Come Be My Love (22 page)

Jon gazed off toward the bay and released an extended sigh. "Sometimes I feel at a loss as to how to handle the girls. They're each so different: Josephine so strong-willed and assertive, and Louella quite the opposite."

"Like her mother?" Sarah asked.

Eyes narrowed with disdain, Jon replied, "No, not like her mother."

So, Jon's wife had committed adultery, and he was still bitter. "What was your wife like?" she ventured, curious about the woman with whom Jon had fathered two children.

Jon's eyes sharpened. "She was a beautiful, charming, well-bred bitch."

Sarah was shocked by his choice of words. "Why did you marry her?"

"Because I was a fool."

"Then why did you stay with her?"

"Because she was the mother of my daughters."

"Yes, I suppose that would be a reason to stay," Sarah said inanely, since it was evident Jon didn't want to discuss his dead wife.

After a long pause, Jon said, "I don't want you coming to the waterfront anymore."

Sarah planted her hands on her hips. "You cannot tell me what I can and cannot do. That is precisely what I was trying to point out to you after the city council meeting."

"Well, someone better tell you or you're libel to get yourself
 
kidnapped."

"I hardly think I'd be kidnapped in broad daylight with so many people around."

"That's where you're wrong." Jon's face darkened. "Yesterday a woman disappeared in the middle of the day. That's why I was concerned about Josephine."

"Well, I had nothing to do with that."

"Besides the fact that she's in awe of you and will do anything you do."

"That's just not so. And I refuse to stand here defending myself for something over which I had no control," Sarah said. "And now, for the very reasons I walked out of the room the other day, I would like you to leave."

Jon lapsed into thoughtful silence. "Well, I've been thinking about that."

Thinking, hell! He'd been obsessed with it. The fact was, Sarah swept him off his feet like Caroline had. And like Caroline, she too renounced a woman's place in the home. But there were also differences. Sarah was perceptive and altruistic compared to Caroline's taxing self-indulgence. And Sarah was deeply intense compared to Caroline's frivolous superficiality. Caroline would have considered Sarah boorish and uncultured. But he found her charming...

He took her hand and drew her around behind her wagon and gathered her against him, and said, "I've missed doing this." He tipped her face up and covered her mouth with his in a long, lingering kiss.

But after a few moments, Sarah pulled his arms from around her, and said, "Not here. Harriet Galbraith might see us. She was just over there." She pointed toward the
Revelation
, and to her shock, saw Hollis and Tyler standing on the prow talking to Reverend Galbraith. She hadn't heard from them since the day Mandi found the note. Seeing them now made her stomach knot. "What do you suppose they're up to?" she asked.

"Maybe they took what I said to heart and plan to go to the goldfields."

Sarah looked at him, curious. "On
The Revelation
?"

"It's a mission ship," Jon explained. "Reverend Galbraith preaches to the miners." He stared at the ship for a few moments, then said, with concern, "I hope those bloody bastards go with it because I’ll be in Westminster next week, and I don't like the idea of them hanging around. But as soon as I get back, I'll be over to see you. We need to talk, and other things."

"No," Sarah said quickly. If he came to her with roses and kisses and words of endearment there was no question how she'd respond.

"Yes," Jon said. "I
will
be over." He squeezed her hand, mounted his horse and left.

"No..." Sarah called after him. But she knew there was no way she could stop him. He was a man who went after what he wanted, and he'd made it clear, he wanted her.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Josephine hastily tucked
Madame Bovary
under her mattress as the sound of footsteps in the hallway drew closer. Quickly, she reached for the piece of embroidery she'd been working on during the past week. Ever since she'd started reading about the shockingly exciting affair of Madame Bovary, painstakingly in the French she'd learned at Madame Pettibeau's, her progress on the embroidery had almost ceased. At least the book made the hours of her after-school confinement pass more quickly. That old shrew, Harriet Galbraith, had delighted in the chance to notify her grandmother about the incident on the waterfront. And her grandmother immediately told her father. But what ultimately got her confined to her room was Madame Pettibeau’s threat to have her expelled if one more incident occurred, which was untimely. One more day and her father would have been away on business. But in one week, she'd be able to resume her after-school activities—a small price to pay for the excitement she'd felt on addressing the women at the waterfront about having the right to vote.

Glancing up from her embroidery, she saw Louella standing in the doorway, hands behind her back, an excited look on her face. The portent of another of Louella's secrets. Louella glanced up and down the hallway before stepping into the room, and saying in a hushed voice,
 
"I'll tell you something if you promise you won't tell Papa or Grandmother."

Josephine shrugged. "I won't tell. What is it?"

Louella tiptoed over to the bed, her hands still behind her back, and said, "Millie
O'Shaunessey
asked me over to her house, and I told her I'd come."

Josephine looked at Louella in alarm. "You can't go there," she said. "Her father's a drunkard. And besides, Papa has forbidden you to go." She realized there were other things about Mr.
O'Shaunessey
that Louella wasn't aware of: that he beat his wife, and that he'd taken improper liberties with Millie, although she wasn't sure what that meant. She'd only heard it from Jenny Barker, who'd heard it from Emily Norton. But whatever it was, it was dreadfully bad.

