Cinnamon and Roses (14 page)

Caleb frowned and looked at Megan.

"She was in the kitchen when she got sick,” his sister explained. “The cooking smells nauseated her."

Finally understanding, he nodded and gently lifted Rebecca into his arms. He walked slowly and carefully to the front gate, worked the latch open with one hand, and carried her up the porch steps. Megan ran ahead to open the door for them.

"I'm fine now, really,” Rebecca argued, though her voice sounded weak.

Ignoring her, he carried her upstairs to bed, then unlaced her shoes and rolled down her stockings, watching as she tried valiantly to keep her eyes open. By the time he removed her dress and loosed the top two buttons of her camisole, Rebecca's eyelashes had fluttered closed, and her soft breathing filled the room, interrupted only by the occasional sound of a light snore.

Caleb awoke early the next morning. The fingers of his left hand tingled slightly with his movements, and he realized that he'd held Rebecca all through the night. Her head still rested on his shoulder, her face turned into his chest.

He allowed himself a moment to look at her. Rebecca was truly beautiful. Oh, not in the usual ways, and certainly not by cultured standards. Her skin was perhaps a shade too tan, her nails too short and uneven. Even the stubborn tilt of her chin seemed to defy society's norms.

Caleb scoffed to think that he had once counted himself lucky to have Sabrina Leslie as a mistress, the most beautiful, sought-after courtesan in
New York
. As far as Caleb was concerned, Sabrina didn't hold a candle to his Rebecca.

His
Rebecca?
Yes, she was his. He didn't completely trust her, didn't know if he ever could, but she was his wife and the mother of his child.

A hard tug
tautened
his heartstrings as his gaze slid to Rebecca's still-flat stomach. He brushed the area lightly with his fingers, wondering if she could feel the baby yet.

Rebecca mumbled something unintelligible at his touch and rolled away, snuggling into the pillow on the other side of the bed. He watched her a moment more before sliding his arm from beneath her shoulders and rising with a regretful sigh to dress for work.

It was still early, but he at least expected Nina to be in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Instead, he found the downstairs empty and dark. He built a fire in the stove and set a pot of coffee on to boil.

Then he made his way through the pitch-black hallway to the study. The folder of papers he'd brought home was in the middle of the desk, seeming to glare at him. Groaning, he sat in his father's office chair and opened the binder.

Caleb blinked at what he
saw,
thinking the hazy light of dawn was playing tricks on his eyes. He lit the nearby lamp and looked again. The handwriting and figures seemed real enough. He even rubbed at them with his thumb, just to be sure.

"Is everything all right?"

Caleb raised his head to see Megan, still in her night-gown and robe, standing in the doorway. Her voice sounded timid, not at all what he was used to from his impertinent, strong-willed sister.

"I think so.” He hurriedly flipped through the rest of the papers to see if those, too, were finished. “Did Dad do
these last night
?” The possibility existed, but Caleb doubted his father would do the much-hated paperwork simply because his son had wanted to retire early with his new bride.

"No."

Caleb saw Megan straighten her spine and wondered what the devil was going on.

"I did them."

His eyes widened with surprise.
“
You?
"

Her shoulders lost a bit of their stiffness, her voice softening. She even
winced
a little as she answered. “Yes."

He didn't say anything. Looking back at the papers, he scanned each more carefully. By the time he finished, the first bright rays of sunlight had begun to shine through the large window at his back. Megan remained in the doorway, twisting her hands nervously.

"Everything seems to be in order. And all the figures look right.” He heard his sister release a pent-up breath of relief.

"You're not angry, then?” she asked.

Angry?
No, he was far from angry. Megan had saved him hours of mind-numbing work. He shook his head. “Why, though? How did you know what needed to be done?"

She came farther into the room, a smile brightening her girlish features. “They're monthly reports,” she said, dropping into a leather-lined chair across from Caleb. “I simply added up the ticket sales and subtracted the drivers’ pay. I get bored around here at night. You and Rebecca retire so early, I have to find something to do to keep busy."

