The Virtuous Woman (11 page)

Key was accustomed to Ruby’s rough grammar and rather shrill voice. Her voice wasn’t always shrill, for she usually spoke in a perfectly well modulated tone—it was rather deep, as a matter of fact. Somehow he knew she had learned to be shrill in order to make herself heard, but the combination of her voice and her dress, the cheap jewelry, and her attitude were clearly having a negative impact on Brian and Paige.

“You’ll want to see the rest of the house,” Cara said, “but I know you’d like to have time to freshen up. Come along, and I’ll show you your room.”

“Wait a minute, Mom,” Brian said quickly. “I thought we might talk a bit.”

Cara gave Brian a warning look. “Not now, Brian. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later, but I’m sure Grace is tired.”

At the use of the name Grace, Key picked up a slight change in the young woman’s eyes. She laughed harshly and said, “Grace! That’ll take a little gettin’ used to. I ain’t never been called nothin’ but Ruby.”

“If you like Ruby better,” Phil said, “that’s what it’ll be.”

The young woman was clearly surprised, and Key saw a fleeting softening in her features before her lips grew tight again. “Naw, if I’m gonna be a part of this bunch, I can get used to that name. If I don’t pay no attention when you call me by it, you just tell me to watch what I’m doin’.”

“Come on, dear.”

Francis watched as the girl gave Brian a hard look and then shifted her level gaze to Paige. She smiled and laughed. “I guess we’ll probably never get used to each other. Right?”

Kevin approached Ruby, and she couldn’t hide the shock in her eyes when she saw his terrible scars up close. Kevin was accustomed to such reactions, however, and he smiled and said, “Welcome home, sis.”

“Uh, th-thanks,” she stammered. “It’s ... nice to be here.”

As soon as the two women had disappeared, Brian said, “Dad, we’ve got to talk about this.”

“Not now, Brian. I need to talk with Francis. Come along into my study.”

The two men left, and Brian said, “I don’t believe she’s who she says she is for a minute, Paige. She doesn’t look like any of us. There’s no family resemblance at all.”

“You’re right. She doesn’t look like Mother or like me. But there’s no way to prove it, is there, one way or another?”

“There’s got to be a way. Maybe I’ll talk to that private detective. I want to know how he found her.” The two fell silent, and finally Paige whispered, “She is just
awful!
I can’t imagine introducing her to John or his parents—or any of our friends.”

“She doesn’t fit,” Brian agreed, “but I think there’s more to it than you’ve considered. If she’s who she claims to be, or even if Mom and Dad assume she is without proof, have you thought what it will mean?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean she’ll become an equal heir. Sooner or later this estate will have to be divided up. I always thought it would
go three ways. Now it’ll be four. In effect, she’s taking money away from my kids.”

“Maybe she won’t stay,” Paige said hopefully. “She’s so ... so
different!
She may feel so uncomfortable she’ll leave. Maybe Dad will pay her off and she’ll go away and be satisfied with that.”

“Not likely, sis. She’s a hard cookie. Women like that will squeeze a man dry, and I bet that’s what she’s planning to do to us.” He reached out and took her arm. “This is a real mess, Paige. We’ve got to do something about it!”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Grace’s Night Out

The midmorning sun sent pale shafts of light through the tall windows, illuminating the canvas that stood before Phil. He mixed some pale blues on his palette and carefully applied the color to the painting with his brush. He had spent much of his later life in this studio and found it the most comfortable room in the entire mansion. He had been reluctant at first to buy such a large place, but once he saw the studio, and then saw that the rest of the house pleased Cara and the children so much, he had no doubt that this was to be their home. He took a break from his painting and gazed around at his studio. The ceilings in the twenty by thirty room were over fourteen feet high, giving it an air of spaciousness. He’d had bookcases built in to one wall, and the other three walls were lined with the paintings of various artists he admired. The room was not neat, for old canvases were piled up on each other in two corners. A small table and two chairs stood near the easel.

He rolled his shoulders back and scrutinized his painting. With a fine brush, he applied a tiny bit of color with a steady hand and was pleased with the results. “I still don’t know how long my hands will be this steady,” he murmured, “but I hope for a long time.”

