Galveston: Between Wind And Water (A Historical Literary Fiction Novel Filled with Romance and Drama) (21 page)

“But there is, Gabrielle.” Caden reached across the desk and held her trembling hand. “Because that is exactly what I have to offer.” He withdrew the hand from his right coat pocket and placed the small, blue glass vial on top of the desk between them.

Gabrielle sniffled and shook her head. “More medications? I don’t understand. I thought you said—”

Caden raised his hand to silence her objection and smiled. “This is not a quack’s tonic but a tried and tested antidote to help break the grip of dependence. Ancients the world over have suffered as we do, only they had the courage to seek their redemption by working with nature . . . not against her.”

Gabrielle picked up the vial and held it up against the light of the desk lantern. She squinted as though trying to discern its contents. “What is it, Caden?”

“European explorers have written of a small shrub—Tabernanthe iboga— indigenous to West Africa. I won’t bore you with botanical and chemical details of alkaloids. For our purposes it is only important to know that the natives there boil the root bark and use the liquid for initiation and healing rites.”

Gabrielle placed the vial back down on top of the desk. “And what is this supposed to do?”

Caden held up the vial in his hand and clenched a fist in his right. “It closes off the areas in the brain that crave the addictive substance. If the brain has no need for the poison . . .” He smiled. “Neither does the body.” 

He gently opened her hand and placed the vial in her gloved palm. “Odorless and tasteless, the sulfate solution can be mixed to dilute his current medicine. Mr. McGowan will never suspect a difference. See that he takes this instead of his regular remedy and you will marvel at the change in his personality.”

Caden slowly closed her fingers around the vial. “When reason returns to him within a few weeks, you can explain the necessity of our deception. He will be eternally grateful to you, Gabrielle, for you will be his true savior from this hell of his own making.” He reclined back in his chair and offered his best kindhearted and concerned smile to her.

Gabrielle looked at the vial in her hand. “And Bret will never suspect my interference?”

Caden shook his head. “Not in the least.” He rose and stood close to her. “His only suspicion will be that he is feeling better and that the dark storm of his life has finally lifted under the healing rays of the sun.”

Gabrielle beamed like a child opening the most wonderful present she could ever have imagined. “And if I ask his man, Philip, to help me . . .”

She opened her hand and looked at the vial as though a miracle had just dropped into her palm. “He’s been so faithful to Bret’s family over the years.”

“As a good servant should be.” Caden grinned. “But please, do not tell him of my involvement
yet
. I will give you the name of a fine doctor from Houston—a Society member—who helped me prepare the antidote. Later, when Mr. McGowan has fully recovered, we will explain everything to him.”

She nodded as though she had already heard everything she needed to know. “Then, as God is my witness, I’ll do it.”

Gabrielle rose and faced him. Caden inhaled the exciting freshness of her lavender and orange blossom scent. How he wanted to take her in his arms, to make her feel and know that she had finally met a man worthy of her intelligence, compassion, and beauty.

“Thank you.” She raised herself and kissed him briefly on the cheek. “Bless you, Cade. You’re the one who’s truly Bret’s savior and I’ll make sure he knows.”

“You are too kind. I only wish to help good people in their time of need. And please remember that I will always be here for you whenever you need me.”

Gabrielle’s eyes glistened and she pressed her lips together. She hugged him around the shoulders, resting her head on his broad chest, allowing him to draw her close in his powerful, secure embrace. 

Her warm bosom against his body, he felt the raw surge of his awakened manhood coursing through every vessel and muscle. His groin discomfort all but disappeared under the renewed vigor pulsing through his blood. Cade took a breath and steeled his desire, aware that he must remain a gentleman at all times in her presence until his final plan bore fruition.

Gabrielle sighed and stepped away from him. She placed the vial in her handbag and padded toward the study door. Taking hold of the handle, she paused and spun on her heel. “Cade?”

“Yes?”

“I’m absolutely famished.” A coquettish glint sparkled in her eyes. “There’s a wonderful new seafood restaurant on the boardwalk that I’ve been dying to try.”

Caden smiled in sincere appreciation. “Thank you. I can think of no greater honor than to enjoy a wonderful meal with you, Gabrielle. In time, I hope there will be so much more we can share together.”

