Contract to Wed (8 page)

Maximillian laid his palm against her cheek. “Maybe between
the three of us we can start again.” When she did not respond, he heaved a sigh
and dropped his hand. “Sometime give me some hints about what I should do about
Melinda and bathing and her clothing.”

Maximillian opened the door and left the guest room. Jolene
stood stiffly and stared straight ahead at the still-life portrait hanging on
the wall with its pink-tinted apples and wedge of cheese cut open with a knife.
She hurried out of the room.

“Maximillian?” she said down the empty hallway.
“Maximillian?” With no reply, Jolene shook her head and spoke aloud to herself.
“This is nonsense.” She turned to flee to her rooms, but then, there he was,
coming back around the corner of the vast hallway. He was smiling.

“Did you call me, Jolene?”

She folded her hands at her waist and forced herself to not
be so glad that he’d returned. She waited until he stopped in front of her. “I
will help you with Melinda. Not because I’ve changed my mind. I’m not here to
raise a young girl. But I believe you mean the best for her but don’t know how
to go about it. And I think I can help you get started.”

Maximillian wrapped his arms about her, and pulled her
close. He kissed the crown of her head and rested his chin there. “Thank you.”

Jolene stepped out of his embrace. “We’d be wise to go
together to Melinda’s room right now.”

“I’ve got a feeling that this isn’t going to be pleasant,”
Maximillian said as they walked to Melinda’s room.

“Melinda,” he said, “Open the door.”

They heard the click of the lock, and Maximillian followed
Jolene into the room.

“What’s she doing here? She took all my clothes!” Melinda
shouted and ran to her father.

He gave Melinda a quick hug and then held her away from him.
“You are not going to speak to Jolene that way, young lady.”

“I hate her!”

“That is unfortunate, Melinda,” Jolene said. “But bears no
influence on whether you are bathing or what clothes you are wearing.”

“When you take off your clothes for the day, you must put
them aside for washing. No more shoving them back into your drawers,”
Maximillian said.

“I’m not wearing dresses! I can’t play!” Melinda shouted. “I
can’t ride Daisy!”

Jolene walked to Melinda’s cupboards packed tight with the new
clothing. “I’m sorry to hear that, as I had this split riding skirt made for
you. It has a pretty print blouse that would complement your coloring, and I
ordered these boots with the blue stitching to match. They peek out from under
the skirt so prettily. But if you are not interested in any of it, I will
return it to Mrs. McCabe. I’m certain she’ll be able to resell it.” Jolene had
all three pieces in her hands and looked at Melinda. “It will sell very
quickly. Split skirts are all the rage, you know.”

Melinda approached cautiously and touched the fine fabric
and fingered the leather boots. “I wouldn’t have to ride side-saddle in this.”

“No, you would not, but you must
learn
to ride
side-saddle because all young ladies know how.”

Melinda glanced in the open cupboard and back at Jolene.
“But I could still ride?”

“I propose a compromise, if your father is agreeable,”
Jolene said. “I propose that you may wear your old dungarees and shirts in the
morning but before sitting down for luncheon, you must change into a dress or a
skirt and blouse after you have washed and used tooth powder.”

“Can I change back after I eat?”

“No. You may not. You and I will be in the school room, if
the Hacienda has one; otherwise, we will set one up. We will study arithmetic,
reading, and deportment. You will accompany me on some meetings that I have
with Maria and with the housekeeping staff. Then you will wash your face and hands
and join your father and me for dinner. If you wish to change into old clothes
in the evening sometimes, you may.”

* * *

“I still don’t like you,” Melinda
said to Jolene.

Jolene’s brows rose. “I think you have the potential to be
an exceptional young woman, both in looks and knowledge, and you have keen
instincts. However, these outcomes are not guaranteed. The only ones in life to
achieve those results are the ones that
work
at it,” Jolene said.

Max watched his daughter hang on every word out of Jolene’s
mouth. He knew why. Jolene was the only one at the Hacienda who did not
constantly gush and coddle Melinda. He’d seen Jolene watching Melinda from afar
and wondered what she thought of his daughter. Now he knew, and he realized
he’d never really thought of Melinda’s future in any terms but his loss. But
there was a position of responsibility that would be hers as she matured.
Grooming her to follow him had not been a reality to Max until he heard
Jolene’s description.

