Come Be My Love (11 page)

"And if I refuse?"

"It would be a shame for your sordid past to follow you here, particularly since you seem to be so comfortably cared for by the governor."

"If I am his mistress, as you claim," Sarah said, hoping he wouldn't detect the shakiness in her voice, "then my reputation could hardly be sullied now. So you might as well leave. I have no intention of giving you anything."

Hollis folded his arms. "I suggest you give this matter further thought. Like I said, I doubt if the good people of Victoria would look favorably upon an unmarried woman who got herself with child then stooped to ridding herself of it, which is exactly what they will learn if you don’t do as we request."

Knotting her fists at her sides in an effort to keep from thrashing Hollis, Sarah said, "I refuse to stoop so low as to defend myself against the base lies you have perpetrated. I would say that you are demented, but I know otherwise. You were always cunning and devious, but somewhere along the way you took a different path and became less than human."

Afraid that the stinging in her eyes would emerge as tears, Sarah turned, and when she did, every muscle in her body went slack. Jon stood in the doorway, his eyes smoldering. She had no idea how long he'd been there, but from the look on his face, she knew he had not just arrived.

He stalked across the room in four long strides and stood beside her, and said to her, "Would you introduce me to your guests?" When he rested his hand on the base of her neck, Sarah's heart felt as if it were about to leap from her chest. The nearness of him seemed solid, reassuring. Yet she had to swallow before words could come. "These are my stepbrothers, Hollis and Tyler."

Hollis extended his hand, but retracted it when Jon made no move to take it. "My brother and I have business with our sister," Hollis said. "So we will just step outside and continue."

"There's no need," Jon replied, his eyes unwavering. "Unless, of course, Miss Ashley chooses to." His mouth curved in a wry smile. "My home is her home."

Sarah saw triumph in Hollis's steely gaze and watched the sullen resentment drain from his face. "Well then," he said, "since she's established here with you, you'll understand when we demand that she relinquish the money she holds, money that is rightfully ours."

Sarah's eyes blazed. "That money is from a fund left to me and me alone, by my mother, and you know it. You have absolutely no claim to it."

Hollis gave a kind of grudging laugh and looked at Jon. "What she says isn't exactly correct, Governor. She neglected to mention that she managed to liquidate a fund that was in litigation, after which time she left San Francisco, quite hastily. But then, that's a common course when absconding with another's money, isn't it?"

"That's a strong accusation," Jon said in a lethal tone. "Are you prepared to back it up?"

"We have no legal papers with us, if that's what you mean," Hollis replied.

"Then I suggest you and your brother move on," Jon said.

"We can't," Hollis replied. "We don't have enough money to return to San Francisco."

"You're gamblers," Jon said. "Go north to the goldfields. Gamble your last dollar on the chance that there might be a fortune waiting for you there. If not, you'd better find a way to go back to where you came from because if you stay here you might find it eminently unsafe. You see, Victoria has a policy concerning the presence of rats in sinkholes. We shoot them."

A muscle twitched in Hollis's jaw. "Is that a threat, Governor?"

Jon dropped his hand from Sarah's neck and faced Hollis squarely. "You bloody well better believe it is. And there's not a soul around here who'd give a damn if a couple of paltry bastards like you disappeared."

"You seem to be confused, Governor," Hollis said. "Sarah's the only bastard in the family. Didn't she tell you about her ignoble birth?" He eyed Sarah with disdain. "No, I don't imagine she'd mention her mother's broomstick marriage to our father, would you, Sarah?"

Before she could respond, Jon's fist cracked against Hollis's jaw with swift and deadly aim, sending Hollis sprawling backward. As Hollis started to pull himself up, Jon grabbed him by the lapels, jerking him to his feet. "You goddamned bloody bastard. There are two ships sailing out of here tomorrow, the
Revelation
to the goldfields and the
Eliza Anderson
to New Westminster. You be on one of them." He released his hold, sending Hollis stumbling backward toward the front door. "Now, you and your brother get out of my house!"

Hollis rubbed his jaw and dabbed his handkerchief at the blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. He shifted disdainful eyes from Jon and fixed them on Sarah. "Just keep in mind that you won't always be able to hide behind the coattails of your paramours. When you're tossed into the streets we'll find you, and we'll get what's ours." He shoved his handkerchief into his pocket and swept through the door, Tyler on his heels.

