Every Perfect Gift (15 page)

“No, I’m not.” He paused and gazed directly into her face. Summer insects hummed and chirped in the grass. “Can I ask you something?”

“Certainly.”

“That first day you came to my office for that interview, I
was struck by your resemblance to my mother’s family. They were mostly from Italy. I’m wondering if you are too.”

Her heart thudded in her chest. Italy? Is that what he thought? She’d spent most of her life dodging questions about her heritage, pretending that the persistent rumors of her African ancestry didn’t exist. She’d long ago become accustomed to doing what it took to have a chance at a decent life.

But this was different. This was personal.

Sophie fanned her face, willing the truth to come but unable to speak it. Deceit was wrong and she knew it, yet she heard herself saying, “I’m Italian and French, we think. My parents both died when I was young.”

“Then we have that in common.” Ethan’s smile was gentle. A wave of guilt and fear engulfed her, washing away all the enchantment of the evening. She had told a lie, plain and simple, and one day she would have to answer for it. She gazed past Ethan’s shoulder to the line of carriages and rigs standing beneath the portico. The party was breaking up.

She rose. “I’ve had a wonderful evening, the best evening of my life, but I should go. Will you call for the carriage?”

“In a minute.” He caught her hand and drew her close. “Ah, Sophie.”

In the flickering candlelight his gaze softened and her pulse jumped. Ethan wanted to kiss her. She wanted it too. Something in the way he held her when they danced, the way he looked at her as if he could see past all her defenses, connected with her heart in a way she didn’t understand. But she couldn’t let it happen. A kiss promised something—a future perhaps. And how could they possibly have a future now?

She pulled away. “Please, I must go.”

He dropped her hand and stepped away. “I’ve offended you.”

“No, I—”

“No need to explain. It’s my fault. I misread your feelings and I apologize.” He offered his arm. “Come. I’ll get the carriage.”

Wordlessly he led her along the path to the portico and signaled the doorman.

Carrie Rutledge hurried over, her small jeweled reticule dangling from one arm. “Sophie, I’m so sorry we didn’t have a chance to visit tonight. Wasn’t this party grand?”

Sophie forced a smile for Ada’s old friend. “Very grand. I’ve never seen so much food in all my born days.”

“Me either. Griff said it reminded him of parties his parents hosted when he was a boy in Charleston. I myself came from much more humble stock. But they say it isn’t where you came from that’s important; it’s where you’re going. Don’t you agree?”

Sophie nodded. Where was that infernal carriage? But the line moved slowly as the guests said their good-byes. Ethan stood a little apart from the others, talking with the Gilmans.

“Are you all right?” Carrie asked. “You seem upset.”

“I’m fine. A little tired. And I still have some writing to do when I get home.”

Carrie laughed. “You’re just like my husband. Griff can always think of ten things that need doing at the end of the day. Oh, here’s our rig.” She kissed Sophie on both cheeks. “Don’t be such a stranger, my dear. I’d love to have you visit whenever you can spare the time. Promise me you’ll come for tea one day soon.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Carrie got into the Rutledges’ rig and tucked her voluminous skirt around her. Griff nodded to Sophie, picked up the reins, and drove away.

“Here’s your carriage.” Ethan motioned to Sophie and helped her inside. “I hope you had a good time,” he said, his voice stiff, “despite my behavior in the garden.”

“Please, you mustn’t think—”

He rapped sharply on the carriage door and called up to the driver, “The Verandah, Silas.”

She turned around on the seat and watched Ethan walk away. Tears pricked her eyes. Despite the long day, her conscience wouldn’t let her sleep tonight. Well, she deserved an unquiet mind after the untruth she’d just told Ethan. But his question had come from nowhere, leaving her unprepared. As had her strong feelings for him.

Oh Lord, what shall I do now?

In Texas everyone had assumed she was like the Caldwells because that was what Ada and Wyatt thought best. It hadn’t felt like lying—not really. And last year, in New Orleans for the Exposition, she’d noticed dark-skinned white people mingling with light-skinned Africans and folks of every ilk, and no one seemed to give it a second thought. But such was not the case everywhere. And clearly not with Ethan.

She couldn’t forget the thunderous expression on Ethan’s face, the loud exchange with his visitor last night, and the pained look on the olive-skinned stranger’s face as he passed her in the hall. And she understood all too well the reason for Ethan’s question about her family.

He wanted to know whether her blood was pure.

Well, what did she know for certain? Everyone at the orphanage assumed she was of mixed blood and treated her as such. Caught between two worlds and belonging to neither, she would have continued as an outcast if not for the Caldwells. Still, there was no real proof one way or another. Mrs. Lowell had refused to answer any of Sophie’s questions about her parents, and now the woman was dead. She hadn’t really deceived him, had she?

Of course she had.

She leaned against the leather seat and closed her eyes as the carriage rattled down the mountain road. Regret weighed on her
heart heavy as stone. She desperately needed to confide in someone, but who?

At last the carriage drew up at the hotel. The driver jumped down and opened her door. “Good night, miss.”

“Good night.” She watched the carriage disappear into the darkness. Somewhere far off a dog barked. A few lights flickered in the windows of shops and houses along the street. A horse and rig appeared at the far end of the street, heading away from the church.

Robbie. Of course. The one boy in Hickory Ridge who had never judged her.

The one person who would understand.