He had hardly moved from this spot since before dawn. He found that the early morning hours were the best time to work undisturbed. He meticulously cleaned his brush, put it in a large Ming vase along with several other brushes of
assorted sizes, then walked over to the mullioned window. He arched his back, for he had worked hard.
If anybody had ever told me, when I was punching cattle back on the range, that painting would be such hard work,
he thought,
I would have told him he was crazy.
He thought briefly of his youth, and a smile touched his broad lips as he considered how far he had come from those days. He remembered the struggle that had gone on in his mind and emotions when he had first felt the urge to become a painter. Nobody in the family had ever done anything like this, and when he finally told his father and mother his desires, he had fully expected them to laugh him out of it. They had taken him seriously, however, as had the rest of the family.

As he looked out the window, a flash of movement caught his eye, and he leaned forward to watch Kevin digging industriously in a flower bed. A pang seized him as he thought about his younger son. He loved the boy with all of his heart, but tragedy had marked Kevin’s life, and it seemed nothing could be done to set his feet aright.

Even at this distance he could see the scars on the left side of Kevin’s face, and he vividly remembered the explosion, the doctors, the many surgeries. Phil watched for a while as Kevin made the dirt fly.
He’s become a wonderful landscape artist. I believe he knows every blade of grass and every tree and every flower on this place. I guess he planted most of them. I just wish he weren’t so afraid to let people see him.

Turning his head the other way, he saw another figure emerge from the house and walk along one of the brick walkways that wound through the grounds. He fastened his attention on his newly found daughter as she bent over to smell a flower. She was wearing the same dress she had worn when she arrived yesterday, and an impulse suddenly took Phil. He left the room, going down two flights of stairs to the first floor and exiting. He quickened his pace, and when he was within twenty feet of her, he called out, “Good morning, Grace.”

She stopped and faced him, and he could see a look of
resistance on her face, but he showed no reaction to it and just smiled. “I missed you at breakfast. It was a good one. Cara made her world-famous pancakes.”

“I slept late, but she heated up some that were left. She’s a good cook.”

“Your mother could always cook. Her own mother taught her.” He felt ill at ease trying to talk to this daughter he didn’t even know.
What’s going on in her heart?
he wondered.
What does she think about me? She must be terribly afraid and confused.

“Do you like your room, Grace?” he finally asked.

She frowned. “Sure I do. Who wouldn’t? It’s nicer than anything I ever had.”

“I’m glad you like it. Let me walk with you. I always like to look at the early flowers.”

“Okay.”

The two walked along, and Phil pointed out some of the flowers, commenting, “Kev put all these in. He’s got a wonderful gift for growing things. Me, I’ve got a brown thumb. Everything I touch curls up and dies.”

“What happened to his face?”

Phil explained how Kevin was injured. “Before the accident he was the most outgoing young fellow I ever saw. Just filled with vim and vitality and got along fine with people, but now he never goes out.”

“He’s scared people will make fun of him, huh?”

“I suppose so.”

“Yeah, they would too.”

“Some of them would, but some wouldn’t.”

“They’d all look at him, though, and that’s what he’s afraid of, ain’t it?”

“I think it is.”

“Can’t the doctors do nothin’ for him? You know, make him look more normal.”

“He’s had several operations, but they don’t have much to work with. We’re hoping that over the next several years some
doctor will develop some new techniques that will help him, but I think his hurt is more on the inside than on the outside.”

“I know what that’s like.”

The remark caught at Phil. He turned toward her and saw that beneath the heavy makeup, her skin was smooth and beautifully textured. She had clear-cut classic features and lovely eyes. “You look a lot like your grandmother,” he said. “Cara’s mother. She was a very beautiful woman.”

“Is that right?”

“Grace, you didn’t look like the woman who raised you, did you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Did she ever talk to you about your father? You must have wondered about him.”

“Nah, she had so many men, she lost track of ’em.”

“Must have been hard for you.”

“It’s just the way it was.” Grace looked at him strangely and said, “I don’t know what to call you. It sounds funny to call you Dad, and I’m too old to call you Daddy.”

“Call me Phil if you like.”