After the door closed behind them, Sarah went to the window and parted the curtains. "They won't leave," she said in a weary voice. "You may have stopped Hollis for now, but he won't go until he gets what he came for."

Jon peered over her shoulder and watched the men climb into a plain black buggy that he recognized as one of the cheaper vehicles for hire from Parker's Livery. At least some of what he'd heard was true. The men were gamblers. He'd noted the crisp sheen of their frock coats, and the ornate gold stickpins securing their silk cravats, and the embroidery of their waistcoats. The men had obviously known wealth and lost it, and were holding on to a facade of affluence. He also knew that the rest were lies. Sarah's response to him when he'd taken her by surprise at the spring was not the demeanor of an experienced woman, but of one who still had much to learn.

"How much did you hear?" Sarah asked, continuing to look out the window.

Jon caught the shakiness in her voice, but suspected it was more from humiliation than anxiety. "Enough to hope your brother will have a sore jaw for a long time to come."

Sarah kept her back to him. "I suppose you believe everything they said."

Jon couldn't dismiss the incongruous feeling of pleasure that settled over him on realizing that it mattered to Sarah what he thought. The odd thing was, he almost wished she had done the things she'd been accused of doing, because then he might be able to banish her from his mind. "Do you care what I believe?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I care what the people of Victoria believe since I hope to solicit their business."

"You didn't answer my question." Jon turned her around so she faced him squarely, and said, "I asked if you care what I believe."

Sarah looked at him soberly. "I suppose. So... do you believe what Hollis said?"

"Had it been the day of your arrival, I might have believed at least part of it," Jon replied. "You wouldn't have been the first raspberry tart to arrive in Victoria. But now I know different. So, to answer your question, no, I don't believe a word of what your brother said. What I don't understand is why they'd fabricate such vicious lies about you."

Sarah shrugged. "Because I wouldn't turn my money over to them, and they’re angry."

"Why do they feel they have claim to the money?"

"It's money my mother put aside for me from earnings from the business. They feel it rightfully belonged to their father—my stepfather—and therefore to them, since they were the heirs. My mother saved up the money because she knew my stepfather had not included me in his will. When I turned twenty-one, she put the money in a secret account in my name, then told me about it just before she died. Hollis heard her tell me about the money and started litigation, but before they could start proceedings, I liquidated the account and came here."

"And your relatives in the East?" Jon asked, his gaze taking in the cheerless set to her lips. "Do they endorse this venture of yours?"

"They don't know about it," Sarah replied.

Catching a hint of ruthlessness in her tone, Jon said, "Is there a particular reason why?"

A trace of derision crept into Sarah's voice, as she replied, "I have no contact with them."

"Why not?" Jon asked, holding her gaze.

"It's a long story," Sarah replied. "You'd be quite bored with it." She turned to go.

Jon caught her arm. "Nothing about you has bored me so far," he said. "I want to know."

Sarah stared at him for a few moments, then said, "They want nothing to do with me."

"Let me guess," Jon said, a smile tugging at his lips. "They're a bunch of straitlaced prudes and you insist on parading around in those bloody bloomer costumes."

Chin raised, eyes unblinking, Sarah replied in a flat voice, "No. Because I'm a love child. You see, some of what Hollis said was true. My real father was a captain in the British navy and he never married my mother. When the family learned about it, they made it clear that I was not to come east and pollute their good name. I'm really quite the blueblood, don't you agree?"

Jon ignored her cynical remark. "What happened to your real father?"

"It's not important."

"I think it is. He caused you a lot of pain, and I want to know why." Jon saw her chin quiver slightly and her eyes brighten with unshed tears.

"He called my mother a whore, denied being the father of her unborn child, and sailed off. My mother's family shunned her, so they would certainly not welcome me stepping forward after all these years and reminding them that I still exist. So what do you think of my aristocratic heritage now?"

The bitterness of her words and the undisguised pain in her eyes sent blood pulsing through Jon's temples with a low steady throb. At last he understood why she'd turned from men and marriage. The disarmed, vulnerable woman beneath the dauntless facade had been betrayed by all the men in her life who’d mattered to her. "I think your father was a spineless fool."

Sarah gave a short laugh. "I suppose I agree with you. But then, he wouldn't want to claim as his, the child of a soiled woman who had been tossed aside by her own family."