Jolene handed Melinda the boots, skirt, and shirt. “Clean
underthings, please. After I have someone come up here and wash your hair.”

Melinda looked up at Jolene and back down to the fringed,
tooled leather riding boots. She plopped down on the end of her bed. “I have to
wash my hair, too?”

“Yes, you do,” Jolene said. “Your new flat-brimmed riding
hat with the turquoise studded hat band is not going to be placed on a head of
dirty, greasy hair. Your father paid a pretty penny for it.”

“When do I start the school room?” she asked.

Jolene looked at Max. “Unless your father has any objections
to these plans, we will start tomorrow.”

He shook his head. “No objections at all.”

Max escorted Jolene from the room and watched her glide away
down the hallway.

Chapter Ten

Jolene patted her mouth with her
napkin after they finished dessert. “I would like to arrange for an office for
myself, and there’s a small room just down the hall that is used for storage.
I’d like to have it cleaned out and use it for myself and for a classroom as
well. Will that be all right?”

Max pushed back from the table and crossed his legs. Melinda
was in a dress, and her hair was combed and braided. She’d been sulking but
seemed to be in better spirits this evening. Seeing her in clean clothes,
dresses and skirts with neatly combed hair had proven to Max that Jolene had
been right, that it was time for her to begin to look and act like a young
lady. As usual, Jolene was stunning in a pale yellow gown that matched her hair
piled on her head. Dinner had been delicious, and Max was feeling content.

“Isn’t that where Melissa’s things are?” Zeb asked.

“I think you’re right,” he said. “I’ll have to go through
those boxes myself.”

“What’s in them?” Melinda asked.

Max tilted his head. “I’m not sure anymore. Maria packed up
some of her clothes sometime after your momma died, and I cleaned out the desk
in my room that she’d always used. There were notes and recipes from her mother
and a newspaper clipping of when the war was over.”

“No drawings or anything?” Melinda asked.

Max shook his head. “No drawings, honey. But you are a
beautiful young lady because of her. All you have to do is look in the mirror
to know what she looked like.”

“Your Daddy’s right. You’re a pretty girl, just like your
Momma from what your Daddy says and just as sweet, too,” Zeb said.

Melinda glanced at Jolene. “She said it doesn’t matter what
we look like and that when men
tell
you you’re pretty, they’re just
trying to distract you from what they are
doing
.”

Max laughed.  “I suppose that’s true when you’re older
but when Zeb and I tell you you’re pretty, it’s because we think you’re a
wonderful little girl who’s pretty
and
smart.”

“But she will not always have champions beside her. She has
to discern her value on her own,” Jolene said. “It’s a failing for many women,
that constant dependence on what other’s think.”

“We all worry about what others think, Jolene,” Zeb said.
“And I imagine you give plenty of credence to others as well. Isn’t that at the
forefront of every ‘good’ Boston family?”

“You are correct, Zebidiah,” Jolene said and looked at him
squarely. “I’ve been very concerned about what others think my entire life as
my mother taught me to be. But I defied her in grand fashion by moving here and
marrying Mr. Shelby. I’m not less concerned about what others think of me
because I’m looking down my nose at them. I’m less concerned because I just
don’t care as much as I’ve been taught to, other than in relationship to
helping Mr. Shelby with his political intentions.”

Max stared at her while she signaled for dishes to be
cleared. She would not meet his eyes.

“Can I change clothes and go see the foal in the barn?”
Melinda asked.

“May I?” Jolene said.

“May I, Daddy?”

“Jolene? Has she done all her studies and such?”

“She has,” Jolene replied.

Max nodded, and Melinda hurried out of the room. Zeb stood,
picked up his drink, and followed Melinda.

“My apologies if I was less than correct in my comments
while Melinda was in the room,” Jolene said.

Max shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything that was inappropriate.
But I am curious now about your mother after you said what you did. She was not
in favor of our marriage?”

“I have not lived in my parent’s home since my first marriage,
nearly fifteen years ago,” Jolene said. “It hardly signifies what my mother
thinks now.”

“I don’t know about that,” Max said. “I treasure every
letter my mother and father write. They’re my guiding light when sometimes I
don’t know what to do or think.” Jolene took a sip of coffee, and Max poured
her a brandy, which he was coming to know she enjoyed after a meal.

“My mother was and still is, I imagine, furious beyond
words. I waited until just four weeks before I was to leave to come here to
tell her and my father about our marriage.”

