The Great Plains (15 page)

‘I needed to say goodbye,' Philomena replied, turning briefly to gaze at the plinth. ‘I needed to return to your father one last time, even though I have not forgiven him. In spite of what you think of me, cousin, we are all casualties of the past.'

The hem of Philomena's gown fluttered over the ground as Edmund followed her towards the entrance to the cemetery. He found himself wanting to escape to a quiet place and spend more time with this woman. He wanted to understand her, be with her … Is this how it feels, he wondered, to be cast in a woman's net the way his father was? This one woman was in fact many women. A grandmother, a daughter to a murdered white man, an abductee of the Apaches, his cousin Philomena, the Indian known as Nalin. Intriguing and extraordinarily lovely without a shred of artifice and no societal restrictions to curb her behaviour. Edmund realised that his cousin was perhaps the freest individual he had ever met.

Philomena began to cough once again. Her slight body convulsed from the violence of the attack. Edmund raced to her side and caught her in his arms as she fell. He gathered her up as if she were a porcelain doll, her eyelids fluttered, an arm fell limply to one side. Edmund didn't think of the consequences as he carried Philomena through the deserted graveyard and placed her carefully in his surrey. Once seated beside her, he tucked a travelling rug about her knees and flicked the reins, urged the bay horse forward with a giddy-up and a cluck of his tongue. As the surrey gathered pace he wrapped an arm about her shoulders and drew her to him.

To his left the golden eagle rose in the air.

‘Father,' Edmund said through gritted teeth, ‘I am bringing Philomena home.'

November, 1902 – Oklahoma City, Oklahoma Territory

Edmund carried Philomena through the front gate as a curtain moved in his mother's bedroom. He called loudly for his wife, kicking open the front door so that the heavy wood panelling bashed against the wall.

Chloe greeted him in the entrance hall. ‘What on earth? That's not –'

‘Telephone the doctor.' Edmund walked swiftly past his unmoving wife.

‘Now, Chloe!' Edmund yelled. He carried Philomena into the breakfast room and laid her on the chaise-lounge that used to sit in the drawing room in Dallas. Outside in the entrance hall he could hear his wife talking on the telephone as he stoked up the fire and then moved back to Philomena's side to undo the buttons at her throat. Her breathing was ragged, the room was chilly.

‘What are you doing bringing her here?' In spite of her fury Chloe couldn't help but peer over his shoulder. She examined Philomena intently, assessing the lace-up leather boots, slender waist and lovely countenance.

‘She's clearly ill and she needs warming. Fetch me a blanket.'

‘Then you should have taken her to the hospital,' Chloe snapped. ‘I don't want Philomena under our roof. I don't want anymore troubles for this family. We have had our share, thanks to your father.'

Edmund laid a hand on his cousin's brow.

‘Chloe, listen to me.'

She stamped her foot. ‘No. I will not have that woman here. I want her out before Tobias sees her. I refuse to have to explain myself all over again to our friends. It was bad enough when Thomas was lynched, thanks to that little piece Serena, then we had your father making a scene and dropping dead at the Delmar Gardens. I'm telling you I want her out.'

Edmund said nothing. Instead he simply stared coldly at his wife until she backed away. He closed the door quietly behind her.

The doctor arrived an hour later. Dr Hubert was ruddy-faced with thin red blood vessels that tracked across his nose and cheeks. He prodded and poked at Philomena as she drifted in and out of consciousness, all the time asking questions, probing questions that didn't necessarily have any bearing on his cousin's health. It seemed the doctor was not averse to gossip either. Finally he neared the completion of his examination and his questioning.

‘So this is the girl who was abducted by Geronimo.' The doctor rubbed at his chin, obviously impressed.

‘Well?' Edmund had been sitting opposite the chaise-lounge for the last ten minutes.

The doctor packed away his stethoscope in a worn leather bag and then checked Philomena's pulse for the third time. ‘Tuberculosis. The Indians are rife with it on the reservations.'

‘What can be done?'

‘Out there? Nothing, anyway it helps keep the population down.'

‘I am talking about my cousin, Doctor. Will she recover?' Edmund looked at the sleeping woman.

Dr Hubert shrugged. ‘Your cousin should be moved to a sanatorium where she can be attended to by qualified staff and be ensured of a plentiful supply of fresh air.'

