Authors: Leigh Greenwood
Sibyl had felt completely drained by the time she reached Virginia, but she was determined not to answer any prying questions. Unexpectedly Aunt Louisa ordered everyone to leave her alone. For almost a week she had kept to her room, as much to escape the family’s curious stares as to avoid the haunting memories the familiar rooms evoked. But grief is not fatal in and of itself, and it’s impossible for a vibrant young woman to stay in a closed room forever. At last, Sibyl came downstairs.
Louisa never did ask why she had returned. That’s all behind you,” she said calmly. “For the present, we need to see about getting you caught up with your old friends. Jessica says everyone is anxious to see you.”
“Really, Aunt Louisa, you don’t have to look for things for me to do.”
“Well, you can’t continue to mope about the house,” responded a determined voice that bore no resemblance to Sibyl’s mother or her Aunt Augusta. “People know you’re here, and they will begin to ask questions if they don’t see you. You have already caused enough uncomfortable gossip for the family as it is, not that Augusta’s marrying a cowboy wasn’t the biggest shock of all. I was prepared to learn that you had done something deplorable, but Augusta! I still can’t believe it.”
“She’s extremely happy,” Sibyl assured her aunt for the twentieth time. “She has a house of her own, a husband to look after, and two little girls. She’s just like you now.”
“What’s a cowboy like?” her cousin Jessica asked breathlessly.
“I’ll thank you not to compare your Uncle Henry to any cowboy,” Louisa’s frigid tones ruthlessly interrupted her daughter. “Augusta always was a timid girl, so afraid to go about with even the most respectable boys that I was sure she’d end up an old maid. I never dreamed she would disgrace us all by traipsing off to the wilds of wherever it was your Uncle Wesley went and marry the first than she found. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had her chances here and thrown every one of them away.”
“Maybe she didn’t love any of those men.”
“So it would seem,” replied her aunt regally, “but that still doesn’t explain why she must go and many someone from the
territorias!’’
“People in Wyoming are just like people anywhere else,” Sibyl said wearily.
“So you’ve assured me, and I hope you may be right, especially if she should decide to visit us.”
“You wouldn’t turn Aunt Augusta away?” asked Sibyl incredulously.
“No, not even if she had made a
truly
scandalous marriage, but that doesn’t mean that I can accept such a catastrophe complacently. Believe me, I shall have a good deal to say to my sister when next I write her.”
“I don’t think she will care what you say,” Sibyl said mutinously. “She’s so happy she probably won’t ever come back to Virginia again.” A sob seemed to catch in Sibyl’s throat, but her aunt’s inquiring gaze saw only the same set expression she had worn for eight days.
“That’s as may be, but whether or not Augusta deigns to visit us has no bearing on your situation,” her aunt continued inexorably. “Don’t you wish to see your friends?”
“And be forced to listen to them gloat over having a husband and a houseful of anemic children? No, thank you. I had enough of that before.”
“Sibyl never had any friends,” Jessica, a fledgling sixteen-year-old, said smugly.
“That is a rude and thoughtless remark, young lady. You will apologize to your cousin at once.”
Sibyl ignored Jessica’s mumbled apology.
“You may want to listen to Bessie Newland brag about her new furniture and their trips to Saratoga Springs, but if I were Jonathan Newland, I’d have to take a headache powder just to go into town with her. And I’d rather have pups than be the mother of that repulsive little Clay.”
“Sibyl!” remonstrated her scandalized aunt.
“I’m sorry if I offended you, but I can’t stand her snobbery. Bessie is dull, plain, dumpy as a potato, and no more intelligent than a signpost.”
Her younger cousin, Priscilla, giggled.
“If that’s the way you speak of people you’ve known all your life, then I’m not surprised you find yourself neglected,” her aunt reproved her.
“I haven’t said half of what she said about me,” retorted Sibyl.
“What do you plan to do?” asked Jessica eagerly.
“Fm not sure yet. I thought I might open the house again or travel abroad.”