"That's a blamed piece of humbug," Jon said. "Besides, look what came of it: a beautiful,
 
courageous, exasperatingly charming woman," he said, his thumb tracing the hard line of her mouth, attempting to coax a smile.

Sarah's lips softened and she looked up at him with wide, probing eyes. "What I told you doesn't seem to bother you."

Jon slipped his arms around her and clasped his hands behind her waist. "It doesn't. If your mother had not fallen in love with your father—spineless fool that he was—you would not be here in my arms." His eyes meandered across her face and paused at length on her lips. "And if you were not in my arms, I would not be able do this--" his mouth covered hers in a slow, deep kiss. Sarah closed her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

But when he drew her closer, abruptly she broke the kiss and her eyes popped open. Pressing against his chest, she said in a breathless voice, "I don't know what got into me but I have to go now because I've got to finish packing since we're moving first thing in the morning."

Jon looked at her, concerned. "You can't go," he said. "The road's a quagmire. You'll need to stay at least another few days... until the road dries some."

"That's out of the question. Mud or no mud, I
will
be leaving tomorrow."

"But there's no reason," Jon insisted. "Besides, I very much want you to stay."

Sarah ducked out of his arms, and said, cryptically, "You won't for much longer," then turned and left the room in a haste.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The following morning, to Sarah's dismay, she awakened to a low, protracted rumble in the sky and rain pelting against the window. It had drizzled throughout the night, and now she feared the road would truly be the quagmire Jon predicted. But somehow, she'd get the wagon through and be settled in the cottage by late afternoon.

Immediately after Jon left on his horse for the legislature building, she instructed his stablemen to carry her trunks and other belongings down to the porch in preparation for loading them into the wagon she’d leased, and which should be arriving within the hour, but since neither Pederson nor
Tooley
would be available to drive it until late afternoon, she decided she'd drive it herself. She felt confident in her driving skills. Certainly a flat, muddy road would present no more of a challenge than the hilly cobblestone streets of San Francisco.

Knowing she had little time to spare if they were to be out of the house before the editorial appeared on the streets, she quickly dressed in a plain shirtwaister and working boots, then set about closing the trunks...

"May I come in, Miss Ashley?" Josephine appeared in the doorway. "I want to talk to you before you go."

Sarah closed the trunk. "Yes, come in."

Josephine glanced up and down the hallway before slipping into the room and quietly closing the door. "What I wanted to talk about was this." She held out a scrapbook.

Sarah took the book and slowly fanned the pages, scanning the numerous articles clipped from the New York Tribune. “How did you get these?" she asked, noting the care with which the orderly collection had been cut and pasted.

"From Mrs.
Dewig-Gertz
. Her husband owns
Gertz's
Drug Store," Josephine said, excitement bringing a flush to her face. "Mrs.
Dewig-Gertz
is in favor of suffrage for women and has even insisted on retaining her maiden name—
Dewig
. Her first husband, Mr. Moore, died a while back. She was Mrs.
Dewig
-Moore then. But now that she’s married to
Mr
Gertz
, she’s Mrs.
Dewig-Gertz
. And Mr.
Gertz
doesn’t mind. Anyway, Mrs.
Dewig-Gertz
has a cousin who sends her the clippings, and when she finishes reading them she lets me have them. Of course, Papa and Grandmother don't know I'm keeping this scrapbook. They'd be frightfully upset."

"Yes, I suppose they would be," Sarah said, lowering herself to the bed. Perusing the articles, she recognized the writings of Elizabeth Cady Stanton. "So this is where you get your rebellious bent," she said, raising amused eyes to Josephine and catching her furtive smile.

"Yes," Josephine replied. "I mean, I don't believe I'm being rebellious, although Papa and Grandmother seem to think so. But now you see why I was so happy when I learned you were coming to Victoria to make things right for women."

"Well, I don't know about that," Sarah said, giving Josephine a sideways glance. "It doesn't appear I have been doing very well so far."

"Oh, but you will. And I'll help you." Josephine dropped to sit on the bed, tucked her feet under her and gathered her skirt about her knees. "I've been reading about temperance and suffrage and education for women," she said, in an excited voice, "and also about Mrs. Amelia Bloomer's costumes. Of course, I had never seen one before, so you can see how terribly thrilled I was when you mentioned you brought some. And twice I have worn the bloomers you gave me, but only when alone in my bedroom at night."

