Saturday's Child (13 page)

She sat there, as rigid as a board, her eyes focused on the top button of his shirt.

"You know I'd never hurt you, don't you?"

His gentle voice brought her eyes to his face and she felt some of the fear fade. This was Quentin. "Yes."

She felt a tingling sensation where his hand touched her hair, his fingers finding the pins that held it up, working them loose one by one until her hair tumbled about her shoulders.

"Do you realize we've been married nearly a week and I've yet to kiss my wife properly? Shall we remedy that omission, Katie?"

"Yes." She could hardly get the word out. His fingers had slipped beneath her hair to cup the back of her head, his free hand resting lightly against her cheek.

"Is that all you can say? Yes?" His breath brushed across her mouth as he lowered his head.

"Yes." The word was smothered by his lips. Katie's eyes fell shut, her hands coming up to clutch his shoulders as a warm tingling sensation spread over her.

He kissed her gently at first, teasing her mouth with his. Katie let her mouth soften beneath the warm pressure of the kiss. He'd kissed her at the wedding, but that had been nothing more than a light touching of lips. This was something else altogether.

He drew his head back and her eyelids lifted slowly. Quentin's eyes were dark blue, warm and questioning. He seemed to be looking for something. She couldn't guess at what it was, but she found herself regretting that the kiss had ended so soon.

She was glad when his head dipped again, her hands tightening on his shoulders, her mouth soft and welcoming. But this kiss wasn't like the first. Quentin's mouth was firmer, more demanding, but still not threatening.

She jumped, startled when his tongue came out, tracing the line of her lower lip before slipping beyond to tease at the barrier of her teeth. She quivered, her hands clenching on his shoulders.

"Open your mouth for me, Katie," he murmured against her lips, his hand still cupping her cheek. She obeyed uncertainly and his tongue slid into her mouth,-a warm invader. If she could have formed a coherent thought, she would have been astonished at the flush that ran over her body.

His tongue found hers, touching, teasing until she responded, engaging him in a soft duel as old as time. Quentin drew her closer, murmuring encouragingly as Katie relaxed deeper into his embrace.

The hand that had been at her cheek slid down her throat to her shoulder and along her arm. Katie shivered at the light touch of his fingers through the fine wool of her gown. When his hand settled at her waist, she barely noticed it, absorbed in the new sensation his kiss had sent rioting through her body.

But then his palm moved upward to rest against the side of her breast. She stiffened, wrenching her mouth away from his, her hands clenching on his shoulders. For an instant, she was back in that room beneath the eaves, a heavy frame crushing the breath from her, hard, greedy hands at her breasts.

It was an instant only. Then she focused on Quentin's face and the image faded but it was enough to shatter the moment.

"I'm sorry," she apologized before he could say anything. "I didn't mean... It wasn't you," she stammered at last,

"I know. You've nothing to apologize for."

Quentin stood up, setting her off his lap and turning away, willing his body to forget those moments when she'd responded with such passion. In his mind's eye, he could see the stark terror that had darkened her eyes for that one instant before she'd remembered where she was. He didn't ever want to see that look again.

"I'll do better," she offered, uneasy in the face of his silence.

"Katie." Her name came out on a half laugh. He turned to look at her. "This is not a test that you have to pass or I'll give you a failing mark. You didn't do anything wrong."

"It's a wife's duty—"

"If you finish that sentence, I swear I'll turn you over my knee." She glanced up at the threat, but he was smiling gently. "We're going to spend the rest of our lives together, Katie. There's no need to rush."

His body protested painfully but he ignored the primitive male voice that urged him to pull her back into his arms and erase the memories from her eyes.

"I want to be a good wife," she said, her eyes wide and earnest.

"You are a good wife." He brushed his fingers over her cheek. The kitchen was quiet for a moment and then his hand dropped and he spoke briskly, dispelling the introspective mood. "Now, if I'm to be a good husband, I'd best get back to work.

"Put your things in the bedroom. Move whatever you need to to make room. Don't argue," he said firmly, forestalling the protest he could see forming. "You'll take the bedroom and I'll sleep in the front room. For now."

He picked up his coat and slid it on before settling his hat on. "We've time enough, Katie. It won't be long before we'll share more than a name. I'm sure of that."

He bent to drop a quick kiss on her mouth and then he was gone, letting in a wave of cool air as he left. Katie hurried to the window to watch him walk toward the barn. He swung onto the horse tied waiting at the corral and rode out of the yard. She watched until he disappeared from sight behind the bulk of the barn.

Turning from the window, she stared absently at the stove. "You did better than you knew, Katie," she murmured aloud. "And if he went to San Francisco looking for a wife, then be glad that he found you."

