Linda Castle (12 page)

“I, uh, decided to come home. I was on my way upstairs to dress for dinner,” she stammered.

Her words were like a bucket of water in his face. Suddenly his suspicion evaporated and his wariness about his missing memory rose up. “Dress for dinner? Is it a special occasion?” The unending obstacle of having to feel his way through each unknown day came back to haunt him.

“Perhaps.” She stepped away from him and turned to look back at him with a mysterious smile on her face. “It might be a very special day.” Then she darted up the stairs.

Linese pulled the yellow gingham over her head and wriggled the full skirt down over her hips. She could thank the war for not increasing the size of her slender form. As it was, the dress was tight as a glove and pushed her bosom up into a deep cleft above the ruffled flounce. She didn’t recall its being quite so revealing, but perhaps she had grown a bit fuller in her chest since her marriage. After all she had been barely seventeen when she and Chase stood before the minister. She leaned toward the mirror and pinned the cameo at the juncture of her cleavage.

“I wonder if he will remember this dress?” Linese asked her reflection. It was silly, she supposed. Men were not sentimental in the same way women were, but in her heart of hearts, she hoped he would remember it. She dabbed a bit of scent behind her ears before she summoned her courage and went downstairs.

Chase poured himself a tall brandy. He had read and reread every paper in the stack. Nothing in any of them brought one shred of recollection forward. The slim hope he had pinned on regaining at least a small portion of his memory was fast dwindling and he felt a growing sense of doom.

His own past was nipping at his heels, but the worst part was knowing he was helpless to protect his grandfather and
Linese without the memory of his own deeds. He could face his own destruction, and probably deserved to pay the price for a thousand forgotten black sins. But his grandfather and Linese were different—they were innocent.

He had to protect them. His earlier conversation had intruded on his thoughts the entire time he had been searching the back issues. A part of him knew that he had only given them part of his attention and that his real interest had been at the top of the stairs with Linese.

He sipped the brandy and allowed the sensation of holding her slim shoulders in his hands to wash over him. Touching her had been a bittersweet thing.

When the ringing in his ears grew louder, he took another gulp of the brandy. Then the scent of spring blooms and the sound of crinoline swishing brought him spinning around to see the source of the noise. A bright, painful flash of memory ripped through his head when he caught sight of Linese….

It was her, yet it was not Linese here in this time.

She was younger, more childlike, untouched. Her face held the same sort of promise the first rosebud of spring contains—soft, pristine, achingly beautiful. The memory of fiddle music and loud conversation surrounded her misty image and nearly drowned out the sound of ringing in his ears while he stared at her with his mouth agape. In his mind’s eye, he saw a distortion of himself, as if looking through a cracked telescope lens.

His remembered self walked into the crowded room and focused on her. She looked up at him with eyes bluer than a robin’s egg.

He knew he had to have her. There was a makeshift bandage on his hand when he reached out and took hold of hers.

The scar Ira spoke of.

The information suddenly popped into his head. Though he had no idea how he had gotten the wound, he now knew
it had resulted in the scar. He heard his own voice, echoing up as if from the bottom of a deep dry well.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Chase Cordell.”

A million missing and unremembered emotions ripped through his head in the space of one thudding heartbeat. He remembered what it felt like to know he had to
have
Linese. He remembered what it felt like to be driven to win Linese. But the thing that tore him apart, the one emotion he wanted to feel, was still missing.

He couldn’t remember loving Linese.

He forced himself to face the specter of himself. Had he married her because he had to have her? Had he married her when he did not love her?

The ringing in his ears rose in pitch and intensity. Chase felt his knees go liquid. The brandy glass slipped from his hand. He heard the glass shatter into a million pieces on the stones in front of the fireplace. Then his vision shrank into nothing more than a black tunnel almost as stygian as the pain in his heart.

Chase paced his room and tried to keep his eyes off the connecting door between his room and the room that was now Linese’s. It was a futile effort. He could not ignore the door or the pain lingering in his soul. Humiliation and sadness warred with a bittersweet joy inside him.

He had remembered. Not much, just a tiny heartbeat of time, but in that time, a million lost emotions were resurrected.

He remembered what he had felt like the first time he had laid eyes on Linese, but nothing followed or preceded it. The memory was hanging there in his mind, disjointed, unconnected like a spider’s web in a dim corner.

He walked to the door and placed his fingertips against the wood, then he leaned his forehead against the solid mass.

He wanted to knock, wanted to open the door, wanted to remove the barrier of wood between them. He sighed and
told himself the obstacle between them was not of wood or stone.

If only he could hold her and kiss her.

He could hear her moving about beyond the wide oak door. Each tiny sound brought images of her luminous eyes and moist lips. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and passion he felt and slumped into the rocker beside the too-large, too-empty bed.

