Firefly (40 page)

"I have just been to the general store," he announced, almost stammering in his fury.  His fleshy face had turned bright red, and his shouts vibrated the timbers of the house.  "Mr. Simon McCrory gave
this
to me.  He said you had forgotten it."

"Papa, I only--"

He would not let her speak.

"Three yards of this, four and a half yards of that, and all charged to my account.  Do you not have money of your own?"   He seemed to wait for an answer, but Julie knew she would only be interrupted again.  Besides, she could find nothing to say.  She had known, when she told the storekeeper to put the purchases on Wilhelm's account, that her father would not allow it.

But her silence gave him the opportunity to study her, and his anger broke whatever insignificant bonds he had put on it.

"
Whore
!" he screamed, taking one step upwards toward her.  "Do you think I am made out of money that you can squander on fancy materials to parade in front of that man?"

Why did she have to be wearing the damned blouse right now?  It condemned her, just as she deserved to be condemned, for he was right.  Nothing she could say, lies though any defense would be, would change Wilhelm's mind.  The evidence was there for all to see.

He mounted the stairs slowly, his angry fist preceding him with undisguised menace.  Julie glanced furtively for her mother and saw Katharine slink in terror for her own room.  Julie cursed loud enough to have been heard had not Wilhelm begun shouting again.

"Over twelve dollars this extravagance has cost me! How am I to clothe your brother when you spend so much on yourself?"

"Willy?" Julie gasped, feeling a now familiar swell of anger.  "Willy has more clothes than he can possibly wear in a year, and then he'll be too big for them."

Her defiance halted Wilhelm midstride, but only for a moment, not more than a matter of seconds at most.  He had reached the halfway point on the stairs and was close enough for her to see the reddened veins standing out on his forehead, the droplets of sweat sliding down his temples.

"How dare you talk back to me," he growled, his voice low but more threatening than ever.  "He is only a boy, a delicate child.  You are a selfish hussy to deny him.  All these years I have fed and clothed you, saved your reputation for you, and this is how you repay me?"

Somehow, Julie's numbed legs carried her by infinitesimal steps backward in the direction of the door to her room, but she felt nothing.  Nothing, that is, except pure rage and hatred.  For once, for those few hours today, she had known the exquisite joy of living, of doing something for herself, and now he had turned it to guilt again.  This time, however, she had the means to assuage it.

She backed through the open door and without taking her eyes from her father, Julie opened the small metal box on the top of her dresser.  Inside it lay the heavy gold coin Morgan had forced on her.  She had treasured it these past few days, dreaming of ways to spend it and yet knowing that she would never part with it, for it meant far more to her than just money.

She took it out and held it tightly, the sharp edges digging cruelly into her palm and clenched fingers.  But it wasn't the pain in her hand that brought the tears hot and stinging to her eyes and the sobs that strangled her words as she flung them, with the coin, at her father's head.

"Take it!" she shrieked.  "Take it as you've taken everything else from me!  You leave me with nothing but what you give me: shame, guilt, unworthiness.  You may as well have my money, too."

After missing its intended target, the double eagle bounced harmlessly off Wilhelm's shoulder and then clattered down the bare steps.  When it came to rest by the front door, Julie had already shut herself in her room.

*   *   *

It was a tedious Saturday, made worse by the enervating heat and sticky humidity that followed the rain.  Throughout the long afternoon, Morgan struggled against inertia until finally, at shortly after six, he had cleared the waiting room, seen his last patient, and prepared to go home.  The office smelled of sweat and snot-nosed children and colicky babies and all the other odors of summer discomforts, with not a breath of breeze to dissipate them.  He looked around at the mess he was leaving and walked out the door anyway.

He washed hurriedly in the kitchen, then changed his clothes for more comfortable denims and a wrinkled but clean cotton shirt before setting out for Daneggar's.  Liza Tucker had invited him for supper in return for bandaging her son's sprained ankle, but he turned her down.  She had been disappointed, and he wondered just how long the young widow had been looking in his direction that way.

He didn't want to be with a woman now, unless that woman was Julie Hollstrom.  He had quite made up his mind to speak his piece this morning when he saw her go into McCrory's, but then had chickened out.  Lack of privacy was a good excuse at the time, he thought.  And when Simon told him about her purchases, Morgan was doubly glad he'd held back.  He'd only have made a fool of himself, stumbling over a proposal he had rehearsed and rehearsed only to have her politely refuse him and remind him she already had a fiancé.

Daneggar's was crowded and noisy and smelled little better than the clinic.  Leif's eldest daughter, Lorraine, made a buxom show of leading Morgan to a corner table and announcing that the evening's special was pork chops, mashed potatoes and gravy, and peas and carrots.  He ordered the special, declined a cold beer, and slumped back into his corner.

He watched Lorraine weave between the tables toward the kitchen.  Her hips swayed under a black skirt, enticing any and all who watched.  He knew when she took his order that she had used the noise of the supper patrons as an excuse to lean over the table and give him a more than generous glimpse of the full mounds of her breasts beneath a low-cut white blouse.  He hadn't turned away from the display, but neither had he felt any reaction.

She tossed her red hair back from her shoulders when she brought his meal.  Her blue eyes fixed on him with undisguised seduction, and Morgan felt himself wanting to respond.  He wanted to want her, he
tried
to want her, but there was nothing, so he politely thanked her and reached for the salt and pepper.