Gabrielle blushed and glanced away.

Caden stepped to the coat rack next to the open window. He glanced outside as he slipped on his light tan summer jacket. The sky was tranquil and unclouded but far out on the Gulf’s horizon, a hazy darkness was descending down over the water.
A fool never fears the storm. 
He pulled the window shut.
Until it is already too late upon him.

CHAPTER 17

Thursday, September 6

Gabrielle sat in her upholstered reading chair in the sunroom of her house looking out upon her garden through the partially drawn curtains. The morning rays seeped past through the glazed, rose-tinted windows, allowing the September sun to highlight the delicate powdered rouge on the freshly washed skin of her cheeks.

Caden may be right, of course. If Bret’s better judgment, drowned in opium, had fallen into the abyss of depravity he described, then Bret was ill, but the drug was the only explanation for his cruel actions. Beyond that it was unnecessary to search for a more extraordinary reason.

“You’d better hurry, Miss Caldwell,” Verna informed her as she gathered up her nightclothes. “Your guest will be arriving shortly.”

Gabrielle walked to the window and parted the curtains for a better view. Even in late summer, the flowers kept their joyful, perennial colors, with larkspur and snapdragons gaining ground over the retreating flood of early summer lilacs. For a few moments, she had the frantic yearning to confront Bret with everything but she was held fast in the chains of a promise that felt stronger than her will.

Verna busied herself applying the final touches to Gabrielle’s makeup. “Are you sure, Miss Caldwell, this isn’t a touch showy for a visit so early in the morning?”

Gabrielle picked up the small, circular hand mirror from the brass toiletries tray and checked the powder on her cheeks with a light touch of her index finger. “Our visitor isn’t a nun, Verna, and church isn’t until Sunday.”

“Yes Miss. But they ain’t a gentleman caller neither.”

“You’re still young, Verna. Sometimes a lady needs to look and feel her most attractive for precisely that reason.” Looking in the hand mirror, she saw Verna rolling her eyes and smirking. 

Gabrielle leaned back on her seat, while Verna slowly piled one above the other, a mass of small curls. Verna twisted and teased them into soft waves until the smallest ringlets encircled Gabrielle’s face and hung down the nape of her neck.

“Ouch!” said Gabrielle, stamping her shoe. “You’re not pulling out dandelions from the garden!”

“Sorry, Miss, but if you wasn’t in such a rush to be dressed to the nines . . .
there.
” Verna stood in front of Gabrielle and looked her up and down as though appraising her work.

Gabrielle brushed off a few specks of lint from her delicate, violet skirt and bodice.

“Well, Miss Caldwell, you do look beautiful in your new lilac skirt. That soft shade really sets off your hair and complexion.”

“Thank you. How do my eyebrows look?”

Verna nodded and smiled. “You look just like one of those ladies in Vogue magazine, Miss Caldwell, but even prettier.”

Gabrielle raised her head and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. And why not? Perhaps this guest imagined her to be a vain woman of drooped and fading beauty with wine red splotches beneath her eyes, prattling on and on about her petty emotional disturbances, but this would never come to be as long as Gabrielle’s reflection in the mirror kept smiling.

The front door bell chimed and Gabrielle regarded herself in the hand mirror with a last quick look of nervous vanity. “Verna, please show our guest in.”

“Would you like me to stay, Miss Caldwell?”

Gabrielle took two deep breaths then exhaled in a single steady stream. “No, thank you, I’ll be fine.” She sat down again on her upholstered reading chair.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Gabrielle turned and saw the person standing in the middle of the sunroom entrance, looking about with a faint, polite smile.

“Hello, Miss Armstrong,” said Gabrielle, rising from her chair and extending her hand to greet her guest. “Your uncle sounded most concerned on the telephone but he didn’t tell me why.”

Rebecca Armstrong’s gaze didn’t move from Gabrielle’s. She shook Gabrielle’s hand in a courteous manner. Withdrawing her hand swiftly, she took a step back from her hostess. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Miss Caldwell. This won’t take long.” She removed a red lace scarf from the hair.

“Please,” Gabrielle motioned toward the guest chair. “Have a seat by the window. It’s a beautiful view of the garden this time of day.”