Caleb felt a heated flush rise up from his neck at her mention of his and Rebecca's nightly disappearances. And from the wicked grin lighting her face, Megan knew exactly what went on in their bedroom after dinner.

He cleared his throat and changed the subject. An idea had come to him. A rather ingenious idea, if he did say so himself. “How would you like to make a little extra cash, sister dear?"

Megan shrugged one shoulder.

He supposed she didn't care much about money; anything she wanted or needed, Holbrook provided. But there was one thing she couldn't resist. Something Holbrook disliked and would not buy for his daughter.

"Let's make a deal,” Caleb said, using the confident smile that had gotten so many stubborn businessmen to agree with him back in
New York
. “You do the paperwork for the Express, and I'll keep you supplied with reading material."

Megan sat up in her chair.
“Really?"

Caleb nodded, knowing he had her in the palm of his hand.

Surprisingly, she shook her head. “No, the type of reading you would supply isn't what I'd like."

"Dime novels?”
Caleb asked, hoping she would reconsider.

Her nose crinkled. “They're mostly stories about train robbers and outlaws.
How boring."

"What would you like, then?” he asked, half afraid of her answer.

"I prefer romances. Papa refuses to let me read them."

Penny
dreadfuls
.
If Holbrook ever found out he was supplying Megan with them, Caleb would be disowned. “Romances, then,” he said, snorting at his sister's silly daydreams.

"Of course, they're much shorter than other stories. I'll need twice—no, three times as many."

"Fine,” Caleb said in disgust.
So much for getting the better of his little sister.
She was an Adams through and through.

Megan started out of the room and was almost to the door before Caleb remembered something he'd wanted to ask her. “Megan, exactly what made Rebecca so sick yesterday?"

Megan looked at him for long seconds, disbelief written on every feature. “She's going to have a baby, silly. Didn't you know?"

"Of course I knew—know,” he blustered. “How did you?” He and Holbrook had both agreed to keep Rebecca's condition a secret from Megan. At least until a proper amount of time had passed after the wedding.

"Let's see,” she said, considering. “You rushed the wedding. She sleeps late every morning, comes downstairs looking pale, and usually excuses herself two or three times a day to be sick. Then there's the fact that she's started a few new dresses for herself, all with extra material at the seams so they can be let out to accommodate her expanding figure. Need I go on?"

"No."

Caleb tried to remember being sixteen. Had he been as knowledgeable at that age? Somehow he doubted it. Other than learning to run his maternal grandparents’ newspaper, he had spent most of his time wooing Josephine. Lord, what a mistake that had been. The bitch had very nearly ruined his life. To this day, he still felt icy claws of hatred and distrust wrapped around his soul.

Caleb pushed the murderous thoughts out of his head. “So what made her ill yesterday evening?"

"Didn't she tell you? Rebecca and I cooked dinner."

His brows lifted.

"Your mind really must have been wandering at supper. Don't you remember? Nina quit. She and Peter are getting married next week, and then they're moving to Topeka."

"What does that have to do with Rebecca?"

Megan sighed, as though trying to explain something to a small child. “Rebecca decided to take over Nina's duties.
With my help, of course.
Until we can hire someone new.”
She clapped her hands in excitement. “She's going to teach me how to make an apple pie. Did you taste them the night of the dance? Oh, that's
right,
you were too busy avoiding
Anabelle
. Well, Rebecca's pies are divine, and she's going to show me how to make one."

Caleb nodded distractedly, and Megan left with a shake of her head and a small shrug.

Why would Rebecca be willing to cook meals for his family? Being dragged here against her will, he would have expected her to relish their dilemma. Instead, she rolled up her sleeves and pitched in, fighting a fit of nausea just to prepare dinner for his father and sister. He frowned, aiming to find out why Rebecca was being so helpful as soon as he had the time.

He decided to wait for his father in the dining room, but he ran into Megan again at the foot of the stairs. She'd changed into a powder-blue day dress and white kid slippers. Caleb bowed gallantly, knowing his sister's penchant for romantic gestures, and offered his arm. She took it, acting every inch the regal princess.