“What did your father have to say?”

“He was silent, as he always has been on matters such as
this,” Jolene said and looked away out the long window. “I have yet to
determine whether he was angry or ashamed of me or envious.”

“Envious?”

She turned back to face him with a wry smile. “I would no
longer be in Mother’s sphere.”

“That desperate?” he said with a chuckle but he sobered when
he looked at Jolene’s face.

“My younger sister, Julia, took a train to marry a man she’d
never met, a storekeeper in South Dakota. She knew next to nothing about him.
Never took the time to discover anything about him, although she didn’t end up
marrying him. He could have murdered her or beat her. She was foolish beyond
belief but was desperate to leave Willow Tree.”

“Because of your mother?” Max asked.

Jolene nodded. “Yes. Because of my mother.”

“I sure hope Melinda never feels that way about me,” he
said. He was half-hoping that Jolene would console him or humor him and say
Melinda would never feel that way and that he shouldn’t worry. But his wife was
not one to fuss over him.  “It’s a lovely evening, Jolene. Would you like
to take a walk?”

* * *

“Yes. Thank you,” she said and stood
as Maximillian held her chair.

She walked through the massive double doors at the front of
the house onto the tiled front patio, and Maximillian joined her. He winged his
arm, and she took it. They walked out into the pasture land, past the corrals,
and barns along a well-worn path leading into a copse of trees. It was quiet
other than some far-away birdsong. They walked until they stopped at a small
stream; Maximillian released her arm, and she seated herself on a boulder just
to the side of the path. The air was clean but heavy with the smell of mosses
and some late spring flower she could not identify. It was dusk, and the canopy
of leaves made it darker still. Maximillian propped a foot up behind her, and
she heard him strike a match and smelled his cigar.

“Julia is plump, my sister Julia, that is. She was never
very organized and a bit clumsy as well. She was often the target of our
mother’s displeasure and she was of the unfortunate personality to show it.
When Mother said unkind things to me, I acted as though it didn’t matter.
Julia, however, cried and looked alternately terrified and humiliated,” Jolene
said. “Mother could never resist picking at her for that very reason.”

“But you stayed out of her path by acting as though it
didn’t matter to you what she thought,” he said.

“Yes.”

Maximillian sat down next to her and leaned back on the
boulder. He put his arm around her shoulders and leaned her back across his
chest. He twirled a lock of her hair in lazy circles. “But it did matter to
you. How could it not?” he asked.

Jolene lay stiffly in his loose embrace. It felt so foreign,
so unnecessary, but as she looked at the trees above her and smelled his soap
and smoke, she was lulled to relax. “That was why Grandmother Crawford’s death
was such a blow. There were no soft words any longer, no encouragement, no . .
. love. Of course, it mattered. Of course, it did.”

Jolene had no idea how long she lay there. She didn’t sleep,
and she didn’t think he did either but she could feel his breathing, easy and
deep. They didn’t speak any more, and of that she was glad. It was unnerving
how quickly she revealed confidences to him. What was it about her husband?

The air was cool near the stream, and night had fallen. Maximillian
sat up, and so did Jolene. He draped his jacket around her shoulders after
shrugging it off when she shivered. She felt his hand on hers, and he led her
slowly out of the trees and onto the path where the moon shone brightly.

“The Cattlemen’s Ball is in two weeks. I’d like to take you
and introduce you there,” Maximillian said. “I thought we might stay the night
afterwards at the hotel instead of making the ride home. It will probably be
late.”

Jolene looked up at Maximillian’s profile, dim, in the moon
light. A hotel room? Did her husband intend on sleeping with her? She thought
about this tall, solid man beside her as he would pull a shirt off over his
head preparing to climb in bed. She didn’t for one moment think Maximillian
would force himself on her. But the pulsing between her legs and the heaviness
of her breasts told her that he would not need to force himself. She would be
willing, and welcome his advances.

“Is this a large event?” she asked.

“Very large. One of the fanciest socials there is around
here, and I’ll need the support and the money of some key attendees.” He looked
down at her. “They’ll be quite a bit of interest in you, I imagine.”

“Do you need me to arrange anything? A small dinner before
the ball?”

“A dinner? I think it would be too much traveling from here
to town with women in gowns and such,” he said.