Edmund had not heard the door open. Chloe stood some feet away. ‘Can she be moved?' she asked.

‘Well she is verging on consumption, Mrs Wade,' the doctor informed her. He studied his patient, ‘And is quite weak. A lovely woman,' he said thoughtfully.

Philomena stirred and coughed. The doctor leant over and held a handkerchief to her mouth. When he drew it away it was sodden with blood. Folding the material distastefully he moved to the fire and dropped the bloody rag on the flames. ‘Anything with sputum or blood on it should be burnt. Most believe the disease is airborne but physical contact should be avoided as well.'

‘I want her moved, Edmund. The woman has an infectious disease,' Chloe insisted.

‘No. Philomena is not leaving.' Edmund shook the doctor's hand. ‘You will come as you think necessary?'

‘Of course, I'll return tomorrow. She needs nourishing soups and plenty of fresh air and rest.' The doctor turned briefly to Philomena and, with a shake of his head, excused himself from the room.

Chloe's cheeks were tinged red.

‘You will have one of the spare rooms made up for her, Chloe,' Edmund said evenly.

His wife folded her arms. ‘I will not.'

‘I will not send Philomena away.'

‘Think about what you are doing bringing her here,' Chloe implored. ‘It is a ruse on her part. Philomena planned this to be sure, and you have stupidly fallen prey to another of her manipulations, just like your father.'

‘Are you listening to yourself, Chloe? You heard the doctor. Philomena has consumption.'

‘I don't care what she has. I want her out!' Chloe's face was ablaze. ‘If you won't do it for me, at least think of your son.'

‘I
am
thinking of our son. What kind of example is it to leave a relative to the care of strangers when we have the means to provide for her here? If I am failing in my duty as husband and father, then so be it. The restoration of my dead uncle's descendants from the clutches of the Apache to this family was my father's life work and I am now compelled to continue it.'

‘Philomena had her chance to be reinstated in this family, as her granddaughter did.'

‘Are you truly without a shred of human kindness?'

‘My kindness is for those who deserve it, Edmund. If you do this thing I cannot promise that I will remain by your side. I certainly will not share your bed.'

‘My cousin will stay here, Chloe, until the end if need be. She will not die among strangers. As for our bed, I find it already cold.'

Chloe's jaw twitched, her hands clutched at the material of her skirt. ‘You're as bad as your father. You've fallen for a pretty face.'

Edmund strode past his wife and out into the hall. ‘If I have, the blame must be apportioned equally, don't you think, my dear?'

‘Where are you going?' Chloe called after him.

‘To speak to my mother.'

The room was uncommonly bright. The curtains were drawn wide open and a cold breeze stirred the air, flapping the drapery and rustling the black silk mourning gown that still graced the dressmaker's dummy. It was as if his mother wanted to be reminded of her duty even though ill-health prevented her from dressing accordingly. Annie sat propped up in bed, her head lolling to one side. Such was her stillness that she almost resembled an effigy atop a sarcophagus. The cream flannel nightgown and shawl that clothed her merged with pale skin and age-lightened hair. Her hands were folded across her body. Only the patchwork quilt under which she lay provided colour. Edmund still hoped for a resurgence of spirit, for his mother to dispense with her grieving and rejoin the world. She stirred at the sound of his tread.

‘I am awake, my boy.'

He closed the door.

Annie opened one eye and frowned. ‘That maid is trying to blind me.'

Edmund moved about the room, drawing the thick beige material against the view of the fields and the barn and the windmill. His mother's room was hygienically clean. He could smell chloride of lime. There were damp patches on the floor where a mop had been. The maid's thoroughness was pleasing but the girl was yet to understand that this was not a sick room. It was a place of waiting. At the far end of the room the pages of a Sears, Roebuck & Co. catalogue rustled in the breeze. Edmund repositioned the magazine on the washstand, placing it under a blue and white soap bowl and then closed the window until only the slightest of gaps remained. Outside, the irregular tree line marking the North Canadian River was stark against the sky. If he craned his neck further to the left he would be directly in line with the light rail bridge where Thomas had met his demise. He turned to his mother. Annie's sorrow had not begun with his father's passing.

