Moonlight Lover (13 page)

"Careful," she cautioned as Krystyna reached for the newspaper. "It is still wet." She hung it up to dry on the line that stretched from one wall to the other in the rear of the shop. "But this one is ready." She took down a sheet she had done earlier and handed it to the other woman.

Feeling like a parched flower thirsty for the water of approval, she added, "I wrote this." She pointed to the editorial.

Krystyna scanned the words quickly. English, by necessity, was quickly becoming her second language and she had grown very competent at reading it. Finished, she looked up at Rachel, greatly impressed. She might have known that John would chose well. At least the second time around. When John had married her sister-in-law, she had secretly mourned that event. Savannah, though extremely pretty, was spoiled, mean spirited and uneducated. In love, Savannah had changed for him, but her spirit had remained that of a petulant child. A loving child, but a child nonetheless.

This one, she thought, regarding Rachel closely, was her own person and would give John an interesting, turbulent life. A life he could savor and enjoy.

"This is very good." Krystyna folded the newspaper carefully. "May I keep it?"

Ready to defend herself only a few minutes ago, Rachel felt almost awkward in the face of praise. She pressed the issue on Krystyna. "Yes, please."

"And will you come?" Krystyna prodded, slipping the newspaper under her arm. Her abrupt switch in topics apparently confused Rachel. "Saturday, next," Krystyna clarified as she opened the door. "The celebration will begin at noon." She looked over her shoulder. "You may stay the night if you wish."

"Wait," Rachel cried, following her to the door. "You're going faster than the devil in a wagon drawn by demons." Hesitation vibrated with desire, like twin strings upon a violin. "I have to ask Riley."

"You mean tell him, don't you?" Krystyna winked. They would understand each other, she thought, she and this woman. Krystyna had sensed a kindred spirit the moment she had talked to her.

Rachel laughed and nodded. "Yes, I'll tell him." But as Krystyna began to leave, she placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. When Krystyna looked at her questioningly, Rachel asked, "Your accent?"

"Polish," Krystyna told her easily. "I am an immigrant, as are you. I am sure that there are many stories that we can exchange when the time comes."

She slipped the jeweled timepiece Jason had given her on their wedding day, an heirloom passed down from his mother's father out of its case in her purse. She had stayed longer than she had expected. Lucinda would be flustered if she was late. Lucinda always flustered so easily.

Krystyna returned the watch to her purse. "And now, if you will excuse me, I have to help my sister-in-law make purchases." She smiled indulgently. "The emporium seems to confuse her." Krystyna stepped out onto the narrow walkway that ran before the newspaper office. "I shall see you at the party."

"Wait," Rachel suddenly cried, remembering. "I don't think I have anything suitable to wear." She bit her lip, realizing what she had just said. She wore her poverty proudly. "I mean, I think we might be previously engaged on Saturday."

Krystyna understood. She placed her hand over Rachel's and squeezed. "When I arrived in this country, all I had on my back was a suit of boy's clothing."

"Boy's clothing?"

"Yes." She patted Rachel's cheek. "Wear a smile. It becomes you. The rest no one will notice." Her slim shoulders rose and fell. "And if they do, they are not worth the trouble of a thought."

With that, Krystyna left.

Rachel stood staring after her long for a long time, wondering about the suit of boy's clothing.

Chapter Thirteen

Riley knocked once on Rachel's door. It was a tiny room, hardly large enough to merit the title. It contained
a small bed and an old armoire they had managed to cram
into the limited space. When they had raised the house, Rachel had intended that the room belong to him. After all, he was the elder. But Riley had insisted that she take it, because, he told her, a woman needed her private space more than a man did.

There was no answer. He knocked again, more insistently this time. He knew she was in there. Why wasn't she answering?

"Rachel? Rachel, what's wrong?" He tried the doorknob. The door was locked. "Aren't you ready yet? We've got to be leaving for the party soon if we're to get there before all the food's gone."

