After the Frost (5 page)

What the hell was she doing here? It was Sunday, for Christ's sake.
                       
*

" 'A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves . . ."'

She wouldn't even go to church for funerals, much less a Sunday service.

"'. . . stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead . . ."'

Rand felt as if the world had turned upside down. He was more stunned by this than by her unexpected visit the day before yesterday, because this was more puzzling, more unexpected. He stared at her, seeing every detail: the way the rapid fanning of the woman beside her stirred the tendrils of hair escaping from her braid, the way her shoulders shifted beneath the yellow muslin delaine, and he had the sudden urge to yank her outside and demand to know why the hell she had come to church this morning.

Then he felt Lillian's hand on his wrist. Her fingers tightened on his skin, both a warning and a comfort, and Rand forced himself to take a deep breath, to close his eyes for a moment. Gradually the pain in his head receded slightly; the preacher's words became a meaningless murmur in the back of his mind. He knew what he would see if he opened his eyes—Lillian's tight expression, the curious glances of their neighbors—and so he kept them closed. He knew it all, had lived it all before. God, he'd thought—he'd hoped—he would never have to bear it again, but here it was, and incredibly it felt just the same. Six years later, and it felt just the same.

Belle's sudden disappearance had spawned a hundred different stories, enough to fuel months of gossip. Even now sometimes in a bar or at a social, he heard low voices speculating about what had happened to Belle Sault, heard the half-admiring, half-disapproving "She was a character, all right," and saw the slow shaking of heads. As though there'd been a goddamned tragedy, he thought angrily.

Rand swallowed, trying to calm himself, to banish the guilt washing over him in heady, nauseating waves. No one knew the truth anyway. It was just another example of how skillfully Lillian had smoothed over the whole thing. He couldn't remember now the story she'd told— something about Belle living with a cousin in Philadelphia, maybe—but whatever it was, Lillian had done her best to create a seamless fiction.

Now he felt his stepmother's tension in the grip of her fingers, knew she was trying to think of how to explain the sudden reappearance of her daughter, and he wondered, a little meanly, what palatable lie she would come up with. Perhaps some tale that Belle had been held captive by Indians in the West, or maybe a story about how Belle had lost her memory. He could hear his stepmother's smiling words now:
"We thought she was lost, but then—oh, it was such a miracle—she regained her memory and came back to us!"
     

The image nearly brought a sarcastic smile, and Rand forced it away, chastening himself mentally. He owed Lillian too much to be disrespectful—even in his mind. Without her he wouldn't even know he had a child, much less have Sarah with him. If nothing else, Lillian had been there for him the last six years. Without her he never would have survived.

Rand squeezed his eyes shut, blocking from sight the yellow dress a few rows in front of him. Yes, he had Lillian to thank for Sarah, if nothing else, and because of that he would go along with the story she invented. For her sake he would pretend. For her sake he would help however he could.

Whatever it meant.

     
B
y the time Reverend Snopes wound through an hour and a half of Bible thumping, delivered the community bulletin board, and read the sick list, Belle was bored stiff. The reverend was still as dull as ever. He should be thanking God she had arrived, she thought irreverently, because at least while she was here, the congregation had a reason to stay awake.

It was the only joke she could bring herself to make. The gossipy whispers were all around her. It was all she could do to hold her head up and pretend to listen to the preacher. She heard bits and pieces, words said just loudly enough for her to hear, hastily muttered questions. "Where has she been?" "—she was in Cleveland last," "stepbrother's death—scandal—" "I heard she was a—well, you know."

She tried to close her ears, not to hear, but it was impossible. She told herself she should be used to it. They had always talked about her. Even when she lived here, she knew the things they said about her. She was too wild, too strange, too everything. It had always been like that.

Though until today it had never been mean. It was a shock to hear what they'd been saying, the lies that had been passed as truth. Suddenly in their minds she was little better than a whore.

She laughed shortly, softly. Well, maybe they'd stone her when she walked out. God knew it wouldn't be the first time someone had wanted to punish her for her sins. They could all just stand in line.