The pounding in his temples matched the throbbing of his heated blood. His head hurt from thinking about her, and his arms ached to hold her.

A light knock at the door brought Chase back up to his stocking-covered feet. He stood there, rigid, sure he imagined the sound. Then it came again. Hesitant, timid—the knock of someone plucking up her courage.

He crossed the room in three long strides and stood frozen, staring at the door. He had to draw upon his tattered reserve of determination before he could reach for the glass doorknob and turn it. She was there, exactly as he had pictured her.

“Linese.” He heard the happiness in his greeting and cringed a little for the weakness she brought out in him.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you.” She looked beyond him to the untouched bed. A bright flush of color invaded her cheeks when she faced him. “After what happened, I wanted to see if you were feeling better. Is there anything you need? Should I fetch Doc Lukins?”

He wanted to go to her, to take her in his arms. He wanted to recapture the magic of holding her. But fear kept him rooted to the floor by the doorway.

“No, I’m fine, except for my bruised pride. I had a headache. I lost my balance and fell….” He allowed the lie to trail off. It had been the sight of her in the dress, the recaptured recollection that had put him on his knees before her.

“Oh,” she said.

He knew she doubted his flimsy excuse. She swept past him into the room without invitation and he did indeed catch a whiff of flowers and clean cotton emanating from her voluminous gown, just as he imagined. Chase squeezed the knob tighter and tried not to notice the seductive sway of her womanly hips while he drank in the sight of her, there, in his bedroom.

How could he not remember her?

In a moment of pure panic, Chase realized he was falling in love with his wife. He remembered wanting her for his bride in the past, but if he let himself, now, in the present, he could worship her.

It was not just the recollection of their meeting and the thrill of those first heart-pounding minutes when he knew he had to have her, had to possess her. It was so much more.

New feelings of affection were being layered on top of the old ones he barely remembered. Old feelings of wanting to possess her.

She was everything he could desire—beautiful, intelligent, caring. He wanted her. He wanted her in his bed, in his arms and in his heart.

It rocked Chase to acknowledge it, but locked deep inside his soul, waiting to spring free, was a love for Linese so strong, so powerful, it was frightening to him. And to his great sorrow, he was beginning to think he was powerless to prevent it from emerging before the secrets of his past destroyed him.

L
inese took a sip of hot chicory. She stifled another yawn and fought to clear the cobweb of fatigue and frustration from her mind. Last night, she had lain awake wondering what on earth had happened to Chase. For a fleeting moment she had thought he was ready to allow her back in his life, but if he was willing, he certainly had not been able. She wondered if his blackout was another aspect of his injury, or if it might be something else.

He had made an awkward excuse and taken another walk into the night after she had finally plucked up her courage and entered his bedroom. In fact, he had acted like a man evading a mortal enemy and now this morning, he had left before she even woke.

In a way, she was happy he had left before she had to face him. The dismal failure of her attempted seduction last evening stung her pride. Linese was embarrassed to think of what she had hoped would happen. Her attempts to seduce her husband with a fine dinner, and then lure him to their bed, had ended in failure, But, for one moment, when she found the courage to confront him in his bedroom, he had looked at her with restless eyes full of longing and need. Then he had strode from the room without a word.

He wanted her, he desired her—she was sure of it.

“What am I doing wrong?” she asked herself.

There had to be a way to regain her husband’s bed—his passion and affection. But how? She had been raised by two maiden aunts who never spoke of the things between men and women. She was ignorant of the little wiles other women used instinctively. She felt the heat of a blush working its way up her neck and cheeks. If only there was someone, another woman she could ask.

Linese sighed and rested her chin in her palm. For the life of her, she didn’t know a soul who could help her with this extremely difficult problem. She had spent most of her time at the
Gazette
with Hezikiah and had made few real friends, fewer female friends, since her arrival in Mainfield as Chase’s bride. She had no female relations left alive. The bright morning sun illuminated the room and, from Lin-ese’s point of view, her plan to win Chase looked hopeless.

“Good morning.” Captain Cordell’s cheerful greeting made her start.

“Good morning.” She sounded as glum as she felt. She looked at him and saw sunshine shimmering on the spider-webs covering his shoulders. His long mustache was gilt with dust and there were more webs in his white hair.

“Captain? What on earth have you been doing?” Linese frowned. She had never felt his mental condition was to the point that he might hurt himself, but he frequently went off on adventures that would seem odd to other people. The old gentleman always seemed to be bustling around, busy with some task or another that neither she nor anybody she knew in Mainfield ever actually witnessed.

“I’ve been in the attic,” he explained cheerfully.

“Why?” She envied him. He never seemed to have a minute’s worry or concern. “What are you up to today?”

“I’m heading over to Doralee’s.” He swiped a long, trailing web from his coat sleeve and smiled at Linese. “You look like you could use a change of scenery. How about coming with me?”

