so cheaply? How could he hold her and say he loved her when he was seeing someone else? How would she ever trust him again?

She cried until she had no tears left, and then she sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly out the window. She felt empty, numb, as if a part of her had died. Frank had been unfaithful to her. Frank loved someone else. Frank had lied to her.

She was quiet at dinner that night, hardly touching her food. Perhaps she had been mistaken. Perhaps she shouldn’t say anything and the whole dreadful mess would just go away.

And then Frank said, oh so casually, that he was going to the club that night, and suddenly Mary found herself screeching at him, her hurt and anger rushing out in a torrent of hot words and bitter tears.

Frank did not deny her accusations. Kneeling beside her, he took her hands in his and begged for her understanding and forgiveness.

“It will never happen again, Mary, I swear it,” Frank vowed. “I love you. I know I’ve hurt you terribly and I’m sorry. It was all a mistake. She doesn’t mean anything to me, I swear it.”

And because she loved him, Mary believed him.

Frank stayed home nights after that, and Mary was content. They read the latest novels together, played cards, occasionally had a few friends in for dinner.

Mary’s child was born on June 3, 1899, at three o’clock in the morning. It was a girl, with straight black hair, tawny skin, and dark blue eyes that were almost black.

Frank stared at the baby, a look of dismay on his face. “It’s Indian,” he said flatly.

“I’m Indian,” Mary said, cradling her daughter closer to her breast. “Had you forgotten?”