The Scent of Jasmine (16 page)

“Oh,” Thankfull said. She was looking down at her hands and seemed to have something else to say but didn’t know how. “That’s good, then. About the letter, I mean. I hope Mr. Connor is well.”

When Cay put aside her own annoyance at Alex, she realized what Thankfull wanted: to hear news of Uncle T.C. “He certainly does think highly of you.”

“Does he?” Thankfull asked as her head came up and she smiled. “I mean, I think quite highly of him, too. Did he ever tell you about the time we made his painting chest float?”

“He mentioned it,” Cay said, telling a polite lie. T.C. had never said a word about women unless they were of some Indian tribe he’d visited. “But what were the details?”

“Do you mind?” Thankfull asked as she motioned to the chair near the bed.

“No, of course not,” Cay said as she sat up straighter in the bed. She’d removed her new vest, but she still had on her big shirt. Her breeches were draped over the end of the bed, and she thought that if she really were a male, this would be a very inappropriate meeting.

“Mr. Connor was here in the spring with Mr. Grady and they made plans for now.”

“And they stayed here with you?”

“They did,” Thankfull said, again looking at her hands. “Mr. Grady was busy all the time, but Mr. Connor . . .” She looked at Cay. “I guess you know that he’s a magnificent artist. Even Mr. Grady said so.”

Cay had to work not to reply to that. In her opinion, Uncle T.C. was a brilliant botanist, but he couldn’t draw or paint worth anything.

Thankfull got up and went to the window, glanced out at the moon, and looked back at Cay sitting on the bed. “Usually, I don’t pay much attention to the men who come through here, but Mr. Connor was different. He was kind and educated, and we had some wonderful conversations.”

“He’s a very nice man.”

“Isn’t he!” Thankfull said enthusiastically as she sat back down on the chair. “He brought boxes of artist’s supplies with him. He had great pads of paper that were made in Italy, and he had French crayons and English watercolors. They were all so very beautiful.”

Cay could only blink at the woman, for it was obvious that she was giddy in love with T.C. Connor. Cay wondered if the love was returned. According to her mother, Uncle T.C. was incapable of loving anyone but the deceased Bathsheba. “Uncle T.C. said in his letter that you know where his art supplies are and that I could use them while I wait for one of my other brothers to come for me.”

“He said that? How kind of him to remember. Yes, I have them in my bedroom.”

Cay wanted to ask her if she slept beside them, but she refrained herself. “You said something about a chest?”

“Yes, he’d had a metal trunk made to hold his supplies and his finished art. It was so well constructed that it was waterproof. Mr. Connor and I went to the river and threw it in to make sure that it would float and not leak. Of course we had a rope tied to the chest so it wouldn’t end up in Cowford, but it all worked perfectly, just as he’d planned. When we pulled it out hours later, the papers we’d put inside it were as dry as they’d been when we put the box in the river.”

“Hours?” Cay asked, and when Thankfull blushed, her face looked years younger. It’s amazing what love can do to a person, she thought.

“It took us most of a day to fully ascertain whether the chest was waterproof or not.”

“That must have been a pleasant diversion for you,” Cay said.

“Very much so.” Thankfull stood up again. “The trunk is locked, but Mr. Connor left the key with me. If his letter says you may use the items, I’ll gladly give them to you. But I will need proof, of course.”

“Yes, proof,” Cay said and she had to work to keep from frowning. It looked like Thankfull had come up with an excuse to get to see the letter from T.C.—but of course Cay could never show it to her, as it held too much information that was private. So that would mean she wouldn’t be allowed to use Uncle T.C.’s supplies while she was left there by Alex the Ungrateful.

“I’ll let you sleep now,” Thankfull said as she got up. “Just let me see Mr. Connor’s verification and I’ll be happy to turn the chest over to you.” Smiling, she went to the door.

On impulse, Cay said, “What’s Mr. Grady like?”

Thankfull’s eyes widened. “I don’t think I can describe him. Tim says he’ll be here tomorrow, so you can see for yourself.”

“Do you think he’s a kind man?”

“He’s . . . James Grady is in a class all of his own. I think I’d better go now or the girls will get the wrong idea about us.” Quickly, she left the room.