Lorraine bounced off.

The chops were dry and over-done, the gravy greasy, and the peas mushy, but he ate anyway.  Leif's cooking left a great deal to be desired, but his wife made damned good apple pie, so Morgan had two pieces for dessert.  He left a quarter on the table for Lorraine, and then headed for home again.

Eight o'clock and hot as hell.  He was drenched in sweat before he walked into the parlor, all dark and cool from being shuttered all day.  Maybe, just maybe, he'd have a quiet evening all to himself.  He had seen, on the way back from the restaurant, that the Castle was almost deserted.  A storm like that generally kept people home, and the ranch hands and farmers were sometimes prevented from coming to town by swollen creeks and washes.  Of course, muggy, electric weather like this often brought out the worst in those who did get their hands on a bottle, so he wouldn't count on a lack of trouble.

Tired, his hunger satisfied, too lethargic with the heat even to get up and go to bed, Morgan dozed on the sofa, his feet propped on a table, his head lolled back uncomfortably.  He fell just barely deep enough asleep to dream, yet not so far that he lost touch with reality.  It was as though he watched himself dream from across the room.

He dreamt of Julie, of being with her day after day, of working with her, laughing with her, talking quietly with her, making love with her.  And he watched it all with silent detachment, knowing it was none of it real.  When he wakened, stiff in the neck and with one leg gone to sleep, he felt no rush of confused reality, only a sense of impatient misery.  If she was going to leave him, he wished she would do it quickly and get it the hell over with.

As uncomfortable as his sleeping position had been, the few hours rest left him wider awake than he wanted to be.  And he was thirsty after those dry, salty pork chops, so he strolled through the kitchen and out the back door to the pump and a drink of cold water.  The splash on his bare feet further revived him, and it felt good indeed in the muggy dark of the evening.  Though some light lingered in the west, the sky above the creek and back yard was inky blue, with stars already brightening and blinking.

Stars.  Brilliant and tantalizing and always out of reach.  They taunted him tonight.  Numbly, ignoring the prickles of returning circulation in his foot, he pulled on his boots and headed back through the house and out the front door.

The mud sucked at his feet, but he almost ran, taking long, hurried strides with enormous determination.  The cemetery gate swung open with an agonized scream, then continued to squeak as it swayed back and forth.  Morgan didn't close it behind him.

He stepped in puddles without feeling them, and when he came to the granite stone where the roses bloomed, he knelt on the raised grassy mound without heeding the wetness that soaked his jeans.

"God help me, Amy, but I love her," he whispered.

*   *   *

Julie had not left her room, nor had anyone sought admittance.  For hours she lay on her bed and sobbed and wished she had the courage to get up and leave.  Years of practicality, however, had left her too sensible of life's harsh realities.  She had no money, not since throwing away her hard-earned twenty dollars, and she had no place to go.  If she had thought--and she examined the issue carefully for any hint of hope--that Morgan cared for her in any particular way, she would have gone to him.  But she had already shown him how foolish she could be where men were concerned, and she could not humiliate herself needlessly again.  He respected her now, and that was worth a great deal more than a batiste blouse and a gold coin.

He loved his wife, and there was no changing that.  Julie recalled, in perfect detail, every moment she had spent alone with him, and she knew she was right in her assessment of his feelings.  He did not want her the way she wanted him.

If only she hadn't been so impulsive about the money!  She pounded her pillow angrily again.  It must have been the years and years of Wilhelm's miserliness that gave her so little feeling for riches, even the meager ones she had accumulated since working for Morgan.  And yet now she knew the true value.  She had thrown away her freedom when she threw the coin.  Now her only choices were to stay with her family and be miserable but at least be with Morgan a few hours out of the day, or to marry Hans and be away from it all.  No, there was no happiness in that choice either, but perhaps someday she would have a child and that would be something.

She shuddered convulsively.  The idea of lying with Hans, of letting him touch her and make love to her--but it wouldn't really be making love.  It would be mating, the way he bred his cows.  It would be nothing like what Del had described between him and Amy.

She heard the sounds of Katharine preparing supper, but no one came upstairs, either to ask for help in the kitchen or to call Julie to the meal.  So she went hungry.  She had become more and more accustomed to regular meals, and now she felt the loss of this one more keenly than before.  Her stomach rumbled loudly when the smell of fried beefsteak wafted through the house, but even hunger wasn't a strong enough incentive to brave her father's fury.

She changed her clothes, removing the precious blue blouse and new skirt and slipping on an old soft nightgown, then lay down on the bed.  The time passed slowly until she heard Willy grumble his way to bed shortly before dark.  He complained that he wasn't tired and that it was too early, but something in Wilhelm's muttered, undecipherable words kept the boy in line.  His bed creaked and then his door closed.

The argument started soon after.  Wilhelm growled low and Katharine wailed softly, so that Julie could not understand what they said, but she knew that they fought.  For well over an hour, from the time the sun was a glowering red disk outside Julie's window until the last light faded over the mountains, her parents quarreled in the parlor.

Then, quite suddenly, there was a change.  Katharine's voice raised to a shrill scream, broken by a loud slap and a heavy thud.  Frightened, Julie sprang from her bed and staggered across the room.  While she fumbled in the dense dark for the door knob, she heard her mother, sobbing, run up the stairs, across the landing, and into her room, where she slammed the door hard enough to shake the entire house.