“That’s impossible,” decreed her aunt. “You will marry like any other respectable girl. It is out of the question that you should even think of living by yourself, much less traveling abroad without a proper chaperon.”
“I survived cowboys, Indians, and a stampede,” Sibyl stated a trifle inaccurately. “There’s nothing in Virginia to harm me.
“We’re not speaking of any possible danger to your person, but of the manner in which a lady is raised and expected to behave,” Louisa announced majestically. “Now I’ve had quite enough of this hiding in your room. I’ve invited your cousin for dinner, and tomorrow we shall take the carriage out.”
“Kendrick?” groaned Sibyl with such a pained grimace that Priscilla giggled again.
“Yes, Kendrick. I’ve been putting him off, but it’s time you faced some company.”
“The only way to face Kendrick is by turning your back on him.”
“That will be quite enough, Sibyl. Priscilla, you will go to your room until you are able to behave yourself.” The uncontrite thirteen-year-old was only too willing to be the first to spread Sibyl’s unflattering words.
“And you will oblige me by making no more rude and thoughtless remarks in the presence of your cousins. They are too young to be able to judge them as they should.”
“Nothing will come of it, I promise you. I would rather scrub floors than marry Kendrick.”
“I can’t understand you at all, Sibyl. Your cousin is a thoroughly respectable man. He has brought his farm back into production and is building up his own law office.”
“How mortifying to know there are people in Virginia who think Kendrick could defend a dog against a cat.”
“I can see that Wyoming has not improved your manners.”
“No, but neither has it made me desperate enough to marry Kendrick.”
“You will have the kindness to conceal your attitude while he’s here,” commanded her aunt, “and when we visit Clara Maynard.”
“Is she coming here?’
exclaimed Sibyl.
“No, we are going there. I’ve already promised, so there’s no getting out of it” her aunt said, anticipating Sibyl’s protest. “Everyone will expect to see you sooner or later, and I will
not
have this family continue to be a source of gossip for the whole county if I can possibly prevent it.” Louisa paused, apparently uncertain of what to say next. “How much money do you have at your immediate disposal?” she finally asked.
“The ranch made over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, so my share ought to come to something over fifty thousand after expenses.”
“Are you sure you have properly understood the amount?” her aunt asked, astounded. “I had no idea there was so much money to be made in cows.”
“Most people don’t make that much, but there are some who make a lot more.”
“Then you must be married, but with all that money I don’t imagine that you would be satisfied with Kendrick.”
“No, I don’t think I could.” Sibyl refrained from telling her aunt that she would not have been satisfied with Kendrick if she had been down to her last penny.
“Well, he’s already invited so that can’t be helped, but I don’t expect anything to come of it.”
Alone, as she dressed for dinner, Sibyl reluctantly faced the prospect of marriage. There seemed no way out; it was almost as bad as Wyoming. No, nothing could be as bad as seeing Burch married to Emma. The thought of his arms, his lips, his lean hard body, tortured her nightly, but nothing hurt so badly as the memory of Burch, naked to the waist, and Emma’s arms about him. Every night she would dream of Burch making love to Emma; then she would wake up, her body shaking and sweat on her brow. The dream persecuted Sibyl and battered at her resistance every day; she couldn’t endure it much longer.
She caught sight of her gaunt face as she pinned her mother’s pearl broach to her bosom. She couldn’t live alone with her memories. She had to drive all remembrance of Burch from her mind, and maybe marriage to some nice anonymous man would help; surely they all weren’t as distasteful as Kendrick and Moreton. There would be a house to run and children to raise, and she’d like that. She tried so hard to keep from thinking about Burch and Wyoming, but the powerful shoulders and bushy eyebrows that haunted her sleep would not go away and an anguished “Burch!” escaped her parted lips.
Small spots of red still flamed in Sibyl’s cheeks when her aunt followed her to her room, but now she had her anger under control.
