Jane Bonander (23 page)

Mattie poured boiling water over the glass canning jars and lids. “If you ask me, it’s a clever invention. He must have been a pretty handy man to have around, Julia.”

Julia lifted the kettle of cooked fruit off the fire and set it on the counter to cool. Mattie talked of him in the past tense, as if he were never coming back. As the days passed, Julia began to wonder if she might be right. Her nights had been cold and empty, her days full of Josette’s whiny demands and suggestive innuendoes about her relationship with McCloud. And always, there were Mattie’s probing questions. There were times when Julia had to physically stop herself from running into the woods, screaming.

Mattie glanced out the window, her expression turning sour. “Here comes that… that filthy little Frenchman your husband hired.”

If nothing else, Baptiste’s presence lightened Julia’s mood. “Mattie,” she scolded in a soft tone. “Baptiste has been wonderful, and you know it.”

Pursing her lips, Mattie took the tongs and removed the scalded glassware from the dishpan. “I have
never
encountered such a foul-minded man, and believe you me, in my business, I’ve met all kinds. Everything I say, he appears to misunderstand, finding—well, you know, an inappropriate meaning behind it.”

Quietly, Julia agreed. But Baptiste didn’t offend her. His banter with Mattie reminded her of her early days with McCloud. And in spite of everything, she found the Frenchman charming. She had to admit, however, that he was an odd little man, relishing the way the women blushed at his off-color comments.

“I find him repulsive.” Josette munched on what Julia suspected was her fifth cinnamon bun. Her lips were slick with butter as she licked it off her fingers.

Julia hid a caustic smile. Of course she did. Baptiste hadn’t fawned and drooled over Josette as she’d expected him to. For that reason alone, Julia liked him, sensing there was an intelligent, honorable man buried somewhere beneath the layers of bawdy behavior.

Again, rather like McCloud. She pushed back her memories, for they made her yearn for him.

Baptiste stepped inside, the ever-present mocking smile showing beneath his drooping black mustache. “Ah,
mon chou,”
he said, crossing to Mattie and giving her a familiar swat on the buttocks.

Mattie gasped and turned, her neck stained red as she threatened him with a wooden spoon.

“Without you,” Baptiste went on, ignoring her angry stance, “my life has no meaning. Without you, I am only an earthworm.” He pressed the offending hand to his heart.

Mattie narrowed her gaze at him, the wooden spoon held battle-ready. “Don’t hornswaggle me, you odious man. I wasn’t born in the woods to be scared by an owl.”

He laughed, the booming sound filling the room as he poured himself coffee and helped himself to a warm bun. “You think I am not serious, eh? You think you are not a desirable woman, eh?”

“What I think—” With a huff, she pursed her lips and shook the spoon in his direction. “What I think, Mr. Baptiste, is that the Good Lord will see that you spend your fair share of time burning in the fires of purgatory. That’s what I think,” she announced, turning back to her task with a flourish.

Unscathed by Mattie’s statement, his gaze fell on Julia, and she felt herself blush. His intimate glances were never suggestive. “And you,
ma cocotte,
” he said around a smile. “How are you this fine morning?”

“I’m fine, Baptiste. Thank you for asking.”

“And the
bébé?
She is good?”

“She’s teething. Thank goodness for this carrier McCloud made. When she’s in it, she’s not nearly as cross as she would otherwise be.” Julia found it amusing that he called Mattie his “cabbage” and her his “hen.” She assumed they were words of endearment, but she found neither particular complimentary. He didn’t refer to Josette with any form of endearment at all. In fact, he avoided her. But then, Josette had become increasingly peevish as her pregnancy progressed, and no one relished being around her at all.

“Oui,”
he answered around a mouthful of bun. “Wolfgang was always clever with his hands, eh?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, causing Julia’s blush to race to the roots of her hair.

Josette finished her sweet roll then paced in front of the window, her hand massaging the small of her back. “I’m so
bored,”
she complained. “I’d forgotten that there’s nothing to do out here in the sticks.”

Julia continued to work at the counter. “The jam jars need filling,” she suggested.

Her sister made an impatient sound in her throat as she stared outside. “That’s
not
what I had in mind.”

Julia wished she could hide her impatience. “Then why didn’t you stay in the city, Josette? You’ve never liked it here, anyway.”