She threw her arms out, a wide grin breaking over her face. She was home, really home for the first time in her life.

D
ear Katie,

I hope you are happy in your new home. San Francisco does not seem the same without you. Though we hadn't known each other long, I feel as though we had become dear friends. I hope you feel the same.

I was honored that you asked me to be at your wedding. Mr. Sterling seems like a good, kind man. Your brother, Colin, offered to walk me home afterward, since you had to leave immediately for the train station. I was glad to allow him to do so for it gave me the opportunity to apologize for my earlier rudeness to him.

I didn't tell you before you left but it's time I made a clean breast of my sins. That awful night when Mr. Sterling and I brought you home and your brother was there, I made the assumption that he was unemployed and allowing you to be the sole support of your small family.

I feel very badly about having done this, especially as I said some rather harsh things. Fortunately for me, Mr. McBride was quite gracious in forgiving me. I should have realized that your brother could not be other than as honest and hardworking as you are. Though I'm afraid my family would not approve of his current employment.

I am no longer seeing Mr. Johnny Kincaid. You will recall how I said that I would not marry a man who had no ambition. Unfortunately, it became clear that he was quite backward in his thinking. When he found out that I was attending Mrs. Lutmiller's Academy of Typewriting and Essential Office Skills, he was quite disturbed, feeling that a woman's place must always be in the home.

As you know, I do not share these beliefs. You mustn't think, dear Katie, that I am implying any criticism of your dreams. I know that having a home is the most important thing to you. Perhaps, had I spent my formative years traveling, as you and your brother did, I would feel the same.

To me, it is very important that I prove myself in other walks of life before settling into being a wife and mother, which is perhaps the inevitable conclusion to most paths that a woman takes.

I do believe the time is coming when females will not have to make excuses for their desire to have a career, just as men have always had. The new century is but a few years old and it seems a pity to carry on outmoded notions that linger from centuries past. There is much talk of women receiving the right to vote in the near future. I say it's hjgh time that we did so. It's time we had a say in our future.

Pray forgive me. I realize that I have been on my soapbox again, as my brothers call it. I didn't mean to go prattling on so. Please write and tell me how you are going on. Wyoming seems so very far away. Do you miss our fair city?

I didn't mention it to you when last we saw each other, for I didn't want to spoil your wedding day. But now that time has passed, I thought it might interest you to know that the Sterling household was in quite an uproar over your wedding to Mr. Sterling. Perhaps he's already told you about it.

His mother fainted dead away when he told her that he was planning to marry you and his father turned quite purple. I happened to be nearby and heard the shouting match that ensued. You'll be happy to know that your Quentin stayed very cool and told his parents that their opinion held only small interest for him. He said that he was marrying a fine woman and was proud that you'd consented to be his wife.

I was so moved by his sincerity that I was hard-pressed to resist the urge to applaud, which would have been quite indiscreet of me.

I see I've rattled on far too long, as usual. Please write soon and know that I miss you.

Your true friend, Edith

P.S.: Could you perhaps send me your brother's favorite recipe as he will be coming to dinner a week Thursday. I thought perhaps he might be lonely now that you are gone. As your friend, it seemed the least I could do was to offer him a meal. I knew you would want to know how he goes on.

❧

Katie refolded the letter thoughtfully and slipped it back in the envelope. So, Quentin's parents had been furious that he was to marry her. She wasn't surprised to hear it, though Quentin had never breathed a word to her. All he'd said was that they had some doubts. But when they didn't attend the wedding of their only son, it was not hard to guess that "doubts" was putting it mildly.

Quentin had defended her. It was a pleasant thought, particularly since, lately, his temper had been uncertain at best. She might be Innocent, but she was no fool and she had a pretty good idea of what might be making him so testy but she didn't know what to do about it.

The memories of Joseph's attack had faded to the level of an unpleasant dream. Quentin now filled her thoughts. But how could she tell him that? It would seem as if she were asking him to consummate their marriage, a bold move she couldn't bring herself to make.

She sighed, tucking the letter into a drawer, leaning against the dresser for a moment, looking out the window. The last of the snow had melted, turning the yard into a sea of mud that challenged her to keep the floors clean. But she didn't see mud when she looked out the window. She saw rows of young plants, vegetables burgeoning with fruits and flowers turning bright faces to the sun.

It would take more than a few short weeks to make the dream a reality but she'd made a start on it. Joe had helped her to prepare the vegetable garden and she'd planted rows of peas and greens, tucking in flowers here and there. And beside the front door, she'd had him dig two holes, in which she'd proudly planted American Beauty rosebushes, ordered from a catalog and come all the way from Pennsylvania.