Just as the last words left his lips, Rachel threw the door open. It flew like a trapped bird finally being released. The door hit the wall with a resounding bang. Riley looked at her in surprise. She was still wearing the brown dress, the one she wore every day to the shop.

Rachel lifted her head defiantly. "You'll have to go by yourself. I'm not going."

"Not going?" he echoed. He would have thought that she'd be pleased to go. Rachel loved company, loved to talk. What had gotten into the woman?

Crossing her arms before her, Rachel pursed her lips together, frowning to hide her disappointment. "Are you
deaf as well as pig-headed?" she snapped at him. "I said
I'm not going. And going I'm not."

He saw beyond the waspish behavior. And her excuse
wasn't nearly creative enough to satisfy him. "Why?"

She sniffed as she sank down on her narrow bed. Kicking off her shoes, she tucked her feet under her and hugged her knees to her.

"Because it'll be just a silly little party filled with mindless rich snobs." She tried to sound indifferent. "And I've no place in it."

"No place in it? You?" He sat down beside her and tried to take her hand. She pulled it away. She didn't
want to be comforted. All she wanted was to be left alone
in her misery. "You've a place everywhere," he said gently. "I've never seen anyone who could push their way into places where the doors are barred the way you could."

She shrugged, then let the ruse drop. It wouldn't do to hide the truth from him. "And because I have nothing to wear."

Rather than answer her, Riley rose from the bed. Turning the half step that existed between the bed and the armoire, Riley opened the small closet. With a
flourish, he pulled out a flowing pink and white dress and
held it up against himself. Fluttering his lashes like a
young girl at her first ball, he asked in a high voice, "And
what's wrong with this, pray tell?"

Rachel stared, transfixed. Leaning over on the bed, she touched the dress as if to verify the fact that it was real. It
felt like heaven.

"Well, for one thing," she said slowly, as if she were waking from a dream, "there's the fact that I've never seen the lovely thing before in my life." There had been no reason for her to even look into the armoire. She only owned five dresses, all serviceable, but bearing mends. This was as out of place amid them as a harvest festival in April.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at her brother. "Where did it come from?"

"Fairies?" Riley suggested innocently, an impish grin on his face. He wished she wouldn't ask so many questions. Why couldn't she just accept the dress and be done with it? But then, he thought, she wouldn't be Rachel if she did.

"Fairies?" Her eyes widened at the stupidity of the suggestion. "Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I'm daft, Riley." She slipped from the bed, still eyeing the dress with more than a small measure of disbelief. "We both know that there are no such things as fairies."

He pushed the dress into her hands. "But there are such things as brothers." It was the first layer of the lie he was to tell, but it couldn't be helped. He knew that there was no other way to make Rachel accept the dress.

"Aye and well I know it." She stroked the soft material. Silk. It was made of silk. She'd never touched anything so expensive, let alone owned it. She regarded Riley suspiciously. "Are you trying to tell me that you bought this for me?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm trying to tell you." He bent the words to suit his purpose.

Indeed it was what he was trying to tell her, but that wasn't necessarily the truth. As a matter of fact, it was as distant from the truth as London was from Morgan's Creek. But if she knew the truth, her pride would forbid her to wear the dress.

He smiled to himself as he thought of yesterday. That exquisite creature, Krystyna McKinley, had swept in to the print shop, inquiring after his sister. When he informed her that Rachel was out on an errand, the woman look positively relieved. It was then that she had produced the dress from a large box, saying she didn't want Rachel to have any excuse for not attending. He hadn't even thought to ask Krystyna where the dress had come from. Whether it was one of her own, or had come from the emporium, ready made. He'd heard about such things, though all the clothes that Rachel wore came from her own needle.

As she had passed the box to him, Krystyna had sworn
him to secrecy. She had assured him that Rachel wouldn't accept the dress if she knew its origin. The fact
mystified him, so he knew it had to be true. When it came
to logic, his sister never traveled down that road if there was another opened to her. It was only when it came to politics that she seemed to see things with clarity.

The dress was much finer than anything they could afford. Rachel slid her fingers lovingly along one long, billowed sleeve, already envisioning herself in it. "Where did you get the money?"