Caleb's laughter at one of Megan's high-handed comments died in his throat when they entered the dining room. The table was set, and heaping plates of food sent steam swirling into the air—oven-baked ham, boiled potatoes, and poached eggs, surrounded by shining china plates, silver utensils, and elegantly folded navy-blue napkins. Just then the kitchen door swung open, Rebecca's hands full with a tray of toast and a jar of elderberry jam.

She looked up, startled to see Caleb and Megan already there. Her eyes traveled to the table, and an apologetic smile lifted the sides of her mouth. “I'm sorry it's not more appetizing, but I was afraid the smell of anything else would make me ill.” She looked warily in Caleb's direction, half expecting him to be upset.

"It looks wonderful,” Megan said, taking her usual seat.

"
It's
fine,” Caleb said, trying to overcome his initial shock at seeing all Rebecca had done in such a short amount of time.

Rebecca stood still, concerned that his short reply and statue-like stance meant he was angry. She held his gaze, the silence stifling. Then she noticed his brown eyes sparkling and curiosity sprouted in her brain. He didn't seem upset.

"You're sure?” she asked, hoping to figure out his puzzling reaction.

"More than fine,” he clarified, and he pulled out a chair for her to be seated.

Rebecca looked up from her stitching, surprised by the voices that filtered in from the foyer. She put aside the length of fabric she was working on and opened the sliding parlor doors.

"Rebecca!"

"My dear, you look lovely."

"Marriage is treating you well, I hope."

Rebecca found herself crushed in the arms of
Hariette
Pickins
.
Then Thelma Wilkes.
And finally Mary Archer.

"Please, come in and sit down,” she said with a little laugh as she led them into the parlor.

"I'll make tea,” Megan said and headed for the kitchen, returning several minutes later with a tray.

"Where's
Anabelle
?” Rebecca asked, noticing the girl's absence.

Mary shook her head. “She refused to come. Oh, Rebecca,” she said, patting Rebecca's hand. “You know how taken
Anabelle
was with Caleb. I'm afraid she had it in her head that she would someday be his wife."

Thelma snorted.
“A typical sixteen-year-old.
She'll be over it just as soon as some other handsome young man pays her a bit of attention."

"I suppose,” Mary said with a motherly sigh and quickly turned the conversation in another direction. “We can't tell you how much we've missed seeing you on Wednesdays."

Rebecca smiled and refrained from reminding them that she had only been married for two weeks.

"Just look at this dress,”
Hariette
said, standing and holding out the sides for inspection. “It's abominable. I don't know what I'll do without you. I suppose I'll have to order from Sears and Roebuck. Oh, but I dread buying clothes out of a catalogue."

"You wouldn't happen to be interested in continuing as our seamstress, would you, dear?”
This from Mrs. Wilkes, who threw her a slanted glance.

Rebecca began to shake her head, knowing she could never be caretaker of the Adams household as well as continuing to sew for profit.

"Oh, do it, Rebecca,” Megan urged. “You know you've missed your Wednesdays."

"But I don't have the time, not with—"

"Posh,” her young sister-in-law spouted. “We're going to hire a new housekeeper soon, so you won't have to cook much longer, and you know I'm always here to help. I'm sure these ladies would be willing to keep your little business a secret. You could sew for them but not take on any new customers."

"Oh, yes,”
Hariette
said. “We wouldn't tell a soul, would we?” she asked of the room in general.

The others shook their heads emphatically.

Megan leaned close to whisper in Rebecca's ear. “It will keep you busy.
And happier."

She blushed, knowing how often she had complained before Nina left that there wasn't enough work around the house to keep her occupied. She'd mended all her own dresses and started a few new ones just to keep her hands from being idle. Megan was right. Another cook would be hired soon, and then what would she do with her time?

"All right,” she gave in, causing a chorus of cheers to fill the room. “But I don't want too many people knowing, or I may get bogged down.” She chuckled inwardly at the thought, knowing there had been many times when the Wednesday Group was the only thing that had kept her from starvation.

For the next hour, the ladies filled Rebecca in on the town's latest gossip. They agreed to keep their regular Wednesday appointments and promised to bring piles of work for her on their next visit.