Linese felt her eyes widen in shock. It wouldn’t be proper for her to be seen at a house of ill repute. Tongues would
wag. Well brought up ladies simply did not consort with women of that ilk. She opened her mouth to speak, then abruptly snapped it shut.

Women of that ilk.

Her own words threaded through her mind while a completely insane idea began to form, one that threatened to make her blush.

“I would like to go with you, Captain. Give me a minute. I have something I want to take, as well.”

Linese darted up the stairs and flung open the clothes press in Chase’s bedroom. She dug to the bottom of the ce-dar-lined drawer until her fingers identified the feel of lace. Her fingers closed around the delicate crispness and she pulled out a pale pink silk bed jacket. The delicate embroidery and tatting was more fragile than butterfly wings.

“Forgive me, Aunt Hesta, but giving away this jacket may do more for my marriage than keeping it ever could.” She turned and raced back down the stairs.

A part of her was appalled that she could even consider crossing the threshold of the sporting house, while another part of her was tingling with anticipation of what it could mean to her and Chase.

Doralee’s infamous house was multistoried and in need of paint, like most of the homes around Mainfield. The weathered eaves had once been a bright green, but peeling strips of faded color that hung sadly were all that was left to testify to that truth. Looking at the building made Linese gloomy. The run-down condition of the bawdy house brought into perspective how the war had tainted everything around them all.

“Whoa.” The Captain pulled up on the reins and the old wagon lumbered to a stop. He climbed down and began to untie the ropes holding the cradle, the rocker and small chest in place.

Linese had to look away. Seeing the baby furniture being given to some other woman felt like a prophesy that she and
Chase would never have need of the items. A hot sting of tears made her .bring her chin up a notch to counter the negative thought.

No. She would not accept defeat so easily. She would not give in to the dismal thoughts and thereby make her fear a bitter reality. Linese intended to fight for what she wanted. Chase was not the only stubborn, determined Cordell.

If there was a chance she could win her husband, and fill Cordellane with round-cheeked babies, then by God, she was going to take it. No matter how improper it might be. No matter how it mortified her to think about it.

Linese gathered her skirt in her hands and jumped down from the wagon. She swallowed her pride and put her foot on the warped bottom stair. She had decided she would be carrying Chase Cordell’s baby in the spring.

Captain Cordell hefted the cradle up on his shoulders and carried it into the house. Linese timidly followed him up the stoop. When he stepped over the threshold, she sucked in a breath for courage and followed him in.

The house looked just like any other house, except for several humidors she assumed were full of fat cigars, and a counter well-stocked with whiskey and brandy. Doralee must have paid a ransom to have such an ample selection smuggled in. Other than those small details, the house was similar to Cordellane in age and size. Linese allowed her curious gaze to look into the parlor beyond. She smelled chicory and women’s toilet water.

She realized half a dozen women had stopped in the middle of drinking chicory and were looking at her with the same surprise she was sure was written on her face. Had they been occupied with the current gossip and news of the war, like other women in Mainfield, Texas? She watched the scene with a growing sense of awareness.

“Why, Captain, what have you got there?” A woman with unusually large brown eyes asked. She held herself erect while she left the group and came to stand by Captain Cordell.

“’Morning, Doralee,” he said. “I brought some things I thought you could put to use.”

Linese couldn’t help but stare. Doralee’s reputation had reached all the way to Ferrin County. Long before Linese had ever met Chase she had heard about Doralee’s sporting parlor. She felt her cheeks blaze with heat when the woman’s eyes slid over her and caught her gawking.

“Who is this?” Doralee’s face was unreadable while her eyes coolly assessed Linese from head to toe.

“This is my granddaughter-in-law, Linese,” Captain Cordell said matter-of-factly while he swept by the two women and up the stairs.

“Welcome, Linese.” Doralee held out her hand and Linese accepted it shyly.

Only after the old Captain had left them did Linese realize that he had identified her correctly, for the first time since Chase had brought her to Mainfield. It was a puzzling awareness he seemed to have found.

“I—I brought a present for Melissa. The Captain told me about her condition.” Linese felt her cheeks grow warmer than hot muffins. She wanted for all the world to disappear into the floor. What had she been thinking? This plan was ridiculous.

Doralee smiled wistfully while she touched the bed jacket with her fingertips. “She fancied herself in love. I tried to explain how difficult it would be….” The woman’s voice drifted off. “Well, no matter now—done is done. Go on up. Captain Cordell knows the way.” She gestured toward the winding staircase. Captain Cordell was maneuvering the cradle up the stairs, avoiding the banister where it curved.

Linese wondered how many times he had visited the house. The Cordell men were more of a mystery to her each passing day. She picked up her skirts and followed him, all the while telling herself, if she had a lick of sense, she would go sit in the wagon and spare herself any more humiliation.

