Saratoga Sunrise (9 page)

"Because of her limp?" Aunt Trixie asked.

Clara paused with her hand on the handle of the screen door. "Yes. It's so unkind–and unfair. I hear them talk, Aunt Trixie. When I'm working, I hear all kinds of things– like things about Mr. Fordice."

"Go on, Clara. If it's important to Sara, I think you should tell me."

"I hear he gambles too much. They say he owes Mr. Canfield thousands of dollars."

She crossed the distance between them and took Clara's hands in hers. "Don't worry. I'm not going to let Clara marry Fordice. I can't abide the man. Never could. But, Sara needs to stand up to her father and tell him herself that she doesn't want to marry that fool. I know she's shy where her father is concerned, but it's time she handled things on her own–her father being one of those things. She needs to speak her own mind and not keep things bottled up inside her. And if she doesn't...well, I'll still put a halt to the marriage."

"And what about Jack Summers?" Clara spat out.

Bea wondered not for the first time about Clara's strange reaction to Jack. "I think she's attracted to him. Why? Do you know something about Jack also?"

Her face clouded with uneasiness. "I might, but it's too early to say."

Bea gave Clara's hands a squeeze. "If there is anything I should know for Sara's benefit, you'll tell me, won't you? Or you'll tell her?"

Clara nodded. "I'll tell Sara once I know for sure, Aunt Trixie. As you said, she has to make her own decisions."

"Yes, she does."

They kissed each other on the cheek and Clara left the cottage. Bea watched as she hurried across the courtyard to the front of the hotel. When Bea turned around, she found Sara leaning against the doorframe of her room.

"I heard everything."

Bea said nothing, but watched as her niece took a seat in one of the Queen Anne chairs. She looked so small and so sad.

"I heard what Clara said about Montague, Aunt Trixie, but she must be mistaken. Daddy would never pick out a gambler for me to marry. Daddy says that Monty is from an established family and that they are wealthy. And no one needs to worry about Jack Summers. I don't plan on keeping his company anymore. As I said at Congress Spring this morning, I am a betrothed woman, and I should act accordingly."

Bea’s heart filled with concern for Sara's pain. This was so unlike her niece's character. She was usually bright and cheerful. "Did something happen on your picnic with Jack? He didn't...didn't..."

"No, Aunt Trixie. He didn't do anything ungentlemanly, if that's what you mean. I just think it's better if I keep the company of Montague Fordice according to father's wishes."

"And what about your wishes? Don't they count? You don't even like Monty,"

Sara pondered this for a while. "Father knows what's best for me, and with my deformity–"

Aunt Trixie stopped her with a raised hand. "Sara, for heaven's sake, it is almost the twentieth century. You have a mind of your own. Use it!" She stormed out of the cottage, shoving the screen door with all her might. It slammed against the cottage then against the doorframe several times.

# # #

Sara jumped with each bang. Then she was alone with only her misery for company.

"This season is starting out so awful," she lamented. Propping her elbow on the arm of the chair, she supported her chin in the palm of her hand and closed her eyes. No matter how she tried to focus on Montague Fordice, visions of Jack Summers, lean and manly, kept creeping into her mind. A kiss in a field of wild flowers on a warm summer day...a picnic by a babbling brook that sparkled like diamonds...a frothy spring...the feel of his wet clothes against her wet clothes and the feel of his callused hands against her face, her leg...

Her leg. Jack saw her leg and he was disgusted.

No. She wouldn't think of him anymore.

She needed to concentrate on getting Seawind ready for the Travers. She needed the money that he would win. She needed it for her horse farm, for her freedom from her father's smothering.

Tomorrow was opening day at the track. She would concentrate, too, on their other horses, and forget her problems for the moment. Lucky Clover was entered in the first race tomorrow, and Comet was entered in the second. She had ridden them both, and they were both favored to win. She would ask her friends, Porky and Mike to bet the double for her.

Maybe her luck would change.

# # #

Their usual headwaiter, Mr. Reed, gave a small smile and motioned for Sara to follow him. "Your father and aunt are already seated, Miss Peterson."

As soon as she began walking, a hush fell over the other diners and silver and china ceased their delicate clinking. Necks were craned in her direction. Self-consciously, Sara looked down at her dress for evidence of something wrong. She choked back the panic in her throat, but knew she couldn't stop the scarlet heat that rushed to her cheeks.