It was a full minute before Cay started to bang her fist against the pillow. Worse and worse and worse. Everything was going downhill rapidly. She was facing spending weeks being tortured by three lovesick females. Two of them seemed intent on making Cay their husband, while the third was going to make her show a letter that Cay couldn’t reveal before she was allowed to have even a drawing pencil. What was she supposed to
do
during these weeks?

If that weren’t bad enough, at the end of the time, Tally was to come and get her.

Yet again, Cay thought about leaping out the window and getting on her horse. Better still, she should dive into the river and swim home. She wondered if the St. Johns joined the James River somewhere. Maybe if she got a boat, she could row herself northward. She couldn’t help smiling as she thought of how Alex would worry when he found her gone. It would serve him right! she thought. He deserved to be scared to death after what he’d condemned her to. And after she’d saved his worthless life!

As she began to fall asleep, she wondered where he was sleeping tonight, and she hoped it was someplace uncomfortable and smelly.

Fifteen

Cay pushed the eggs about on her plate. She was so down spirited that she didn’t even care what kind of bird the eggs came from. She’d already seen so many strange creatures flying and running about that she couldn’t keep track of them. Yesterday she’d tried her best to ask the girls what the huge bird flying overhead was, but they weren’t interested in the birds, only in Cay. All they wanted to do was to touch her, to sit close to her, to make her look at them.

“There’s no way he’s right,” Cay mumbled as she thought about Alex saying that
all
girls acted like that. Cay could assure him that she’d never come close to behaving that way with any of her many suitors. She’d always conducted herself in the most respectful, ladylike way possible. The few times when she was alone with one of the three men she was considering marrying, she’d never done anything that she couldn’t have done in front of her mother. Maybe not her father, but her mother, yes.

“Did you say something?” Thankfull asked from the doorway as she put another bowl of food on the table.

Cay was the only guest at the boardinghouse, and if she ate even half of what was served to her, she’d get fat. She wondered if being fat would make the girls leave her alone.

“Your brother hasn’t been by this morning,” Thankfull said. “Do you think he’ll want breakfast?”

“I don’t know where he spent last night and I don’t know if or when he ate.”

“I see,” Thankfull said tentatively.

“I spent last night under the stars,” Alex said from the doorway.

Cay turned to his voice and had to stop herself from running to him. It was wonderful to see someone who wasn’t a stranger. Even though she stopped her smile before it could engulf her face, he saw it.

“Mr. Yates,” Thankfull said, “please sit down and have breakfast. I’ll fix you a plate of eggs.”

She left the room and Alex sat down across from Cay. “Miss me?” He picked up a piece of toast from the plate in the center of the table.

“Not at all. I hope you froze last night.”

“I only wish summers in Scotland were as warm as the winters here. How long do you plan to stay angry at me, lass?”

“Stop calling me that or Thankfull will hear you.”

“What do you think her parents were thankful for when she was born?”

It was nearly the same joke that Cay had thought of when she was introduced, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her say so. She just glared at him and went back to moving her eggs around on the plate.

“Grady is to arrive today.”

“I hope he doesn’t.” Cay’s voice was angry. “I hope
you
have to stay here, too.”

“You want me with you that bad, do you?”

“I don’t want you with me at all. I just don’t want to have to stay in this place and wait for my brother to come and ridicule me.”

“Lass,” Alex said patiently, “they have mail service out of here, so you can write to your other brothers and ask them to come and get you. What was the pretty one’s name?”

“Ethan. No. If Adam said Tally was to come for me, then it will be Tally. No one contradicts Adam.”

A quick frown crossed Alex’s face, but he got it under control. “Will you come see me off tomorrow?”

“I thought you were leaving today. I was
hoping
you’d leave today.”

“Grady is to bring the flatboat with more supplies, and we leave early tomorrow. Will you cry when you wave good-bye to me?”

“I’m going to throw a party.”

“And will the girls be there? Will you sneak kisses with them?”

She picked up her fork and lunged across the table at him, but he pulled back, laughing, just as Thankfull returned.

“I hope they’re cooked to your liking,” she said, looking in curiosity from Cay to Alex, then back again.

