Texas Rose TH2 (44 page)

"Quite often they have very good reasons, Mrs. Peyton. I know it must be difficult to be an unprotected widow in this world, and you are probably very grateful for the care of Mr. Monteigne, but you need an older and wiser head to guide you. Mr. Monteigne may be very handsome and charming, but there is much you don't know about him. Men have ways of knowing more about other men than the ladies do. I would advise you to think twice before making your marriage legal."

That was certainly a shocking statement. Evie looked at him incredulously. "You are asking me to live in sin?"

Hale choked on her honesty, turned red about the ears, and hastened to say, "Of course not. It is well-known that Mr. Monteigne has his rooms at the hotel and that you live with the children. I'm certain you can arrange something."

Arranging something had been precisely their difficulty, but not in the way that Hale meant it. Sneaking out at night to stay with Tyler and then coming back in the morning to look after the children had a certain lack of propriety to it that rankled. Tyler hadn't pressed her last night, but she hadn't liked sleeping alone, either.

Before she could respond appropriately, a familiar figure walked out of the hotel as they passed. Nervously, Evie halted to greet Mr. Peyton, but she wasn't too nervous not to note the shock on Hale's face when she made the introductions.

"Peyton?" he inquired cautiously. "There haven't been Peytons hereabouts for years, aside from this dear lady." He nodded at Evie.

"My sister's been here," Peyton responded wryly, giving the lawyer a quick once-over. "Don't suppose you're related to that pompous ass, Andrew Hale, are you?"

"My father, sir." Hale nervously fiddled with the brim of his bowler. "He was a bit of a stickler, but we shouldn't speak ill of the dead."

"Not as long as they're dead, I reckon." Satisfied on that account, Peyton offered his arm to Evie. "I was just going around to see to the children now that school is out. Will you accept my company?"

Politely, Evie turned to Hale. "Was there anything else you wished to discuss? Have you heard from my friend, perhaps?"

"Yes, yes, I've heard from her. It's just as you said. She's going to be married and would like to know more about her parents. I will be in touch with her guardian, of course." He sent Evie a suspicious look, but refrained from voicing his doubts about the letter's authenticity.

She didn't want him writing to her darned guardian, but Evie hid her displeasure, smiled, and took Peyton's arm. "Well, thank you very much for our informative discussion, sir. Good day."

As they strode rapidly down the alley, Peyton glanced at her curiously. "Hale made you mad, did he? Elizabeth often threatened to kick his father. All lawyers aren't alike of course, but there seem to be a damned lot of pompous asses among them."

Evie smiled at that. "Well, I suppose donkeys have to live, too."

"Donkeys?" His startled look received no answer as Evie hurried up on the porch and into the house.

"Jose went out in his good clothes," Carmen reported as soon as they entered.

"Well, then, we'll make him wash them when he comes back in." Evie lifted her hat and went into her room to set it on the dresser. "Give Mr. Peyton something cool to drink," she called as she checked her hair in the mirror.

"They'll have to start calling me Uncle Jim, I reckon." Peyton watched her carefully as Evie sailed out of the bedroom tying an apron around her waist.

Carmen had already rescued Maria from the neighbor's, and Evie swept the child into her arms and gave her a hug, then presented her to their guest. "This is your Uncle Jim, Maria. Say hello."

She stuck her thumb in her mouth and said "hewwo" around it.

"It's an honor and pleasure, Miss Maria. Will you let me hold you?" Peyton offered his arms.

Maria looked uncertain for a moment, then finding something of interest, she eagerly went into his arms and pulled at his beard.

"Umph. I guess I asked for that." Peyton wrapped his long fingers around the child's smaller ones and gently untangled his goatee. He propped Maria where he could see her face more clearly. "You have eyes and hair like your mama's and grandmama's." He informed her with a smile.

Then he turned to Evie who was watching this display protectively. "And you have eyes and hair just like your mama's and grandmama's, too."

Chapter 34

Evie couldn't believe he'd said what he had. She'd never had a family to be compared to. She stared at him with a glazed look on her face, waiting for the punch line. When Peyton didn't say more, she didn't know where to look. She wiped her hands nervously on her apron, then turned to see what Carmen was doing.

The younger girl was listening unabashedly. Shaking her head to herself, Evie gestured at the rocking chair. "Won't you have a seat, Mr. Peyton? I have to start dinner. Tyler and Daniel will be home soon."

Peyton gave her a look of exasperation and still carrying Maria, walked in the direction of Evie's bedroom. "Your husband mentioned your interest in painting, Mrs. Monteigne. Are you working on anything now?"

Evie swung a frantic look to Carmen at the stove, then back to the stranger disappearing into their bedroom. She had spent too many years hoping. She couldn't believe her prayers would be answered so easily. She needed time to think, time to formulate questions, but her mind was a blur of madly spinning wishes and hopes and cries, and she could only follow the man who might hold her secrets.

He was studying the canvas propped on the easel by the window. Maria was swinging her chubby fist at the picture and saying "Tywer" over and over, to make sure the stranger got the point.

"It's a very good likeness of Tyler, my dear," Peyton informed the child calmly. "Your Miss Maryellen is a very talented young lady." At Evie's appearance, he swung around questioningly. "Why on earth do you call yourself that awful name? You did say your mother named you Evangeline, didn't you?"