A sense of uneasiness settled over Sarah. "Maybe you should wait until your father and grandmother become more accustomed to the idea of women in bifurcated outer garments."

Josephine sighed. "But they are so behind the times," she said in an exasperated voice. Moving close to Sarah, she reached over and flipped the page of the scrapbook. "Look, right here it says that there is a woman doctor with the Federal Army who wears trousers and a tunic when she tends the soldiers on the battlefield, and that several nurses are considering the idea." She pursed her lips and added, "I imagine if Grandmother were there, she'd expect the nurses to wear layers of petticoats so they'd be properly dressed. I truly must not let her see this book."

Sarah could just imagine Lady Cromwell's reaction on learning about her granddaughter's collection of clippings. "Does your Aunt Esther know you've been reading such controversial things?" she asked.

"Well, no," Josephine replied. "I've thought about telling her, but I was afraid she might say something to Papa or Grandmother, even though she holds with most of my opinions. And I would simply die if I were told I could not have these writings."

"Yes, that would be a shame," Sarah said. She returned the scrapbook and stood to continue her packing.

But instead of leaving, Josephine's said, "Do you know anything about the Women's Rights Convention in New York?"

Sarah glanced at Josephine, whose eyes were bright with curiosity. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I was there," she replied, while slipping a kid boot into a muslin bag. "I was only twelve at the time, but my mother thought it was important for me to hear Elizabeth Cady Stanton."

"Oh, please. Do tell."

Remembering how excited she'd been that day, Sarah replied, "All the roads leading to the church were jammed with carriages, and there was a huge crowd gathered on the lawn when Mother and I arrived. Some men had locked the church so the women could not get in, but someone crawled through the window, and soon, women filled the pews. A group of men, refused to leave, but that didn't stop the women from debating issues, sometimes quite heatedly. Of course the entire convention was denounced by the newspaper as a motley gathering of fanatical mongrels, fugitive slaves and lunatics. But, as my mother pointed out, it started people thinking and questioning, and that's the first step toward progress."

Josephine clapped her hands with glee. "I should like to stand before a crowd of women someday and do just as Mrs. Stanton did. I’ve read that she is an eloquent speaker."

Sarah looked into eyes kindled with sparks of fanatical fervor, vaguely reminding her of Elizabeth Cady Stanton herself. "I believe your father and grandmother would be mortified if you ever did such a thing," she said, tucking her boots into the trunk.

Josephine sighed. "Grandmother absolutely insists we be proper ladies at all times. Being proper doesn't bother Louella though. She fashions herself as being exactly like Mama. But it bothers me greatly." She gave another despondent sigh. "I am so weary of hearing how a well-bred lady must conduct herself."

"It does get a bit tiresome," Sarah agreed.

Josephine smiled brightly. "You and Mrs.
Dewig-Gertz
are the only people in Victoria who understand. Grandmother is so... well, so behind the times. She says—" Josephine hopped to her feet, strolled theatrically across the room, and said, while reciting with great eloquence "—a proper lady must wear a smile, have a graceful bearing, a light step and—" she tipped her body forward "—an elegant bend. And she must sink gently into a chair." She carefully lowered herself into the lady's chair. "And, of course, retain an upright position."

Sarah chuckled at Josephine's melodramatic parody, and added, "And the well-bred lady must also—" she dabbed at her hair "—avoid smoothing the tresses or arranging the curls—" she tugged at her bodice, wiggling as if she had a terrible itch "—or pulling at the dress. And the proper gentleman must simper and frown, quirk his little finger, and dance with precision." She danced about the room, stiff-legged, her little finger cocked in the air. They both broke into girlish giggles. After a few moments, Josephine stood, and her face sobered. "I must go before Grandmother finds me with you, but I'll stop by the cottage the first chance I can get away."

Sarah eyed Josephine with concern. "I think it would be best if you didn't come to the cottage. I don't want your father or grandmother to think I put these unconventional ideas in your head, and how else could you explain them without disclosing your scrapbook?"

"But we have so much work to do, spreading the word about women's rights and dress reform. I truly want to help. And I'll work in your shop without pay. Please, Miss Ashley, I do so want to do it."