Ethan headed back into the ballroom, where a few guests still lingered over glasses of sherry and port. He smiled and nodded as he passed them but eschewed conversation. He needed to think. Very soon he would have to figure out what to do about Julian, but at this moment he was preoccupied with what had just happened in the rose garden.

He couldn’t blame Sophie for refusing his advances; they were practically strangers, after all. He was not usually so quick to reveal his feelings. But with Sophie he felt as if an invisible thread, woven of their similar childhood tragedies, ran between them, binding them together. He had thought Sophie felt it too. Obviously he’d been wrong.

Even after all these years, he didn’t like to think about what had happened so many years ago. The memories still lacerated his heart. For years he had asked God not for peace or understanding but for justice. He’d received neither. So he’d buried himself in work, in striving for success, in travel—anything to keep the past at a safe distance.

Then Sophie arrived, bringing with her the revival of old memories and old longings. He shook his head. Stupid. No wonder she’d taken off like a scared rabbit.

Too keyed up to sleep, he pushed through the French doors and cut through the deserted gardens. The candles had burned down to nubs; several had gone out. Only a few attenuated shadows danced against the dark walls. He paused to lift a budding rose to his nose. In a few more days, the roses would open in full beauty. He’d send Sophie an armload of them and hope for her forgiveness. Maybe she would give him another chance.

“Heyward!” a voice called from the shadows and Ethan turned toward the sound.

“Yes? Who’s there?”

Footsteps crunched on the graveled walkway and a lone figure appeared on the path. Ethan peered into the darkness. “Is that you, Lutrell?”

“’Is that you, Lutrell?’ Of course it’s me.” The wiry carpenter wove his unsteady way toward Ethan, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand, a pistol in the other.

“You’re drunk, my friend.” Ethan kept his voice calm. “I can see how you and the boys feel entitled to a celebration now that Blue Smoke is finished. But you ought to give me that firearm before someone gets hurt.”

“No, sir. I ain’t givin’ up my pistol till I get my money back from that no-good Irishman that stole it.”

Ethan massaged his aching temples and sighed. “And which Irishman might that be?”

“Sean Murphy’s cousin. Fitz.”

“Fitz Murphy’s never been in trouble before. I’m sure it’s nothing more than a misunderstanding. We’ll get it sorted out in the morning.”

“In the morning, my eye. I already done finished tearin’ down
the workers’ cabins like I was told to do, and I’m on my way to Alabama to marry my girl. You said I could have a week to get married and bring her back here.”

“And so you shall.”

“Besides, Murphy’s already gone. Most everybody cleared out of here this morning. And now I got Mary Susan awaitin’ for me in White Oak, Alabama, and no way to get to her.”

Behind them, the lights inside the resort winked out. Suddenly Ethan was too tired to argue. He reached inside his jacket for his wallet. “I’ll advance you the money until we can get to the bottom of this. If you still want to work here, helping take care of the place, you can pay me back out of your first month’s wages.”

“Pay you back?” Lutrell advanced on Ethan, his eyes wild with spirits and anger. “That ain’t fair. I was robbed!”

“Can you prove it?”

“You callin’ me a liar, Mr. Heyward?”

“People don’t always see things clearly when they’re drinking.”

“Well, I saw clear enough who stole from me. Murphy was the only one near my cabin this whole day.”

“Proximity does not equal guilt.”

“Then why’d he take off when I yelled at him?”

“I’d run too if a half-drunk man was pointing a gun at me. It has been a very long day, Mr. Crocker. I’m very tired.” He pressed several bills into the man’s hand. “Go on home and marry your girl. Forget about the money.”

“Onliest folks that say forget about money is the ones got plenty of it.” Crocker took a long pull on the bottle and tossed Ethan’s money onto the path. “I don’t aim to be beholden to you, Mr. Heyward. If you ain’t going to replace the money that no-good Irish devil stole from me, then I got nothin’ else to say to you.”

“Your choice. I appreciate the work you did on Blue Smoke.
I’m sorry you won’t be coming back. And I hope you and your bride will be very happy in Alabama. Good night.”

Ethan waited until Crocker disappeared into the darkness, then turned and headed back inside.

TWELVE

Sophie closed her hymn book and pressed her palm to her forehead. Was it her imagination, or was Robbie looking in her direction more than was usual on a Sunday morning?

Gillie leaned toward Sophie. “You look a bit peaked this morning. Are you ill?”

“I’m fine.” Sophie forced a smile. How could she ever be fine if concealing the details of her parentage, what few she thought she knew, was to be her daily portion from now on? She closed her eyes. Heavens above, she had been six kinds of stupid to come back here. What had she been thinking? How could she have possibly believed that things would be different this time? That she could build a newspaper and live here and not have to be constantly on guard against rumor and suspicion?

Just last week, coming out of the mercantile, two farm women had stopped their conversation and frowned at her as she crossed the street, disapproval clearly etched on their weathered faces. She didn’t recognize them, but perhaps they remembered her and the gossip that had ensued when Wyatt and Ada removed her from Mrs. Lowell’s. Sooner or later the truth would get back to Ethan, and he would hate her for it.

She thought about last night and the ball at Blue Smoke. The
entire night had been impossibly romantic—the dancing, the flickering candlelight, the faint scent of budding roses, the quiet strains of chamber music spilling onto the terrace. No wonder Ethan had gotten ahead of himself. She had felt something for him too, a longing to know more about him and where he came from. What had happened to his parents? Was their fate to blame for the haunted look in his eyes when someone mentioned Georgia?