When Quentin had seen them, he'd shaken his head. "They're not likely to survive the first winter, Katie."

She put up her chin. Roses by the door were a part of her dream and she was going to have them. "Then I'll plant them again."

"It's your time," he said, shrugging. "We can give them some protection in the fall and perhaps they'll make it through to spring."

So she had her roses and her house and her garden. The only thing she didn't have was her husband. But surely that would come in time.

Shaking her head, she knelt to open the bottom drawer of the dresser, hoping to find room for a few small mementoes—playbills, her mother's wedding ring, a tassel from the first costume she'd ever worn on stage. That life was behind her, but there were sweet memories there.

The drawer opened only partway before it jammed on something inside. Clicking her tongue in exasperation, Katie worked her hand into the narrow opening and managed to get her fingers on top of the offending object, pressing it down while she pulled the drawer open with the other hand. It came open suddenly, so that she almost tumbled backward.

Brushing her hair back from her eyes, she looked into the drawer, which Quentin seemed to have been using as a catchall for things he couldn't decide what to do with. A broken straight razor, a watch fob with a broken link in the chain, a box of shotgun shells and several other things she couldn't identify.

The item that had caused the problem was a picture frame that had been laid facedown on top of the drawer. Curious, she picked it up and turned it over, expecting perhaps a family portrait.

A lovely young woman looked up at her. She was a year or two older than Katie, with soft skin and wide set eyes that held a sweet expression. She was beautiful, not just in the set of her eyes or the line of her jaw but with an inner beauty that seemed to shine out of her, overcoming the limitations of the camera.

In flowing script across the bottom of the picture was written: So you'll never forget. With love, Your fiancee Alice.

Katie sat on the floor staring at the picture. So Quentin had been engaged to this beautiful young woman. And he'd loved her. She didn't doubt that for a moment. No one could plan to marry this woman and not love her. The thought made her heart ache and her fingers tightened over the silver frame.

"Katie?" Quentin's voice called from the kitchen. She scrambled to her feet, the picture still clutched in her hands. She could hear his boot heels on the floor and she glanced around, looking for someplace to hide the picture. But the open drawer at her feet would have told the tale.

"Katie?" Quentin stepped into the bedroom—the bedroom he so rarely entered when she was present.

"Could you—" He broke off when he saw her standing in front of the dresser, the drawer open at her feet, the picture clutched in front of her. From the look that came into his eyes, she knew that he recognized the frame.

"What are you doing?"

"I was just looking for a place to put some things of mine." She heard the guilty note in her voice and stopped, reminding herself that she had nothing to feel guilty about. He hadn't said anything about the drawer being private. In fact, he'd told her to move anything she wanted. She lifted her chin. "I didn't mean to pry."

"I know." He crossed the room and took the picture from her, staring down at it without speaking. Since he didn't seem angry, she ventured the question that burned in her chest.

"Who was she?"

"Alice," he answered, his tone absent. For a moment, it seemed as if he thought that explained everything but then he continued. "Our families were close. We knew each other since childhood. We were engaged."

"Did you love her very much?" She had to ask the question, though she knew the answer could only cause pain.

Quentin nodded slowly, his eyes still on the photograph. "Yes, I did."

The answer settled like hot coal in her chest, making it painful to draw a breath. She hadn't needed the words—the way he was looking at the picture said more than words could ever hope to do.

"What happened?" she asked, needing to know.

"She died," he said simply. "She died and I wished I had died, too."

Perhaps Katie's indrawn breath reminded him who he was talking to. Perhaps it struck him that discussing his fiancee with his wife—albeit in name only— was not proper. Or perhaps the memories were simply too painful to dwell on.

He shook his head suddenly, glancing up at her. Maybe she was a better actress than she'd thought, for he didn't seem to notice anything in her expression.

"It's all a long time ago. I'd forgotten where this picture was." His tone made it clear that the subject was closed. Still carrying the picture, he turned and left. Katie didn't move until she heard the kitchen door close behind him. Then she only moved to the bed to sit down. Vaguely, she wondered what he'd come in for, why he'd called her name.

Alice. Even her name was lovely. The same as President's Roosevelt's daughter. Aristocratic, elegant. A woman from his own world. A woman his family would have welcomed.

Katie wrapped her arms around her stomach as if that could somehow cushion the pain. It didn't matter how often she reminded herself that love had never been part of this marriage bargain she'd made, there was still the small foolish part of her that kept dreaming.

The photograph had left those dreams lying in tatters, had shown her how foolish she was to think that he'd ever come to love her.