“Excellent,” Alex said, glancing up at Thankfull with a warm smile.

She returned his smile before she went back to the kitchen.

“You were
flirting
with her,” Cay said in a voice that was mostly a hiss.

“She’s an attractive woman,” Alex said.

“And you’re a married man.”

“Nay, lass,” Alex said quietly, “I’m not.”

“I didn’t mean . . . ,” she began, then stopped. She wasn’t good at being angry. Even when she was a child and Tally did truly horrible things to her, she couldn’t stay mad for long. She put her head on her hands, elbows on the table. “I don’t want to stay here alone.”

“Thankfull seems like a nice enough person, so maybe she’ll turn out to be your friend.” There was sympathy in Alex’s voice.

“She’s in love with Uncle T.C.”

“Is she now? Who would have thought of that? Is he in love with her?”

“How would I know that? I’m his goddaughter. He doesn’t talk to me of his love life.”

“Maybe he should. It would have been better than telling you about the murderers in his life.”

Cay couldn’t help it, but she smiled. “I agree with you on that.”

Reaching across the table, he took her hand, and she looked at him. “I’m truly sorry about all this, lass. I didn’t mean for it to happen, and neither did T.C. If he hadn’t been so stupid as to climb on that ladder, he’d be here now and not you.”

“And he’d be going with you,” Cay said, her eyes pleading.

Alex pulled his hand back and took a bite of his eggs. “Don’t start on me again. You canna go, and that’s final.”

“He’s here!” one of the twins shouted as she ran into the dining room. Her eyes went directly to Cay. “Oooooh,” she said and sat down beside her, but Cay stood up.

“Who’s here?” Alex asked.

The girl didn’t so much as look at him; her eyes were directly on Cay. “Mr. Grady.”

“Oh,” Cay said flatly, looking at Alex.

He rapidly took three more bites of egg, grabbed his hat, and said he had to go.

Cay was right on his heels.

At the door, he stopped. “I think you should stay here. I don’t know where Grady’s been, so he may have heard the news from Charleston. He could be suspicious of you.”

“My name was cleared, remember? It’s
you
who’s in danger, not me.”

Alex grimaced.

“But it was a good try,” she said. “Really, I almost believed you.”

Alex laughed. “Then it was worth it.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go, little brother, and see what awaits me.”

“You, not me,” Cay said gloomily. “You saw in the dining room what’s waiting for me.”

“Those girls aren’t bad, brother. Maybe when I get back I’ll be invited to your wedding.”

“You are not funny.”

Laughing, Alex tightened his arm around her shoulder, but she twisted away.

“I hope an alligator eats your leg.”

“Now, lass, you don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do. I—” She broke off because they’d reached the dock and standing amid the many boxes and crates was a tall man wearing a snowy white shirt, with a dark green vest, and fawn-colored breeches. On his head was a big felt hat with a wide brim. His face was turned away from them, but she could see that he was young and had a horseman’s muscular thighs.

“Is that him?”

When Alex looked at her, he frowned at her expression. “I guess so. Why?”

“He reminds me of someone I know, that’s all.”

“I think you should go back to the boardinghouse. If Grady recognizes you, we’re sunk. I promise that I’ll come to say good-bye to you this afternoon.”

She moved away from Alex when he again tried to put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m not going back to that place until I have to. I wish he’d turn around so I could see his face.”

Alex stepped in front of her to block her view. “I don’t like this. If you think you know this man, then he’ll know you. He won’t think you’re a boy.”

“If he’s who I think he is, he won’t recognize me, since the only time I saw him, I was eight years old.”

“I still think—” Alex began.

“Are you Yates?” came a voice from behind them.

Reluctantly, Alex took his eyes off Cay and turned around, and when he heard her gasp from behind him, he realized that this was the man she knew.

James Grady was a very handsome man. He looked to be in his early thirties, was as tall as Alex, but heavier built, as he hadn’t spent weeks in near starvation. He had dark hair and gray eyes, and there were long dimples in his cheeks.

As soon as Alex saw the man, he knew things about him. Like Cay, Grady seemed to exude an air of money. When you looked at the man, you saw a drawing room with port in crystal glasses and cigar smoke. You saw women in dresses so elegant they looked to have been created on Mount Olympus.