“I’m fine, thank you. I’ve already admired my own garden this morning.”

“Have you had lunch?” Gabrielle asked, “I can have Verna bring us some—”

“No, I appreciate your offer but I’ve already eaten and I don’t want to take up any more of your time. You look like you’re about to leave for an important engagement.”

For a few moments, Miss Armstrong appeared to be more interested in the intricate design of the Persian carpet than acknowledging that another person was in the room. Gabrielle studied her guest, savoring her small victory in the young woman’s discomfort.

It was apparent why men might have found this brisk young lady to be an alluring siren at Bret’s party, but standing in front of Gabrielle this morning, she looked plain, almost frumpish with her figure pressed flat underneath her austere black dress. 

Her long, flowing red hair was tucked in a tight matron’s bun so as to give no indication of its actual length. The dark circles under her unmade eyes gave the impression of little sleep or crying, or both.

Miss Armstrong looked up from the carpet. “You’re an
old
friend of Bret’s, aren’t you?”

Gabrielle’s pulse rose at the sound of the surprising familiarity in this strange woman’s voice. “Are you speaking of Mr. McGowan?”

The woman nodded once.

“I had no idea that the two of you were on a first name basis, Miss Armstrong.”

The woman smiled for the first time since entering the sunroom. “Yes. You could say we are on more intimate terms since I sang at his party last Friday night.”

Gabrielle swallowed hard. The thought of Bret and this woman—with all the terrible, hidden aspects of his life that had only recently come to light—was pushed into the back of her awareness.
Surely her uncle has informed her about the appalling things he discovered about Bret?

Gabrielle smiled, wanting nothing more than to appear unflustered by anything this woman might now say about the unfortunate situation. 

She felt her eyelids flutter in the uncomfortable silence. Gabrielle raised a hand to her mouth and cleared her throat as discreetly as possible. “Bret is an old family friend, but since his trip abroad we’ve lost touch.”

Miss Armstrong strode past Gabrielle toward the window overlooking the garden. “Your vines need pruning,” she commented. “Before you realize, they will overrun your walls and garden and cut off the sunlight to the smaller flowers.”

“Thank you for your advice. I’ll be sure to have Verna attend to them this afternoon.”

“Yes.” Miss Armstrong turned around. “Sometimes only the strongest poisons are effective once they’ve taken root where you don’t want them to be.”

“Having my garden overwhelmed by vines is easily remedied with a few snips and cuts. It is so much more difficult to remove other unwanted creatures once they get inside your house. Wouldn’t you agree Miss Armstrong?”

The young woman took a few steps toward Gabrielle. “Have you seen Bret much since his return?” she asked.

“Miss Armstrong.” Gabrielle clasped her fingers together in front of her skirt. “As a courtesy to your uncle I agreed to meet you on such short notice, but frankly, I cannot understand the purpose. What is it that is so urgent to—”

“Bret,” interrupted Miss Armstrong, with a half-suppressed sigh.

“Indeed. And what is your concern with him?”

“You’ve known him for many years, Miss Caldwell. What kind of man is he really?”

Gabrielle felt her throat going dry. She swallowed before speaking. “Is your family thinking of undertaking a partnership with him? I wouldn’t risk investing in his oil drilling venture if you were considering that.”

Miss Armstrong ran her fingers across the top ridge on the back of Gabrielle’s reading chair. “Not business per se, although it will figure prominently in our relationship.”

Gabrielle moistened her dry lips and felt her skin redden through the rouge on her cheek.

“Yes. I believe Bret will ask my uncle for my hand in marriage soon,” she continued.

Gabrielle felt no impulse to cry. She was too angry imagining what Bret might have done to this poor, foolish girl to convince her of such a ridiculous proposition or that his intentions were, for once, honorable. 

She remained silent trying to control the heaving motion of her blouse and relax the strained corners of her eyes, but she knew they were betraying her moment by moment in the presence of this threatening woman: the last person she ever expected would expose her vulnerable heart. “How . . . sudden for both of you,” Gabrielle said, at last breaking the silence.

“I’ve always dreamt that this is how love should be. Being swept away by an ocean of desire and joy.” She whirled like a schoolgirl at play. “Do you know what I mean, Miss Caldwell? The impulsive, divine kind of love.”