Louella's eyes darkened. "Millie's father is not a drunkard," she countered. "Millie says he only drinks because he has a bad leg and it sometimes hurts."

Josephine started to tell Louella about the improper liberties, but deciding that being an imbiber was probably worse, she focused on that issue. "Mr.
O'Shaunessey
hurt his leg falling down the stairs of a saloon. Everybody knows that. And everybody also knows he's a drunkard."

"Well, they're wrong," Louella insisted. "And I
am
going to visit Millie. I plan to tell Ida that I'm going over to see Clarissa, so if Papa or Grandmother should ask where I am, you tell them the same thing."

Josephine gave Louella a sharp look. "Millie's father
is
a drunkard. Besides, if you go near the waterfront where Millie lives, you might get kidnapped like those other women."

"No, I won't. I heard Ida tell Esther that all the women were bad women and that so far no respectable women have disappeared. So I'm not worried."

"Well, if you go, I'm going to tell Papa, because you shouldn't be over there."

Louella shot Josephine a smoldering look. "You promised you wouldn't tell."

"I did not. I
said
I wouldn't tell. I didn't promise."

Louella pressed her lips into an angry slash. "Well, if you tell, I'll show Papa this." She held Josephine's scrapbook just out of Josephine's reach.

"Give me that, you sneaky little snake." Josephine jumped up and rushed after Louella.

Louella darted around the bed. "Not unless you swear not to tell about my going to Millie's."

Josephine jumped onto the bed and marched across the mattress in bouncing strides, hoping to corner Louella. But Louella ducked under Josephine's arm. Panic-stricken at the thought that her precious scrapbook might fall into the wrong hands, Josephine grabbed Louella's arm, ripping her sleeve. "You know what Papa said about going through my things. Give me my scrapbook or I'll—"

“You’ll what?” Louella dashed around the bed. "If you want it back, you'd better promise you won't tell or I'll give it to Papa and you'll never see it again."

"Give it to me!" Josephine lunged after Louella, who scurried across the bed, jumped down with a thump, and rushed for the hall, meeting her grandmother headlong in the doorway.

Dorothy Cromwell's eyes shifted between the girls. "What on earth is going on?" She noted that Louella was holding something behind her back. "What is that?"

"Nothing," Louella said.

Dorothy held out her hand. "May I please have it?"

"No!" exclaimed Louella. Her face went ashen and her lips quivered. "I mean... it's nothing."

Dorothy stared at Louella. "It is not like you to be disobedient,"' she said, "so obviously, whatever you are holding behind your back is vital. You girls were engaged in a most unladylike fracas moments ago. And the sleeve of your dress is torn quite raggedly, Louella. Must I call your father?"

"He's home?"

"Yes, he just walked in the door. And this is a most unpleasant way to greet him, after being away all week. Now, give me whatever it is you are holding."

Louella handed her the scrapbook, shot a penitent glance toward Josephine and hung her head. Dorothy perused the clippings. "I assume this is yours, Josephine?"

Josephine slumped her shoulders. "Yes, ma'am."

Dorothy snapped the cover of the scrap book shut and tucked it under her arm.

"What are you going to do with it?" Josephine asked, her brow gathering in a worried frown.

“Give it to your father. He can decide. Louella, change your dress. And Josephine, I suggest you work harder on your stitchery. It's progressing dreadfully slowly."

"Yes, ma'am," Josephine replied, lowering herself to the bed and picking up her embroidery.

Dorothy closed the door and immediately sent Ida to summon Jon and Esther to meet her in her chambers, where she waited for the others.

Esther was first to arrive. "You wanted to see me, Mother?" she asked, appearing in the doorway wearing a pair of black bloomers and a gingham overtunic with black lace cuffs.

Dorothy stared in shocked surprise. "Go remove those trousers at once!"

"No, Mother, I will not," Esther replied. "They are practical and comfortable. I can move about unrestricted like this—" she squatted to a crouch, rose onto her toes, and stooped several times "—and I don't have to wear a corset or drag around layers of petticoats. Besides, I'm only wearing my bloomer costume in the privacy of our home."

Dorothy snapped open her fan and fluttered it furiously. "Those trousers—"

"Bloomers."

"That garment you are wearing is obscene, and I insist you change your clothes at once."

"I am long beyond childhood, Mother," Esther said, "and quite capable of making my own decisions. And I choose to wear bloomers in the privacy of our home."

Dorothy glared at her. "Has everyone in this house been bedeviled by the Ashley woman?"

"Oh for pity's sake!" Esther said. "You sound like Harriet Galbraith. Sarah opened our eyes to other options, and although you refuse to admit it, she opened Jon's eyes to other options too."

"I hope you're not implying what I think," Dorothy said, her lips quivering in dismay.