‘Edmund, come sit.'

He turned on a lamp to combat the now dim light and positioned a high-backed timber chair close to his mother's bedside. There were voices in the hall. Chloe was talking to one of the servants. From next door came the noise of wooden clothes hangers being rattled and something large, probably the leather travelling trunk, being dragged across the floorboards.

‘You have caused quite a commotion.' Annie gave a weak smile. ‘But you have done the right thing.'

Edmund fussed with the coverlets. ‘How did you know, Mother?'

‘I saw you carry her in.' Annie reached out and patted her son's hand. The action exhausted her and her arm fell on the coverlets. ‘Your father would have expected no less. And it is proper that she should pay her respects.'

‘I'm sure she didn't come for money.'

‘Regardless, she will eventually be the beneficiary of a princely sum.'

From the sounds next door it was obvious Chloe was packing.

‘I did not choose very wisely,' Annie said weakly, rolling her eyes. ‘Usually plain women are more amenable. Unfortunately Chloe has never felt comfortable being a part of this family. Oh, it may have been different if we didn't have the horrors of forty-plus years ago still nipping at our heels but she is not a Wade by birth. She was monied, but she married
up
, as my mother used to say, and even in this backwater city she has had a hard time fitting in. Anything on and above, well, it is beyond her ability to cope.'

‘Do you think she'll return?'

Annie leant back in the pillows. His mother was like a rabbit burrowing down for the coming winter. ‘She has been quite vocal in her dislike of our native relatives, so in her defence she does need to make some sort of a stand, for appearance's sake. But she will return. Chloe will take Tobias and visit her parents in Dallas and then, after a period of time, they will tell her to leave. You don't look very happy about that, my boy.'

‘I'm inclined to tell Chloe to stay in Dallas.'

‘Now, now, you are husband and wife.' She took a little breath as if fortifying herself. ‘So, is Philomena so very lovely?'

Edmund hung his head and looked at his interlaced fingers. ‘Yes.'

‘Hmm, maybe Chloe should stay for she is your only vanguard against corruption.'

He lifted his chin. ‘Mother.'

Annie chuckled. ‘I have little enough to amuse me these days, my boy, so allow an old lady her moments. Has she heard from Serena?'

‘Yes, the baby was stillborn, but as to Serena's whereabouts …' He shrugged.

‘Ah yes, well, I am not surprised. I do mourn the young innocent child who I grew to love, but that time has gone. Serena does not belong here, Edmund. Should she return you must send her away.'

‘I think Father –'

‘Your father did his very best,' Annie interrupted, ‘but you can want something too much. In the end his obsession with his brother's descendants killed him.' Annie plucked at the covers. ‘He was such a strong man, I would never have imagined such a weakness in him.' She sniffed and dabbed at her nose with the cuff of her nightgown. ‘How ill is your cousin?'

‘Very, Mother. Philomena has tuberculosis and the doctor mentioned the possibility of consumption.'

‘When she rallies, bring her to me. I would like to look at this young woman who has caused me so much strain.'

Edmund didn't wish to undermine his mother but he would not expose her to Philomena's illness nor rekindle memories from the past.

‘What are you thinking, my son? That Philomena will upset me? I do know that your father, my beloved husband, was enamoured with Philomena's mother. I am a woman and women know such things.' Annie scratched the thinning skin on the back of her hand. ‘You have read his diary, have you not?' She didn't wait for an answer. ‘I have too. Early on, before my betrothal to your father it was clear that Aloysius and his brother were competitors for Ginny's affection. Poor Ginny, she was quite the belle of Charlestown and I'm sure when she accepted Joseph's proposal of marriage she expected to be the wife of a newspaper baron, not relegated to the territory of New Mexico to be left alone with two young children when Joseph joined the Confederate Army.' She clasped bony fingers together. ‘I was not immune to your father's interest in Ginny, but I knew Aloysius as a practical man and Ginny, vivacious, intelligent and captivating Ginny, was silly enough to marry your uncle instead. What I did not expect was for your father's unrequited love for this woman to haunt us through the ages and through her children.' Annie's fingers traced the needlework embellishing the sleeve of her nightgown. Her pale blue eyes flickered to a spot on the far wall of the bedroom.