Sarah eyed her in amusement. "I'd have no objection," she said, "but I'm afraid your father and grandmother would feel otherwise." She studied Josephine's eager face. How easy the job of selling bloomers would be if every woman in Victoria felt as Josephine did.

Opening the door for her to leave, she said, "I tell you what. When I’ve set up my store, then you might drop by and say hello. And maybe when things are going well and your father and grandmother have become a little more accustomed to the idea of women in business, you might approach them about working for me. Meanwhile, continue to act like a proper lady, because a woman with poise, dignity, and grace has far more power to persuade than one who is unschooled in such matters." She wasn't certain she truly believed that, but it seemed appropriate to say it to Josephine.

"I suppose," Josephine said. "And later, I'll talk to Papa and Grandmother about working for you in your store." She gave Sarah a hug and scurried off.

Sarah looked across the hall at the door to Louella's room. Ever since her arrival, Louella had been avoiding her, and she wanted to talk to her about occupying the room where her mother's possessions were kept. Deciding that now might be her only opportunity, she knocked lightly. "Louella, may I come in?" she called through the closed door. "I'd like to say goodbye."

The door opened slowly. Louella peeked through the crack, then stepped back, allowing Sarah to enter. She stared at Sarah, her china-blue eyes cool and clear as she waited in aloof silence for Sarah to speak. Sarah reached out to touch her shoulder, but Louella backed away and said, "You should not have come here, nor should you have stayed in my mother's room."

"Yes, perhaps you're right," Sarah said. "I certainly didn't mean to stay where I was unwelcome. And I truly hope I didn't disturb your mother's things. I tried not to."

Louella refused to look at Sarah, as she said, in a quiet but caustic tone, "My mother was a well-bred, fashionable lady. She knew all the rules of conduct and the importance of proper dress. There was not a place my father could take her where she would be anything less than a proper lady."

"I'm certain you're right," Sarah said. "And you must be very proud to have had her for a mother."

"Then why are you trying to take her place?"

"Where did you get that idea?"

"It's true, isn't it?"

"No, of course it's not true," Sarah said. "As a matter of fact, your father and I disagree on many issues."

Louella turned and glared at her. "I don't believe you. I think you plan to marry him because he's the governor and he has lots of money. Well, you're not anything like my mother, and he won't marry you no matter what."

Sarah peered into eyes glistening with tears. "Believe me," she said, "I have no romantic designs on your father. But you must face the fact that someday someone will, and your father will care for her, too."

"You're wrong," Louella said, adamant. "He'll never love anyone like he loved my mother. And no one will be as pretty either." She turned toward the window again.

"You and your father have a very special relationship," Sarah said, "but if you really love him, you'll allow him to have a life beyond you and Josephine."

"My father doesn't need that," Louella replied. "He likes things the way they are. And as soon as you're gone, everything will be fine again."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Sarah said, "and I hope we can eventually be friends." When Louella didn't respond, Sarah turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Thirty minutes later, having donned cloak, hat, and gloves, Sarah waited at the window. Soon, up the road came a man who drove a large open wagon pulled by a pair of unmatched, dingy brown horses, with a saddle horse plodding behind. Sarah had contracted for use of the wagon for moving, but once she and Mandi would be settled in the cottage, she intended to exchange the wagon for a buggy.

After the man from the livery left, Jon's stablemen started loading Sarah's trunks into the wagon, stopping between loads to stand on the porch, out of the rain. Sarah tried to urge the men to move faster—she desperately wanted to be gone before Jon returned from the legislature building—but they seemed to be in no hurry. When they had loaded the last trunk, they covered everything with a canvas. But before they had secured it with ropes, it began to rain harder and they moved under the porch again. Anxious to be on her way, Sarah dismissed them, deciding that she and Mandi could finish the job themselves.

"Come on," she said to Mandi, who was standing with her on the porch.

Mandi hesitated. "It's raining mighty hard right now."

"Well, we can't wait," Sarah said. "Those ropes aren't going to tie themselves, and we're running out of time."

Mandi sighed. Holding onto the hood of her cloak, while attempting to protect her head from the unceasing rain, she followed Sarah to the wagon, and the women started crisscrossing ropes over the canvas and fastening them in a web of knots.

"We'll be at the cottage in fifteen minutes," Sarah assured Mandi. "Then we can have something warm to drink." She tugged her hood over her head.