After the women left, Megan took the serving tray back to the kitchen, leaving Rebecca to continue sewing together tiny patches for a baby quilt she'd decided to make.

A knock sounded at the door, and Rebecca went to answer it, smiling because she expected one of the Wednesday Group to be returning for something she'd forgotten.

Her smile vanished and her jaw nearly dropped to the floor at the sight of the woman standing on the porch. Her dress was a fiery orange-red, a color no decent woman would ever dare wear in public. Black lace edged the hem, sleeves, and low décolletage.

Rebecca raised her eyes to a rouged face surrounded by hundreds of tight sausage curls that very nearly matched the shade of the garish gown.

Rebecca grabbed the woman's arm and dragged her into the parlor. She slid the doors closed, ensuring minimal privacy. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a harsh whisper, praying Megan would stay in the kitchen a few minutes longer.

"Aren't you going to give Mummy a kiss?"

Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest, her whole body as taut as a tightrope. The heavy scent of Kate's perfume was smothering. “Drop the act. We both know you've never been a mother to me. Tell me why you're here, and then get the hell out."

Kate smoothed her skirts and sat primly on the settee, smiling up at her daughter through a thick layer of cheap makeup. “Is that any way to speak to your mother, darling?"

Rebecca felt bile rise in the back of her throat, and her eyes began to sting with the threat of tears. Why did her mother have to show up now, when Rebecca had finally begun to believe there was some hope of putting her past behind her?
Why?

Her hands clenched until she felt the nails digging into the flesh of her palms. “I think you should leave."

"Before I meet my son-in-law? That wouldn't be polite, now would it, dear?"

The words stunned her. “How did you know?” she asked raggedly.

"News travels fast, especially through a crowded saloon."

"Whorehouse, you mean."

"Tut-tut,” Kate admonished as her gaze traveled around the room, taking in the crystal tear-drop lamps, thick velvet draperies, and expensive silver and gold fixtures attesting to the wealth of its owners. “So where is this husband of yours? Caleb, isn't it?"

Rebecca didn't answer.

"I suppose he's at work running the Adams Express. Yes, he ought to be quite well-off after he inherits the business from his father. You'll have more money than the two of you could ever dream of spending."

"Is that why you came here?
For money?
Sorry to disappoint you, Red, but I don't have any.” She took perverse pleasure in voicing the name she had so often heard customers use when addressing her mother.

"No, of course you don't. You've barely made enough to live on these past years as a seamstress. But your husband is a wealthy man.” She paused, as though adding emphasis to her next words. “Does he know? Does your fancy husband have any idea that the woman he married is the illegitimate daughter of one of the highest-paid prostitutes in Kansas City? How did you get him to marry you, Rebecca? Did he knock you up?"

A hand fell to her stomach before Rebecca could consciously stop the action.

"Ah, I see that he did.” Kate cackled, putting Rebecca in mind of a wicked witch. “It seems you're no better than your mother, after all."

Kate got up from the sofa and sneered, causing Rebecca to retreat a step. There was a glow in her mother's eyes that she had never seen before, and it frightened her.

"And after you always acted as if you were so much better than me, you little bitch. Well, look at you now. It doesn't matter whether you spread your legs for one man or a hundred, Rebecca. When they pay you for it, it still makes you a whore. You're being paid with this house, the pretty clothes he buys you.” She laughed. “If you want to see a hussy, take a good long look in the mirror. You're just like me, darling daughter.
Just like me!
"

Rebecca wished this were a dreadful nightmare that would evaporate when she awoke. She could feel tears brimming against her lashes, fighting to free
themselves
and run unabashedly down her cheeks.
Would that her and her mother's lives could have been different.
That, despite her circumstances, Kate had learned something about maternal love. But that had never happened, and Rebecca could afford no illusions that it ever would.

Gathering her strength, she took a deep breath, let her arms drop to her sides, and stepped toward her mother. She spoke slowly, her words so low they were almost menacing. “Get out of my house."

Kate backed up but made no move to gather her discarded gloves and leave. “I will. Just as soon as I get what I came for."