“I think Emma Jean and Timothy McCastor would be thrilled to
have a dinner party for twelve or fourteen guests prior to the ball. You did
say they lived in the city?”

Maximillian stopped walking and looked at her. “They
probably would. It couldn’t hurt Timothy’s business.”

“It will be helpful to Timothy. He’ll be seen in a different
light as a confidant to the next Senator.”

“Should I ride in to see Timothy and ask him?”

Jolene shook her head. “I’ll send a note to Emma Jean and
let her know I’ll be doing some shopping in town one day soon. I wouldn’t be at
all surprised if she asked me to her home for a lunch or a tea to meet some of
the wives she’s social with. I’ll make a point of mentioning a dinner to her
when we’re alone.”

They stepped into the soft glow of the gas lights under the
portico of the Hacienda. Maximillian turned to her and took her hands in his.

“You sure are the right woman to help me run for office. I’m
so glad I married you,” he said with a broad smile and a laugh. “You know just
what to do.”

Jolene sobered. “I understand that you would expect value
for your dollar. And this is well within the limits of our contract.”

“Jolene,” he said. “I was joking. I never meant to imply
that that was the only reason I’m glad I married you because it’s not. Don’t be
foolish.”

“Thank you for the walk, Maximillian. It was very pleasant.
Good night.”

Jolene turned and forced herself to not hurry, although in
truth, she wanted to run to her rooms and bar the door. How dare he? How dare
he entice her with the walk and the stream and the darkening night? And his
constant touching! The hand-holding, fondling her hair without warning, and
wrapping her up in his embraces.

Jolene dismissed Alice with a wave of her hand as she came
into her room but Alice stood fast.

“Leave. My head is aching.”

“Mrs. Shelby?” Alice asked. “There is . . .”

“Now, Alice. Leave now,” Jolene said loudly as she stared
out the window and thought of Maximillian.
What a fool I’ve been.

“Mrs. Shelby,” Alice whispered.

Jolene turned; ready to unleash her self-hatred and wrath on
someone who could not fight back. She looked at Alice. The maid’s eyes were
wide and fearful and Jolene could see that her hands shook. “What!” she
shouted.

Alice did not speak. She raised her hand and pointed to
Jolene’s bed. There sat Melinda, wide-eyed, with a tear-stained face. The girl
rubbed at her cheeks.

“What is
she
doing in here?” Jolene asked sharply and
watched all the color remaining on the child’s face drain away, leaving
tear-filled eyes and trembling lips. She scrambled from Jolene’s bed and ran to
the door.

“Stop,” Jolene shouted. She blocked Melinda’s exit. Jolene
looked at her maid and at Melinda and knew she was at a crossroads. Would she
become her mother? Could she bear to live with herself if she did?  “I
should not have shouted, Alice. I . . . I am sorry. Please go to bed.” Alice
dropped a curtsy and hurried through the door to her rooms.

Jolene looked at Melinda. “I should not have shouted at
Alice, and I should not have asked why you were here so crudely. But why are
you here? What is the matter?”

Melinda shook her head and sniffled.

Jolene was ashamed. An emotion that she’d rarely dealt with.
Little William’s death brought profound and lasting
grief,
leading to
troubling, and yet unresolved, introspection. Turner’s death brought her
fury
and
humiliation
. But right now she was ashamed. Her feelings had been
hurt by Maximillian, and she lashed out at Alice and indirectly at Melinda.
What
a unique and unsettling experience!
Other than with her son for those short
years, her feelings were rarely engaged, and therefore unable to be tender. But
her feelings were engaged with Maximillian and with this girl. She’d best admit
it to herself.

Jolene took Melinda’s hand and led her to the bed. She
kicked off her shoes, sat down, and pulled Melinda up beside her. “Now tell me
why you are here in my rooms. What has upset you so?”

Melinda’s head was bowed and her shoulders slumped. She
sniffed.

Jolene unfolded her hands. She patted her fingers together,
unsure how to proceed. But eventually, she did it. She touched Melinda’s hair
and smoothed her hand down the child’s back. Melinda launched herself at
Jolene, with both hands around her waist, and her head on Jolene’s breast. She
had no choice but to hold her in a loose embrace.

“Shhhh. Tell me what has happened,” Jolene said.

“Miguel hates me.”

“Who is Miguel?” Jolene asked. “Is that Maria’s son?”