"God bless you, my friends. Keep God in your hearts this week, and I will see you next Sunday." Reverend Snopes spread his hands to encompass the entire congregation, his sleeves flapping like the wings of a fat raven. On cue, the crowd rose, the organ swelled.

Belle inhaled deeply. It was time to put her plan in action.
"Keep God in your hearts,"
the reverend had said. She hoped the crowd here remembered it.

Pasting a smile on her face, she rose and turned to face the aisle, searching for Rand and her mother.

The congregation filed by.

Not one good Christian spoke to her.

But she heard their talk, their hateful gossip, as they moved past, and she met their curious looks. Belle felt her face redden, and she raised her chin, fighting to keep her expression even. Their lack of charity surprised her, even though she knew it shouldn't. After all, she was the first to say what hypocrites churchgoing people were. Still . . .

It didn't matter. She was here only for one reason, and it wasn't to hear the sermon or make friends with the neighbors.

Then she saw Rand and Lillian hurrying out the front door, and she forgot all about gossip and godliness. Belle pushed into the crowd, ignoring the shocked gasps as she made her way up the aisle toward the back of the church. By the time she got to the front porch, groups of people were already gathered on the knoll, and she spotted Lillian among them. Rand had disappeared, and Belle felt a quick surge of relief. She only wanted to deal with one of them at a time, and Lillian was more than enough.

She took a deep breath, running down the steps and hurrying through the grass. She slowed just before she reached her mother, pushing back loose tendrils of hair and trying to look as composed as possible.

"Why, hello there, Mama," she said, smiling the broadest smile she could muster. "Miz Dumont, Miz Miller, how nice to see you both again."

The talk died. An uncomfortable silence swept the group. Ernestine Dumont and Stella Miller stared at her as if she'd just risen from the dead.

Lillian swept into action, just as Belle knew she would, but her mother's expression was stiff, her smile frozen in place. She clutched the folds of her black silk dress convulsively. "Hello, Belle. I didn't expect to see you at church today."

"Well now, I couldn't stay away." Belle smiled brightly at the two women standing beside her mother. "It's been so long since I saw everyone, I just had to pay a visit."

"It has been a long time," Ernestine Dumont's blue eyes sparkled with malice. "What has it been? Five years? Six?"

     
"Six years," Belle said. She looked at her mother. "Wouldn't you say so, Mama?"

     
Stella Miller broke in before Lillian could answer. "You never told us Belle was comin' in, Lillian," she said, her tone faintly accusing. "Why, it's such a surprise."

     
"For me too," Lillian said hastily. "I didn't know myself until yesterday."

     
"I wanted it to be a surprise," Belle said. "Mama had just been naggin' me for months to come on home, but you know how it is."

     
Stella and Ernestine murmured their assent.

     
"But I finally managed to get away—and here I am."

     
"Get away?" Ernestine said sharply. "From what, dear? We haven't heard from you in so long—we were concerned you might have fallen into trouble."

     
Lillian broke in before Belle could answer. "It hasn't been that long, Teen, really. Why, it's not as if we haven't kept in touch."

     
"Oh?" Stella frowned. "Lily, you never mentioned—"

     
"Well, of course we did," Belle lied. "I'm surprised you thought otherwise. What kind of a daughter would I be if I didn't write my mama once in a while?"

     
Both women looked discomfited. Lillian reddened.

     
"I've had several letters," she said. "Belle wrote me from—"

     
"New York," Belle supplied.

     
"Yes." Lillian's glance was begrudgingly grateful. "From New York."

     
Stella Miller looked thoughtful as she fanned herself with a small, gloved hand. "New York City? Why, Lily, I thought you told me Belle was with a cousin somewhere. I don't think you said New York, but of course that was a while ago—"

Lillian stiffened.

"You must mean Cousin Sally," Belle said, seeing her mother's surprise as she embellished Lillian's lie. "I was there for a while."