"She also named me Peyton and Howell, but those names don't belong to me any more than any other. Maryellen had a nice, sweet sound to it, like someone who had a loving family around them." Now that she had come to accept that this man knew some of the answers, Evie calmed down. She would remember Jane Eyre and behave sensibly.

"Evangeline was your mother's middle name, and it was her mother's name before her. It's a good old-fashioned family name. Elizabeth must have wanted you to have your family if in name only. I still can't believe she did that." He shook his head and put down the child who had begun to wriggle to get loose.

"Can't believe she did what?" Evie stood there helplessly, watching this stranger who was examining her canvas with a professional eye and telling her the things she had always wanted to hear.

"There's no proof, I suppose." Sadly, he looked up from the painting to examine Evie in the same way he had examined the canvas. "But I don't know where else you would have come across such a name. Or those looks. And this." He gestured at the half-finished painting of Tyler and Maria.

"Perhaps, if you would explain?" She wasn't following all this. No one else had ever commented on her looks. And she didn't know if he meant the painting itself or Tyler. She knew what she hoped he meant, but Texas had taught her a thing or two about reality. She wasn't going to daydream the most important story of her life.

"I don't suppose you would have any wine, would you?" Peyton turned to stare out the window at the narrow, dirty alley.

"I can send for some. The mercantile might have a bottle."

"It's no matter. I just thought we both could use a drop of something strong." He looked over his shoulder. "You ought to take a seat. I'm not sure I should be saying anything at all, but you have more suspicions than I have answers, and we need to sort through them."

Evie obediently dropped to the edge of one of the beds. "What did you mean about my eyes and hair?"

"You have eyes like mine, like the children's, like my mother's—your grandmother's. Rosita Peyton was a lovely woman, but you look nothing like her except for the eyes. My father used to call them Spanish eyes. I never met Angelina's husband, but I suppose he had dark eyes, too, and the same coloring as my mother. That's why the children look Mexican, I guess. My sister Angelina was a lot like our mother, too. I was the different one; I looked more like my father. He was an Irish-American with a big laugh and a talent for trouble. He wasn't tall, but his hair was auburn and he never could stay out in the sun much. Neither can I. Do you find you have the same problem?" He turned to look at her.

Evie nodded. "I turn red quickly, but I try to wear a hat and carry a parasol. There's not much call for me to be out in the sun."

He nodded and turned back to the window. "I hated farming. My father claimed his father felt the same way and that he died a terrible death in a barroom after he lost his farm while frittering his time painting silly pictures."

Silence fell, and not knowing what else to say to get him speaking again, Evie said, "Carmen tells me you are a famous artist."

Peyton's smile twisted. "I once sold a portrait for two thousand dollars. Money was plentiful back then. I made a lot of it. I don't know if that makes me famous. Anyway, fame—like money—is fleeting. My eyesight is going bad, and my hand is developing a tremble. I can't do as well as you have done there anymore." He jerked his head toward the easel. "I can teach you a few techniques, I suppose, but it looks like you've had some professional training."

"An artist from Paris stayed in St. Louis one year. Nanny insisted that I study with him. He said my work was too feminine, not strong enough. I asked if he thought a woman ought to paint like a man, and we had a terrible fight, but I tried to learn everything he knew."

Peyton chuckled and turned around, leaning back against the windowsill and crossing his arms over his chest. "You sound just like your mother. She once told her father that she wasn't a man, she didn't want to be a man, and if he wanted her to think like a man, then he'd better find her a man's head. Until then, she was doing things like a woman, which was a hundred times better than any man could do."

Evie managed a smile. Her mother had said something like that. Those words were music to her ears. Her mother existed somewhere besides in her imagination. This man knew her mother. She looked up at him expectantly, waiting for more. "My mother and I must think alike, then."

His smile disappeared. "Let us hope not. Tell me about this Nanny of yours. How did you know your parents came from here if you grew up in St. Louis?"

Evie explained about the arrangement with the lawyer that she had learned about after Nanny's death. Peyton began to shake his head in dismay halfway through her tale.

"Elizabeth had too much of her father in her. She thought money would take care of the problems of the world. Maybe it does. Who am I to say? But if she had just written to me, told me, I could have come and found you. Maybe that's why she didn't. She wanted you to grow up a lady, and not an itinerant artist's daughter without a penny to her name."

Tears stung Evie's eyes as she gazed at this bearded stranger who seemed to be saying he was her father. It was too frightening to take in all at once. What did he want from her? Did he think she ought to run into his arms and accept his story and forgive him for a lifetime of neglect? Or was he more interested in her mother's money? Why did she have to let him know so much about herself? How long would it take before the news would be all over town? And then everyone would know what she was. An unwanted bastard.

She stared down at her hands. "Why didn't you marry her?" she asked through a voice choked with tears.

"I wanted to. But as I said, I didn't have a penny to my name. Elizabeth said she didn't care, that she loved me, that she always wanted to be with me. But when I decided to make our wealth in California, she heeded her father and not her heart. She said she'd wait for me." He had taken to staring at the far wall, but now his head turned in her direction again. "When were you born?"

"September 10, 1850," Evie answered without hesitation.

A glimmer of warmth lightened his eyes. "A farewell gift. I left for California at the end of January, the year after the great rush for gold in '49. I'd heard the tales about gold and didn't think I'd make much of a miner, but I thought I might find another way or two to make a penny. I'd thought Elizabeth would be coming with me, so I wasn't very careful. You're a married woman, am I embarrassing you?"