"I mean exactly that," Esther said. "Mary Letitia Windemere may be your choice of a wife for Jon, but the simple fact is, Jon has his eyes on—"

"Did someone mention my name?" Jon strolled into the room, smiling as he regarded Esther's bloomer costume. He'd never thought he'd see the day she'd stand up to their mother. But moments before, he'd heard her most definitely hold her ground. Somehow, by wearing that silly bloomer outfit, she'd also gained courage. He liked that in Esther. She'd been far too long under the domination of their mother.

Esther returned his smile, and in her eyes he saw the glint of chicanery. "I was just telling mother that Sarah has opened our eyes to other options." Her smile widened. "Don't you agree?"

Jon contemplated Esther's remark. Sarah had indeed opened his eyes to other options. He was obsessed with wanting her in his bed. Marriage was not the answer though. She was opposed to that state as much as he. Which left mistress, though their alliance would have to be carefully guarded from the girls. But he could not reconcile himself to the fact that she was everything a mistress should not be—headstrong, independent, in no way subservient. The fact that she didn't like cooking or stitchery or the other trifles most women enjoyed was irrelevant because once she was initiated into the rites of womanhood, she would attend to another, infinitely more important duty most satisfactorily...

Dorothy offered the scrapbook. "Is this the sort of thing you want your daughter to read?"

Jon took the book and scanned the clippings, surprised at how meticulously they had been pasted. "Would you prefer she read Madame Bovary?" he asked, and looked up to find his mother's face flushed. "Don't look so surprised, Mother. Esther and I know you have the book hidden around here somewhere. We even knew when you were reading it."

Dorothy flipped her fan back and forth. "I merely perused it to learn what all the hubbub was about. But that has nothing to do with Josephine's recent behavior. Not only was she severely reprimanded by Madame
Pettibeau
for taking part in that disgraceful woman's assemblage—"

"It was not an assemblage. It was a gathering of women interested in buying garments," Jon corrected, then realized he was defending both Josephine and Sarah, in an offhanded way.

Dorothy slapped the fan against the folds of her gown. "That's irrelevant! The fact is, this scrapbook, which has unquestionably influenced Josephine's absurd fancies, was given to her by Miss Ashley, who is therefore responsible for your daughter's audacious conduct. And I trust you'll confront Josephine about the book and take appropriate disciplinary action."

"I scarcely see how Josephine's keeping a scrapbook warrants further disciplinary action," Jon said. "She's already been confined to her room for a week now and she still has another week to go. I can't keep her there indefinitely."

"Well, it's imperative that you do something to curb her brazen ways. I should hope you'd also confront Miss Ashley about sharing with Josephine such rubbish as in this scrapbook."

Jon closed the book and tucked it under his arm. Yes, he'd confront Sarah. Until now, she'd almost convinced him she hadn't attempted to influence Josephine with her liberal philosophy when, in fact, she had been doing exactly that, methodically and secretively. But following that confrontation, and after he and Sarah had a talk about their opposing views on what a woman should or should not do, he had something else in store for Miss Sarah Ashley from San Francisco. Ah, yes... what he had in store for her...

***

The indecent thoughts were back. Just contemplating Jon's return brought heat rushing up Sarah's face along with a vision of Jon doing all the things he'd described. She’d added her own touches too, lustful imaginings no decent woman should have, like stretching out naked on the bed while Jon looked at her. All of her. And she wouldn't cover herself. She'd just lie there staring dreamily up at him and smiling while he feasted his eyes on her bare body, or flicked the tip of his tongue over the crests of her... Oh, my goodness!

She set the scissors down and dabbed her brow and cheeks with a swatch of poplin. Picking up the scissors again, she continued cutting out the pattern...

And Jon's lips would suckle her toes and begin making their way up her calf… over her knee... along her thigh and up... And he'd look at her
there
...

The insistent ache started again. She blotted her damp forehead with the back of her hand and attempted to finish cutting the pattern. Her hand paused...

And then Jon’s hands would...

She shook the scissors from her fingers, loosened several buttons of her overtunic and fanned her face with the poplin. Today, Jon was supposed to get back from New Westminster, and fighting him off was the farthest thing from her mind.

A carriage rumbled to a halt out front. She dashed to the window and saw Mandi climbing out of Wellington Brown's phaeton. She looked concerned. Sarah met her on the porch. "Is something wrong?"

"There
sho
' is," Mandi said, breathless. "Wellington heard some men
talkin
' about smuggling rum, and he also heard them say your name."

Sarah stepped back to let Mandi pass. "Who were they?"

Mandi shrugged. "Wellington didn't know. He'd never seen '
em
before."

"Well, there's no reason why my name should be linked with smugglers. Wellington must have heard wrong."

"No," Mandi insisted. "He was in the shed behind the store and he heard the men say your name all right, real clear. You'd best tell the
guv'nor
and the police."

"I'm sure I am in no danger of being accosted by smugglers," Sarah said, certain that Mandi had misconstrued what Wellington relayed to her. "But if it'll relieve your mind, I'll mention it to Jon. Meanwhile, you'd best get on back and tend the display table. Have you made any more sales or taken any orders?"