Without a doubt, Alex knew that James Grady was an older version of the rich plantation boys Alex had beaten in the horse races in Charleston. In other words, he was of the same class and education as Cay. He was of her crowd, her social station in life. He was her equal.

Alex told himself he had no reason to hate the man, but he could feel the emotion coursing through his veins.

“Are you Yates?” the man asked again.

“Yes,” Alex finally managed to say. “I’m Alex Yates.”

“And you’re the friend T.C. wrote me about, the one who can handle any animal?”

“Ah dunnae kinn abit ’at, but I’ll dae th’ best Ah can.

“I beg your pardon?”

During this exchange, Alex had managed to keep Cay behind him. She’d tried to escape his grasp on her, but he’d held on tight. At last, she dug her elbows into his back and he had to let go.

She slipped around Alex and put herself in front of him to stare up at Mr. Grady with wide eyes. “I’m Charles Albert Yates,” she said as she held her shoulders back and her chest out. “This is my brother, and I’m his translator.”

Alex realized that, yet again, he’d fallen back into his heavy accent and Grady hadn’t been able to understand him.

“What my brother said was that he was appreciative of the compliment from Mr. Connor, and that he’d do his best to live up to expectations.”

“Did he now?” Mr. Grady said, smiling down at Cay in merriment. “He said all that in just those few words?”

“He did,” Cay said, not seeming to realize that Mr. Grady was teasing her. “He can speak English, but he’s not very good at it.”

“And why is it that your brother has such a heavy accent, but you have none?”

“Och, but Ah dae when Ah lit myself,” she said, her eyes showing her delight.

Mr. Grady laughed. “Well, boy, I can see that you’ll be a fine addition to our little team. You can—”

“He’s not going,” Alex said loudly in American English.

“Oh, excuse me,” Mr. Grady said. “I thought he would be going with us.”

“He has to stay here and wait for his brother—our brother—to come and get him.”

“A fine, healthy lad like this one can’t travel around our great country on his own? How old are you, boy?”

Cay started to say she was twenty, but Alex pushed her with his elbow so that she almost fell. While she was trying to regain her balance, Alex said, “Sixteen.”

Mr. Grady looked at Cay righting herself and said, “He looks older.” He was looking at her as though he was trying to remember something, so Alex stepped between them.

“I’ll take care of the horses and do the hunting and whatever else you need,” Alex said.

“What I need is someone who can draw and paint the wonders that we’ll see.” Mr. Grady started walking back to the wharf, Alex beside him, with Cay coming up behind them. She was half the size of either of the men and she had trouble getting around them. Every time she tried to go around Alex, he reached out an arm and stopped her. After two attempts, she ran around the side of Mr. Grady to walk beside him.

“If I’d known about T.C.’s accident, I could have brought someone from home. There’s a boy there who can draw a bit. He’s not as good as T.C., but few are. Now I’m here, ready to go, but I have no one to record what we see. Have you ever been into the depths of Florida, Mr. Yates?”

Alex glanced across him at Cay and saw that she was wide-eyed as she looked up at Mr. Grady in fascination. Before anything else was done, he
had
to get her back to the boardinghouse.

“By the way, I’m just one generation away from the heather,” Mr. Grady said into the silence. “My father came from Scotland when he was just a lad, no older than young Charlie here, and—”

“Cay,” she said, and when he looked down at her, she said louder, “I’m called that for my initials.”

“Cay, is it?” For a moment Mr. Grady blinked at her before turning back to Alex. “You two came down from Charleston?”

“We did.”

“What is this I heard about an escaped murderer? A cousin of mine lives there, and his letters were full of nothing else. Your name of Alex reminded me of it. Seems the black’ard killed his wife on their wedding night.”

Alex opened his mouth to say something, but no sounds came out.

“It was terrible,” Cay said quickly, “but there were rumors that the man was innocent, that he was the victim of a plot so evil that they couldn’t even write about it in the newspapers.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Grady said. “My cousin must not have known about that because he certainly didn’t write about it in his letters.”

“It was Uncle T.C. who told us all about it.”