She was trying to best not to limp and to walk straight and sure.

"What's wrong, Joseph? Why are they all staring?" Her voice quivered, and she was tempted to turn and run from the thousands of eyes boring into her, but instead she stood tall raised her chin and dared anyone to–

"Ahhh...behind us. It's Mr. Brady and Miss Russell," Joseph said, winking at her. "You know how they always have to make an entrance."

She sighed in relief, and turned to face the stunning couple behind her.

"Sara Peterson! Where's your father? That old horse trader! I have some business to discuss with him." James Buchanan Brady's voice boomed across the huge hall as the diners returned to their meals.

The exquisite actress, Lillian Russell, took his arm and smiled, "Now, Jim, you promised not to talk business at meal time." She turned to Sara and smiled. "They should be speaking sweetly to us ladies and telling us how beautiful we look."

Sara returned her smile. "Would you care to join us at our table? Father has been waiting for your arrival."

Diamond Jim gestured to the headwaiter. "That would be fine, little lady. Lead the way, Joseph." He offered his other arm to Sara, and she took it without hesitation.

As they commenced the long walk to the Peterson table, she thought of the spectacle they made. Mr. Brady's stomach curved in a large sweep from his several chins to his thighs. Diamonds flashed from collar buttons, his neck-tie pin, his cuff links, belt buckle and watch-chain. He was wearing a shirt stud in the shape of a bicycle made of at least a hundred diamonds. Other diamond studs sparkled from the straining material of his shirt.

Lillian Russell's shimmering pale pink satin gown displayed her bountiful curves. A diamond necklace glittered around her neck, drawing attention to the white expanse of skin above her bosom. She looked every bit the glamorous actress she was.

Then there she was, plain Sara Peterson, limping painfully at their side, with damp hair as a result from a fall into a spring, a pretty but conservative gown, a small brooch that had been her mother's, a sun-darkened complexion, and nary a bosom to be found.

Bond Peterson rose from his chair as they approached. "Jim Brady, it's been a long time!" The two men shook hands. "And Lillian, you're looking as beautiful as ever!" The actress offered her cheek to Bond, and he gave her a quick kiss.

Lillian raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "You're still the flatterer, Bond."

Her father laughed. "Have you met Montague Fordice, my future son-in-law?"

Sara watched in disgust as Monty fawned over the couple and extended an overly anxious greeting. They seemed put off by him until Aunt Trixie saved the day.

"Sara, Lillian sit over here. Montague will move his seat over. Let the men talk business and get it over with while we talk about what's new at the Springs."

Aunt Trixie motioned for Montague to move away from them, and Sara noticed Montague's vexed expression.

"You look lovely today, Sara," Monty said halfheartedly as he held the chair for her, but his eyes never left the bosom of Lillian Russell.

"Thank you," was all she could muster despite her resolution to pay more attention to her intended. He smelled of scented hair oil, old sweat and cigar smoke, and she tried not to cringe as he brushed her bare arm with his hand.

She remembered Clara's conversation with her aunt earlier, and the fact that he might be a gambler. Could Montague really be that far in debt to Mr. Canfield? Why didn't Monty just pay him? He was supposed to be wealthy.

Sara put this information to the back of her mind. She would remember to ask Porky and Mike what they knew about it. They knew simply everything about everyone and everything at the Springs.

When Sara, Lillian and Diamond Jim were seated, the waiter hurried over with a frosty pitcher of orange juice and set it in front of Diamond Jim.

"Ahhh, they always know what I like," Diamond Jim said as he poured himself a large glass. He drank it down in several gulps. "Care to share this with me, Sara? Unless you'd prefer champagne, of course. Me, I'm not one for liquor. This is the best drink there is."

"I'd love some, thank you." Sara handed him a crystal goblet.

She shared the orange juice with him, and he drank three more gallons after that! Then Sara and Diamond Jim dined on turtle soup and Roquefort cheese, shared five-dozen oysters, a dozen hard-shell crabs, along with sweetbreads, chicken, a dozen lobsters, a huge steak and an assortment of French pastry.

They laughed and joked with each other and Sara thought that Diamond Jim Brady was the most wonderful man around, next to her father, of course.

Montague Fordice spoke little and what he did say, was flat and dull and usually began with "I".