Josette flounced from the window, toying with the ribbon at her expanding waistline. “I had my reasons.” She tossed Julia a knowing look.

I’ll just bet you did.
Julia had refused to ask Josette who had fathered her baby. Knowing her sister as well as she did, she wasn’t sure she could trust her to tell the truth, anyway. That being the case, she decided the question didn’t require asking.

Julia wanted McCloud to return, but she dreaded it. Confrontation was inevitable. While he was gone, both Mattie and Baptiste defused her anger toward her sister merely by being supportive. She found their banter amusing and surprisingly relaxing. It was her buffer against Josette.

The clock in the other room struck ten, reminding Julia that she was going to Walnut Hill to the jail to see Serge. She’d been putting it off, but knew she had to face him, find out why he’d done what he’d done, knowing that any answer he gave would hurt her.

Marymae’s head bobbed on Julia’s shoulder. She carefully extricated herself from the carrier and went into the bedroom, taking Marymae out and putting her in bed.

With a heavy sigh, she went to her wardrobe and wondered what a person wore to visit a jailbird.

Meredith gazed at her son through the bars. It broke her heart to have to visit him here, in this dreadful, dirty, smelly place. Until today, she had avoided asking him his reasons for doing what he did. Until today, she couldn’t have accepted his answer. But she could avoid it no longer; she had to know.

Serge’s clothes were disheveled and soiled, and he hadn’t shaved in days. The thick, dark stubble gave him a manly look, and for a moment Meredith was reminded of her father, a man whom she’d loved, perhaps more than she’d loved her own husband.

“Well, if it isn’t my dear mother.” Serge’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “To what do I owe this honor?” He languidly pulled himself to a sitting position.

Meredith brought her handkerchief to her nose, hoping to filter out some of the stench. “The lawyer I’ve secured will be here sometime this afternoon.”

Her son turned from her and studied the brick wall. “It’s about time, don’t you think? I’ve been rotting in this hellhole for two weeks.”

Meredith stifled her apology for allowing him to languish in jail. “Why did you do it, Serge?”

He rounded on her. “You believe everyone but me, don’t you?”

She pressed her handkerchief against her eyes. “You were outfoxed, Serge. By your own half brother.” Her secret, she knew, had been discovered by Serge.

He clamped his jaw shut and refused to answer.

“Serge, dear, the sheriff took me out to the sites of the ditches.” Her heart ached for her lost dreams of an empire.

“Tell me, Mother,” he said, his mouth curled into a snarl. “What else was I to do? How could I compete with someone like Wolf McCloud, even though he
is
a breed? He’s as much your son as I am. He even took the woman you wanted me to marry.”

“It would have been a mistake. Unfair to both of you. You know that as well as I.”

He snorted a nasty laugh. “You never let me forget it”

Meredith’s knees gave way and she dropped into a chair by the cell. “He means nothing to me, Serge. Nothing. And I never wanted you to know about … about what happened.” Her voice was a mere whisper.

“Oh, I knew about it. I read all about it in Grand-mama’s journal.”

Meredith sat up, surprised. “Her journal? She wrote about it in her journal?”

“Yes, Mother. In great length. I read every sordid word. By the way, thank you for forcing me to learn Italian.”

Everything had come apart, and Meredith didn’t know how to knit it together. The entire fabric of her life had become frayed, weakened by her own greed.

“The day he came to call on you, I had a hunch it was him. Your response when I offered to get rid of him was proof enough for me.” Serge drew closer to the bars, gripping them so hard his knuckles were white. “Everything I did, even before I knew about him, was for you, Mother.
Everything.”

She gave him a look that spoke of the pain in her heart. “But I will never claim him, Serge.
You’re
the only son I want.”

He gave her a disparaging laugh. “Am I? Am I really?” He shook his head with disbelief. “I’ve never been the son you wanted. I’ve never been anything you’ve wanted.”

Meredith felt beaten, for his words held the clanging ring of truth. “Why did you have poor Amos killed?”

He pressed his face against the bars. “I did it for
you,
Mother. Don’t you see? He found out what we were doing. I had no choice. God,” he said on a gasp of breath. “I just wanted you to be proud of me. Just once I wanted to do something to make you proud.” His words were punctuated with his own pain.