"Yes," Lillian said reluctantly. "Sally—in Philadelphia."

"Sally and I just didn't get on," Belle continued, ignoring her mother's warning glance. "You know how it is. And her husband—well, he's not much for family." She shook her head sadly, feeling a surge of amusement at their quick murmurs of understanding.

"That's such a pity," Ernestine said, her concern as false as her sympathy. "But you know, Belle, we were talking about you the other day, weren't we, Stella? We were wondering what you were up to these days. Claudia Akers thought you must have a passel of little ones running around by now."

I'll just bet that's what they were thinking. Belle forced her smile wider. "Not a passel, no," she said cheerfully.

"How long are you plannin' to visit?"

"I don't know." She plunged ahead. "In fact I was thinkin' I might just stay." She smiled at Lillian's appalled expression. "That is if you don't mind, Mama."

"No, no of course not." Lillian recovered quickly. She smiled weakly, sweeping the other two women with her glance. "We're just delighted you could come back."

"I imagine you are," Stella said drily. Her gaze was shrewd and measuring. "Belle, your mama and Rand are comin' over for dinner this afternoon. You'll join us, won't you? I mean, I assume you're stayin' at the house?"

Now. Do it now
. Belle threw a quick glance at Lillian. Her mother's face was so stiff, it looked like it might crack. The expression sent such a strong stab of satisfaction through Belle that her own smile was genuine. "Well, actually I'm stayin' in town for now. It just seemed easiest when I got in the other night. But now that I'm thinkin' I might stay awhile, I was hopin' Mama wouldn't mind if I came on home."

Lillian's brown eyes widened in shock and surprise, and Belle saw the instant protest begin on her lips. Protest that died away the moment her mother saw the avid stares of the other women. Stella Miller looked ready to pounce at the slightest word. And Ernestine Dumont wore a wicked smile on her heavy face, as if she was enjoying Lillian's obvious discomfort.

"Goodness, I can't imagine why she wouldn't," Ernestine drawled. "Why, a hotel's not only dangerous, it's unseemly."

"Absolutely," Stella put in. "I'm sure your mama would love to have you home again after so long."

The coldness in her mother's gaze went clear into Belle's bones. "I'm surprised you thought you had to ask, Belle," Lillian said slowly. "You're always welcome, you know that."

Belle suppressed a shiver. Even if no one else did, she heard the anger in her mother's carefully modulated voice. She'd heard it too many times to mistake it. There would be hell to pay later when they were alone, but now she felt a rush of triumph. She had won. Lillian could not back out now—Stella and Ernestine would not only tell everyone, they would be watching for the slightest hint that things were not as they seemed.

Belle smiled at the thought. "Thank you, Mama. I thought that might be your answer."

Chapter 5

     
S
he had trapped them neatly, Rand thought angrily, watching her from across the Millers' dining-room table. Like rabbits caught in a snare, they'd stumbled in without hesitation and now were too dumb and surprised to struggle.

He would have told her no if she'd asked him. He knew just how he would have said it—solidly, so that there was no room for misinterpretation or pleading. A quiet, forceful no. But she had not asked him, and he knew why.

She leaned back in her chair and laughed, pulling meat from a piece of chicken with strong, tanned fingers. Her eyes sparkled as she responded to something Paul Miller had said. For just a moment, deep inside him, Rand felt a spark of admiration—just a spark, and barely there, but he felt it nonetheless. If he'd been less angry, he almost could have congratulated her on the success of her plan. He was sure even this dinner was part of it—a way to charm the neighbors and lull him and Lillian into complacency. There was no doubt in his mind that what Belle really wanted was to get inside the house, to wait until they were unsuspecting and then run off with Sarah.

They'd been blithely, easily manipulated.

Or Lillian had anyway, so he was caught as well, because he would not publicly embarrass his stepmother. If he refused to let Belle stay, if he kicked her out of the house or made things so bad for her, she left, it would be gossiped about for years. It would be humiliating for Lillian, and as for him, well, he had lived through that once. He did not want to again.