Chef Morris came out of the kitchen and shook Mr. Brady's hand, then kissed the back of Sara's. "Sara, when you and Diamond Jim dine together, I have to put on three extra chefs and two more waiters!"

"I never thought a mere slip of a girl could ever keep up with me, Chef Morris!" Diamond Jim laughed and slapped his thighs. He pulled out four Havanas from a pocket and handed one to Chef Morris "for a superb meal", one to Bond to "seal their deal", and one to Monty "who is marrying a girl after his own heart". Jim held the other and grinned. "If I wouldn't insult you, little Sara, I'd offer you this Havana."

Sara loved his camaraderie and his wit. "You wouldn't insult me, Mr. Brady." She held out her hand and he handed her the cigar.

"S-Sara P-Peterson, I am appalled!" Montague sputtered. "A lady does not smoke."

Sara grimaced, her merriment vanishing like the setting sun. She mustered up every bit of courage in her to reply to his rudeness. "Who said I was going to smoke it, Mr. Fordice? Actually, I was going to keep it as a remembrance of a wonderful evening."

Everyone around the table laughed, except for Montague who looked down his nose at her. However, his ire didn't matter to her in the least, and she congratulated herself on her boldness. She met Miss Russell's eyes and Aunt Trixie's. Both ladies were smiling in approval, and she felt like she'd just won a personal victory by sticking up for herself.

She caught Montague rolling his eyes, and she gave him what she thought was her best disgusted look, but he didn't notice as his gaze had returned back to the bosom of Lillian Russell.

"So, Sara, tell us more about your picnic with Clara," her father said, no doubt trying to draw her into the conversation. Sara shifted uncomfortably at the fact that she was going to lie to her father. She glanced at Aunt Trixie out of the corner of her eye and swallowed. "I had a wonderful time today," she told her father. Well, that wasn't a lie. I did have a wonderful time–until Jack looked at my leg.

This time, it was Lillian Russell who saved her from any more lies. "Let's promenade through the garden. It's such a lovely night, and we ladies have to get some exercise after that meal to keep our waistlines small."

Sara went along with them, although she had no waistline to worry about.

Everyone agreed to the walk except Montague, who made an excuse about having to speak with Bravo Joe's trainer and scurried away like a big greasy rat. Sara was glad to see him go. Now she could enjoy the rest of the evening in the delightful company of Diamond Jim and Miss Russell, her father and Aunt Trixie. She couldn't help but wish that Jack Summers was with her, too.

Montague Fordice. She knew in her heart that in spite of her previous resolve, she couldn't marry him, not in a million years and certainly not when Jack Summers always occupied her thoughts.

Sara mentally admonished herself. Why was she still thinking of Jack Summers when he had looked at her leg with such revulsion? Had she no pride?

"You will be attending the ball at the Grand Union tomorrow night, won't you ladies?" Lillian asked, as they walked through the courtyard. "After opening day at the track, the ball is the perfect touch, don't you agree?"

"Certainly we'll be there," Aunt Trixie said. "I love the ball, and you will, too, Lillian. Everyone comes, the townsfolk from miles around as well as the summer guests. It's a marvelous event and the dancing goes on all night," Aunt Trixie said.

Lillian grasped Sara's hand. "Sara, what do you plan to wear?"

"I have a new dress from Paris," she answered shyly. "It's most elegant, but I could never look as elegant as you, Miss Russell."

"Why, Sara, you're a beautiful young woman. All you need is a different hairstyle for evening and maybe a little rouge on your cheeks and a little jewelry. How about if I come by your cottage early? My maid can work wonders with your hair. You'll turn Monty's head, maybe every man's head at the ball. It'll keep him on his toes if he sees other men looking at you. What do you think, Bea?"

Aunt Trixie's smile widened in approval. "I think that's up to Sara."

Sara hoped against hope that she could look half as elegant as Lillian Russell. She really didn't care about Monty, but she prayed that Jack Summers would be at the ball to see her. "Yes, I'd like that, Miss Russell. Thank you."

"Well, then that's settled. I'll be by with Sadie. See you at the races."

Lillian walked away in the direction of Diamond Jim and Bond who didn't promenade with them after all. They were rocking on the piazza, smoking their Havanas, and discussing business, no doubt, Sara surmised.