Riley shrugged carelessly, wondering if he could carry off the lie. Blarney was to be used on others, not his own flesh and blood. Even if it was for her own good. "Contrary to what you might think, I don't drink every last penny away."

"I know that." Touched, her face softened. She blinked back a tear that insisted on forming. "And you did this for me, Riley?"

He pretended not to notice her expression. He didn't want her being grateful to this extent, to shed tears over it, not when he hadn't really done what he claimed to have done.

"I didn't want to go to the party alone and leave you behind." That much was true and he comforted himself with it. He gestured toward the dress impatiently. "Now put the damn thing on and get ready." He turned his back, ready to leave.

"Just one thing, Riley."

Rachel's words stopped him in his tracks. He braced himself, ready to be discovered in his lie. "Yes?"

The dress's appearance still mystified her. She wouldn't have guessed that Riley was astute enough to realize that she would need something new, something better than the choices she had in her armoire. "How did you know what size to ask them to make it?"

"Ummm—" He fumbled, thinking. "Luck. I had the seamstress measure one of your old dresses." It was a lame answer and he knew it, but it was all he had. He pretended to be at the end of his patience. "Now hurry up, will you, woman? The McKinleys are the most influential people in the county, especially the old man. He might want his family history printed or something along those lines. We could use the money. Now get on with you." He started to close the door behind him.

"Riley?"

He turned, a breath hissing between his teeth. "Now what?"

It was hard for her to ask, but the question refused to stay silent within her breast. "Do you think that perhaps, well, you know—" She stopped, then added in a rush, "that he'll be there."

He'd never seen her looking awkward before, and it surprised him. Riley knew exactly who she was referring to and he paused for a moment, wondering if she wanted to be told yes or no.

More likely than not, he'd probably give her the wrong answer, so he gave her none at all. "Nobody'll be there if you don't hurry along." He closed the door firmly behind him.

Rachel stood, holding the dress to her. What was the matter with her? Had she finally lost her mind? Whether Mr. Sin-Jin Lawrence was there or not, it didn't matter a fig to her. There would be plenty of others to talk to and she had never had any trouble in holding her own in a conversation.

No, it mattered not at all to her if he would be there or not.

Still, her hands shook a little as she dressed. And try as she might, she couldn't erase the slight, persistent tremor that twisted her stomach so that it became nothing more than a huge knot.

She brushed her hair furiously, watching it fall in the small sliver of a mirror she had. She had no idea how to fashion it. No doubt there would be ladies wearing their hair in a variety of styles, all very becoming and up-to-date. Rebelliously, she decided to leave it down, unadorned. She was a peasant and proud of the fact. If that meant she didn't fit in with the elegant women who were to appear at the gathering, so be it. She was what she was and no adornments could change that fact.

The ballroom was crowded with friends and well-wishers. It seemed as if Krystyna had invited everyone in and around the small town to attend the christening. But there could have been ten times the people there, and he would have still been able to see her.

Only her.

It helped, of course, that Rachel and her brother were standing in the doorway, momentarily framed by the white wood as if they had posed for a portrait. Sin-Jin
blessed Krystyna with the next breath he took, as soon as
he could feel it fill his lungs again.

Turning, he saw her gliding toward the doorway as
effortlessly as if this was her only duty rather than all the
others she undertook with regularity. With Morgan's wife long since dead and Savannah gone, Krystyna had become the hostess for all three families. Lucinda had abdicated her right to that position with a sigh of relief, having no head or heart for the matter.

Rachel had come. Thank goodness for that, Krystyna thought, casting a sidelong glance in John's direction. She would have hated to have seen him disappointed.

"Rachel, Riley," Krystyna cried warmly, placing
herself between the two siblings. Linking an arm through
each of theirs, she urged them into the ballroom. "How wonderful that you have decided to come."

Krystyna looked at Rachel with genuine admiration. Dressed well, devoid of printer's ink, the young woman looked like a queen. Yes, she would do. She would do very well.