“You have done many things I disapproved of,” declared Louisa with stately condemnation, “but I never thought to see you display common manners in front of guests.”
“I couldn’t stand the way Kendrick was talking any longer. He’s a stupid, cowardly braggart.”
“Kendrick’s character has often disappointed his family, but while such shortcomings will be tolerated in a man, they will never be accepted in a woman.”
“Why should I have to be so much better than a man just to receive the same respect? At least in Wyoming I wasn’t treated like a mindless slave.”
“The sooner you forget Wyoming the better. It’s no part of your society.”
“No.
My
society includes people like Clara Maynard, who gets a husband by sleeping with him and then lying about being pregnant, or Kendrick, who sees nothing wrong with squeezing the very men who were once his family’s friends.”
“Not everyone is like Clara or Kendrick. I have no doubt there are just as many honest and kind people in Virginia as there are in Wyoming.”
“More.”
“Possibly, but you won’t convince anyone of it by behaving like a savage. They will assume you acquired your manners in Wyoming; they know you didn’t learn them here.”
“I’m sorry,” Sibyl said contritely.
“We will not refer to it again,” Louisa relented regally. “Kendrick was at his most provoking tonight, and your drubbing probably did him some good, if anything could do that boy good. Instead, you might as well start dunking about your future. Your cousin can be very helpful when we go to Richmond.”
“I don’t want to go to Richmond. I’m going to see the house tomorrow,” Sibyl said, an overt challenge in her words.
“An agent will see that it is in condition to sell.”
“I’m going to keep it. I can’t go on living with you.”
“Sibyl, I take it as a personal affront that you would want to see that house, and I forbid you to even consider moving there.”
“Aunt Louisa, I will go to Richmond with you, or anywhere else you wish to take me, but I cannot stay here.”
“You did fall in love with your cousin.”
Sibyl turned away without answering.
“I thought so from the start, but I was hoping I was wrong. I told you nothing good would come of running away.”
“You’re wrong. It was worth the whole trip just to see Aunt Augusta’s face when she married Lasso.”
“I will never accustom myself to the fact that my sister would actually
many
someone with a name like Lasso Slaughter,” Louisa moaned.
“You probably won’t like Lasso any more than his name. I didn’t at first, but you wouldn’t believe the difference in Aunt Augusta.”
“I suppose I must accept your assurances that Augusta is indeed happy, but that doesn’t mean that I wish you to make the same mistake.”
“There’s no chance of it. My cousin has quite different plans,” Sibyl assured her in a bleak voice.
“And so shall you as soon as I can get you to a really good dress shop. There’s no point in having cows that can make all that money unless you can spend it on clothes. I think we ought to go to New York as soon as possible. I can’t wait for you to show Clara Maynard what a well-chosen dress looks like.”
An unexpected wave of bitter anguish gripped Sibyl, and with a rush she threw her arms about her aunt and broke into tears. At last the dam inside her broke, and she began to talk. Out poured all the secrets she had held so tightly in her heart, words tumbling over words in their rush to escape. There was no order or logic to them, but somehow her aunt understood. She offered no words of censorship, only the comfort of knowing someone was there who cared. For the first time in weeks Sibyl felt relaxed and relieved to discover that, in spite of the rigid front, her Aunt Louisa was just as kind and understanding as her younger sister.
Sibyl hesitated uneasily at the door, then a look of tenacious resolve formed on her face; she took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside. She didn’t know why it should take such an effort to enter her old home, but the emotional drain was enormous; just standing in the front hall was like going back in time by tearing out everything that had happened to her in the last six months by the roots. It was much worse than being at Tulip Hall, so excruciatingly painful she wondered if she would ever be able to live here again. The entrance hall, stripped bare of the familiar furnishings, seemed strange, even unfriendly; the parlor, too, looked large and terribly empty. The polished floor’s shiny surface denied the softness, the coziness, the easy comfort she remembered. It all seemed to be part of the harsh reality of pain, disappointment, and disillusionment.