At the top of the stairs, Captain Cordell stepped aside and nodded toward an open door. Linese hesitated for a moment,
but then he smiled and she finally entered a room flooded with sunlight.

A brown-haired girl, huge with child, was sitting by the window reading a copy of the
Gazette.
She looked up and surprise registered on her young face when the Captain set the cradle in the middle of the floor.

“Look what I found lying around, Melissa,” the Captain said with a wink.

“That is the finest-looking cradle I have ever seen. I can never begin to thank you.” Her well-modulated voice was spiced with a lilting trace of a Southern accent.

“No need for thanks… got to have a place to put the little rascal when it gets here.” The Captain cleared his throat and turned away. He stroked his fingers through his long mustache. “I’m going to go have a drink with Doralee. Linese has a gift for you too, I believe.”

“Captain?” Linese was not sure she could finish what she had begun, now that she was here and actually facing the task.

“Stay, get acquainted. I’m in no hurry.” The old man turned back to Melissa. “This is Linese.” With that short introduction of sorts, he patted Linese on the shoulder and walked out of the room.

Every muscle in her body tensed up. She had no idea what to say, how to begin. The whole idea was madness. She must have lost her mind to even consider such a preposterous notion. Before she lost the last speck of her courage, she thrust the pink silk forward awkwardly.

“This is for you.”

Melissa narrowed her green eyes and looked up at Linese. “What is it?”

“It’s a bed jacket. My great-aunt Hesta made it. She said a woman should look her best on the occasion of her first child’s arrival. I want you to have it.”

Melissa took the garment and held it to her cheek. “Soft as down. It’s fine, too fine.” Her fingers skimmed along the rows of lace and tatting. It was obvious she liked it.

She abruptly handed it back. “I thank you, but I can’t accept such a gift. I have no way of repaying such generos-ity.”

This was her chance, this was her opportunity.

Linese gulped down her pride and her fear. She summoned up her courage and forced herself to take a step forward.

“As a matter of fact there is a way you could repay me.” The words came out in a self-conscious tumble. “If you—if you would that is.”

“What can I do—for you?”

Linese saw a trace of wariness and suspicion in Melissa’s eyes. She could not blame her. What Linese was about to do was beyond the boundaries of acceptable behavior. There was no telling what Melissa would think of Linese’s request. But Linese had to try to salvage her marriage.

“I want you to tell me how I can seduce a man.” Linese’s face flamed with fire. Her mouth went dry. She wanted to sink through the floor and disappear, but she held her head up and acted as though she knew what she were saying. She prayed she hadn’t gone as mad as the Captain.

“Is that all?” Melissa said evenly. She folded the bed jacket and placed it in what was left of her shrinking lap. “I’m sorry, Linese. I have been a poor hostess. Pull that rocker over here and sit a spell while we get acquainted.” Melissa smiled warmly and her face lit up. She was a pretty thing, and younger than Linese.

“Where are you from, Melissa?” Curiosity and relief that Melissa had not laughed at her made Linese grow more bold.

“Georgia. My family was all killed when the fighting broke out.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “I—I was—violated when our plantation was overrun.” She shrugged as if it didn’t really matter, but her eyes were misty and her voice held the taut control of someone fighting to remain apart from a hellish memory. “It didn’t seem to matter
much whether I lived or died. Luckily, Miss Doralee found me and brought me here.”

The impact of war’s price settled on Linese like a shroud. Fate had forever altered Melissa’s life by a chance encounter, a happenstance of destiny. Under different circumstances, Linese might very well be the woman sitting by the window in the house of ill repute, waiting for the birth of her child.

“I don’t believe in dwelling in the past. Now let’s figure out how I can help you. Who is it you want to seduce, Linese?” The girl was obviously puzzled by Linese’s request, but she kept a straight face and acted as if the question were an everyday occurrence.

“My husband.” Misery settled in her stomach when she forced herself to voice the humiliating truth.

“Your husband?” The young woman’s eyebrows rose. She looked at Linese with equal portions of pity and disbelief in her face. “I don’t understand. Is your husband an old man?”

Linese sighed heavily. She didn’t understand, either, but she was determined that she would. “No. He’s young. He went to war right after we were married.”

“Was he injured? Is that why he’s back?”

Linese nodded. “Yes. His hip—he was in the hospital for some time.” She looked at the young prostitute hopefully. “Do you think the problem could be his wound?”

Melissa shrugged. “Is he—whole?”

“Yes.” Linese thought about the letter from his aide, describing the wound in detail. She wished her cheeks would stop burning.

Melissa frowned. “Men are mystifying creatures. Who knows what drives them. If he’s well healed, then I doubt it would keep him from, well, keep him from performing naturally. I have, uh, known of men who were ashamed of their bodies. But your husband doesn’t have any peculiarities, does he?”