For the first time in her life, Meredith began to understand what she’d done to her son. In her quest for power and perfection, she’d completely denied Serge the option of being who he was, and not who she wanted him to be.

Julia studied the exterior of the jail, noting that the boards needed a fresh coat of paint. Wild oats, taller than she was, grew in abundance on the south side of the building, the breeze brushing it erratically against the windows. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside. Cigar smoke hung in the air, and underlying that odor was the distinct smell of dirt, tobacco, and urine. Years of it, clinging to the walls and the corners of the ceiling and the floor.

The deputy, a gaunt young man with a hawk nose and a shock of unruly mud-colored hair, traced a Wanted poster with his finger.

“I’m here to see Serge Henley,” Julia announced.

He. gave her a brief nod. “He’s in there, ma’am. He’s already got a visitor.”

“Can I see him?” At his indifferent shrug, Julia went into the room where the prisoners were kept. Glancing at the first cell, she saw Frank Barnes lounging on his cot. Before she could move on, he saw her.

He greeted her with a lascivious smile that made her flesh crawl. “Miss Julia.”

Nodding politely, she walked on by, but like a bolt of lightning he was at the bars, gripping her arm.

“Not so fast, there.” He smelled of whiskey, and she briefly wondered how he’d gotten it.

“What do you want, Frank?” She discovered that she had no feelings for him at all. He wasn’t even worth the effort to hate. In spite of everything, he’d planted the seed that had given her Marymae, the joy of her life.

“Why’d you take on the brat’s care, Miss Julia?”

The question surprised her. “That’s no concern of yours.”

His fingers pinched her skin. “Ah, but it is. The brat’s mine, too.”

She tugged her arm from his grip and glared at him. “I’ll forgive the baby for that. She’s not responsible for her disgusting parentage.”

He laughed quietly, but his eyes were hard. “Such big words. Always such big words, Miss Julia. It’s no wonder I couldn’t get inside them drawers of yours. You prob’ly didn’t understand what I was tryin’ to do”

Julia could taste the bitter bile that rose into her throat. “I understood you perfectly, Frank. People like you aren’t capable of insinuation.”

He continued to grin. “I don’t give a shit what that means, Miss Julia, but I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re carin’ for that baby ’cause it’s part of me.”

Julia almost laughed out loud. “You go right ahead and think what you like. It makes no difference to me. I’m just happy I can love a child whose parents are so completely despicable.”

Not getting the response he’d hoped for, Frank Barnes scowled and returned to his filthy cot.

Julia stepped to the next cell. Meredith sat slumped over, looking sad and defeated. She stood as Julia approached.

“Julia, my dear.” She held out her arms.

Julia stopped, avoiding Meredith’s embrace. “How could you blame McCloud for something Serge did, Meredith? How
could
you?”

Meredith’s arms fell to her sides. She took a deep breath and turned away. “I didn’t know. I wanted to believe it was him,” she added, turning an intent gaze on Julia. “In my heart, I
had
to believe it. His appearance in my life was a threat to all I’d worked for. And I was angry that he was everything my Serge was not.”

“I can almost understand abandonment, Meredith. I couldn’t have done it, but most white women would have. But to have the baby killed …” She shuddered to think what her life would have been like without McCloud.

“No one can imagine what I felt when I discovered he was alive.” Meredith’s voice was wistful. “He stood before me … strong, proud, virile.” She laughed, a choking sound that tore from her throat. “He’d survived despite what I’d done to him. And,” she added, giving Julia a plaintive look, “he had you.

“Isn’t it ironic? Since you and Serge were children, I’d purposely blinded myself to his faults and failings, hoping one day Amos and I could bring the two of you together. And what happens? You marry my son anyway. The son I’d ordered my poor mother to get rid of.”

Julia wanted to be angry with Meredith. On some level she was, but she also felt sorry for her. “You didn’t know about Serge’s involvement in Papa’s death?”

“She didn’t know, Julia,” Serge interjected.

She turned toward the cell, shocked at Serge’s unkempt appearance. “And you,” she said, hoping to keep the pain from her voice. “How could you have had Papa killed? Papa loved you Serge. He
loved
you! You were the son he’d never had.”