"What's that?” Rebecca asked, afraid she already knew the answer.

"Why, money, of course."

"I'm not giving you a dime."

Kate chuckled. “I think you will. Unless you want your husband and every other person in this town to find out
who
you really are.
And who your mother is."

"You wouldn't dare.” But Rebecca knew she would. “Why do you even need money if you're still the highest-paid prostitute in Kansas City?"

"Things have been slow lately."

Rebecca nodded grimly, trying not to care, trying to feel nothing for this woman before her. Feeling anything for Kate would only get her hurt, as it had her entire childhood. “You're getting older,” she said quietly. “Once a girl gets wrinkles on her face and shadows under her eyes, men can't stand the sight of her anymore. That's why you need the money, isn't it?"

"Shut up! Shut up!” her mother screamed, lunging forward and slapping Rebecca hard across the face.

Rebecca put a hand to her throbbing cheek. The tears that had been dammed now spilled over, coursing in long, straight rivulets. The salty moisture stung the flesh that began to bum and swell from Kate's vicious attack.

Kate stood several feet away, breathing hard, her face flushed with fury. Rebecca watched her mother struggle for control of her emotions.

"I want the money,” she said, “or I'll make sure everyone knows who I am.
And that you tricked rich Mr. Adams into marrying you."

"I did no such thing."

"Maybe not, but you got the baby before the wedding. That's not the usual way of things, and I'm sure the townspeople would love to hear about it."

"It's not enough that you took my childhood, is it?"

Rebecca said quietly, unable to believe anyone's mother could be so deliberately cruel and hateful. “Now you want to ruin the rest of my life."

"Why should you have it any better than I did? Why should you be happy when I'm still working at the Scarlet Garter? I'm lucky to have even one man a night take a liking to me. So don't you preach to me about how horrible your life
was.
"

Rebecca thought she saw a hint of remorse in her mother's eyes, but it quickly vanished. She tried to just as quickly dampen her own dangerous flash of compassion. “How much?” she asked.

Kate's head popped up as though Rebecca's response surprised her.
“Five hundred dollars."

"Five hundred dollars?
Are you crazy? I don't have that kind of money."

Plucking her snagged satin gloves from the table, Kate said, “No, but your husband does."

"He would never give me that much."

Kate took great care in aligning seams and smoothing the gloves over her arms. “He'd better, my dear, or your life will indeed be ruined. Bring the money to the alley behind the Dog Tick Saloon tomorrow at three.” She moved to the double doors, sliding one open and stepping through the portal.

"Why do you hate me so much?” Rebecca whispered.

"I don't hate you, Rebecca,” her mother
answered,
no emotion in her voice. “I simply need the five hundred dollars."

It was probably true. Kate had never seemed to waste any strong emotions on her daughter. Neither love nor hate. But the threat was there in her words. Rebecca had no doubt that Kate would expose her to Caleb and the whole town if she didn't pay up.
Ruining her life—and her child's.
And that Rebecca couldn't allow. But where was she supposed to get
five hundred dollars?
Though these were certainly desperate enough circumstances, her small tea-tin stash from Caleb's insulting payment wouldn't make even a dent in that amount.

Her fingers turning white on the doorknob, Rebecca watched her mother walk out of the house and down the front steps.

"Who was that?"

Rebecca jumped, startled to see Megan standing in the dining room entryway.

"No one."

"You look upset. Is everything all right?"

"Yes.
Fine.
I'm—” Rebecca stopped short as her stomach lurched. She just managed to reach the porch railing before losing both her breakfast and lunch.

After several long moments of gut-wrenching torment, she straightened and brushed a hand over her straggling hair. Megan offered a handkerchief and glass of water. Rebecca took both, rinsing her mouth and wiping the perspiration from her face.

"Come sit down.” Megan led her to the swing and sat beside her. “Do you want to talk about it?"

Rebecca was amazed by the depth of young Megan's compassion. “No."

She felt a stab of regret that she couldn't talk to Megan about Kate. It would be nice to have someone to confide in. But no matter how much she trusted Megan, the girl was Caleb's sister. The risk was too great.