“That would be easier for me. I don’t feel like—”

She broke off and looked off into the distance.

“You don’t feel like I’m your father,” he said. “Well, that’s understandable. We just met. I think fathers and children build a relationship over time, but I hope we’ll be good friends, Grace.”

She smiled. “I don’t know. I ain’t had too many of those.”

“Well, I’m going to try.”

They walked on through the garden, and Phil encouraged her to tell him about her childhood, but she put him off. He knew her past was rough, and her manners were totally unpolished. Finally she told him, “I’d like to have a drink. Maybe a beer.”

“I’m sorry, Grace, we don’t keep any alcohol around.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“Prohibition just ended a couple years ago, and during all that time we didn’t break the law.”

“I did. It was as easy to buy booze as it was to buy soda pop.”

Phil longed to ask her how much she drank, but he knew this wasn’t the time for that question, so he changed the subject. “Listen, I know Cara’s going to want to take you shopping to buy you some clothes and whatever else you need.” He pulled a billfold from his pocket and extracted several bills. “Take this and spend it all up.”

She stared at the cash. “That’s a lot of money, Phil.”

“Well, I’m eighteen years behind on spoiling you. This is the first payment.”

She still did not take the money, so he took her left hand and put the cash in it. Closing her fingers over it, he laughed and said, “You’ll have to have lessons from your sister. She’s not hesitant about taking money from her old man.”

“All right.” She laughed a little and looked at it. “I’m really used to working. I been working, I guess, since I was twelve years old.”

“What did you do when you were twelve?”

“Washed dishes in a restaurant.”

“What about school?”

“Oh, I quit that when I was fifteen. I’m used to working.”

“Do you still want to work? I don’t mean washing dishes, but is there anything you’d really like to do?”

“I never thought about it much. I just went from day to day, I guess. Just earning enough to have some clothes on my back and something to eat.”

“Let’s talk about it,” Phil said. “Come on. Let’s go see if Cara has any ideas.”

****

“You’ve simply
got
to do something about her clothes, Mother,” Paige said urgently. She had come to find her mother, who was sitting in the drawing room reading a book. “She
can’t continue to wear those awful clothes! Why, she looks like a ... like a streetwalker!”

“I don’t think she looks that bad,” Cara protested.

“Yes you do. You just won’t admit it. We’ve got to do something with her. Why, we couldn’t take her out to visit any of our friends.”

Cara sighed. “Well, I know your father gave her some money to buy new things.”

Paige stared at her mother. She was a strong-willed young woman, spoiled from being the only girl in the family and used to much attention because of her good looks. Now she shook her head, and her brown hair swung from side to side. She pulled herself up to her maximum height of five-four and pleaded with her large, expressive blue eyes. “Mother, you know she can’t go out and buy her own clothes. She wouldn’t know where to go in the first place.”

“I suppose that’s true. I thought about taking her myself, but you two are almost the same age. Why don’t you take her, Paige? It would be a chance for you two to get acquainted.”

Paige nodded firmly. “That’s a good idea.”

“Here, let me get some money for you as well. It’ll be more fun if you can both do some shopping.” Cara rose and went to her room and quickly came back. “Here you go, dear. You can be a great help to her.”

“She needs a lot of help,” Paige said grimly. She took the money and sighed. “You know, Mother, this looks hopeless to me. You have to start when girls are young to put manners and breeding in them.”

“Now, that’s wrong! Breeding is what God gives you in your genes. Manners can be taught, but Grace comes from good blood. She’s got your father’s family and mine running in her veins.”

“Well, that may be so, but the way she acts is terrible. You heard the way she talks.”

“She talks the way she was brought up, and we’re going to change all that.”

Paige was as doubtful as she had been since she had first heard of the existence of her sister. She had a good heart, but too many years of having her own way and then finding the social world of New York exciting had spoiled her. Her fiancé’s family was very cautious of anyone who came from outside their select little circle. Paige had worked hard to make herself acceptable in their sight, but she knew that she was now facing a precarious situation. Here she had a major social obstacle in this crude, loud, ignorant young woman who was part of her family. The Asquiths, she knew, would not like the girl at all.