Legacies (8 page)

"You can try now," she said to Diane.

Diane held the shooter marble in almost the correct position. But there was no snap to her thumb, and the shooter more or less rolled off her finger.

"That was a practice shot," Lije said quickly. "Since you're just learning, you can try it a couple more times before it counts—only make sure your flick your thumb, like this." Again he demonstrated the technique. Again Diane tried to emulate it without success. She retrieved the marble and tried again; the result was no better. "Here, let me show you."

Lije came around the circle. Taking her hand, he molded her fingers and thumb in the right position, then had her try it without the shooter. Finally, he had her use the marble again. This attempt was slightly better.

"Let's try it again," he said. "This time you hold the marble, and I'll shoot it. I want you to feel the way my thumb rakes across your finger."

He shifted closer, angling his body to curve against her right side, his left hand resting on her shoulder, one knee on the ground for balance. Again he took Diane's hand and cupped it in his, molding it in the proper position.

As soon as the shooter was in place, Lije leaned down until their faces were nearly cheek to cheek. "We'll aim for that yellow marble."

Something—some sound, some vibration of the ground, some movement in the outer range of her vision—penetrated Susannah's absorption in the pair. She looked up and instantly froze at the sight of Captain Parmelee's wife bearing down on them, a look of pure hatred on her face.

"Cecilia!" The shout came from Captain Parmelee. Susannah had a brief glimpse of him outside the sutler's store, his arms laden with wrapped parcels, his expression one of shock and consternation. Then his wife was on them.

"You filthy, horrible creature. What are you doing touching my daughter," she screamed, her hands grabbing Lije like talons, ripping him away from a startled Diane and flinging him to the ground. She instantly seized Diane and pulled her upright, dragging her close as she turned a murderous glare on Lije. "Don't you ever put your dirty hands on her again." She shook with rage. "Do you hear me? Don't you ever come near her again!"

"But, Mama," Diane protested, near to tears, "Lije and Susannah are my friends. We were play—"

"Shut up!" She gave Diane a hard shake that frightened her into silence. "They are nothing but dirty little Indians. You are never to play with them again. Not ever!"

"Cecilia." Jed Parmelee arrived on the scene. "For God's sake, what are you doing? That's Temple's son and—"

"Do you think I don't know who it is?" She spat the question. "Do you think I don't know he's the offspring of that vile, loathsome bitch-dog? I will not have that dirty Indian trash putting his hands on my daughter again. Do you hear? I will not have it!"

She stalked off, dragging Diane with her.

In her mind Susannah could still see the tears running down Diane's cheeks and the look of sorrow and dismay on her face. She remembered how heartbroken she had been after the incident, certain she would never see her dearest friend again. But less than a month later, Diane and her father had ridden up to Oak Hill, Diane on her palomino pony and Captain Parmelee on a cavalry mount.

Jed Parmelee had made the visit seem a casual thing, claiming that he and Diane had been out for an afternoon ride and decided to pay a call on the Gordons. Since the day was mild, refreshments were served outside near the rose arbor. Everyone had acted as though the incident had never occurred, except Susannah; she had hung back, unsure of her welcome.

Finally, Diane had approached her and politely asked to be shown the roses. When they reached the arbor, Diane had squared around to face Susannah, her expression drawn in serious but earnest lines.

"I promised my mother that I would never play with you or Lije again," Diane informed her. "From now on when we see each other, we may talk or go for walks or sing songs, but we must never ever play together."

Susannah frowned in confusion. "But isn't that the same thing as playing?"

"No. My father says that sometimes it's best to make a strict interpretation of orders. And playing means games like marbles and dolls and jump rope and hide-and-seek. My father says it would be terribly impolite not to talk to you. And my mother wouldn't want me to be impolite," Diane insisted, her mouth curving in a conspiratorial smile.

"Then, we can still be friends?" Susannah asked, half afraid to believe it.

"Of course." Diane smiled. "My mother only said we couldn't play together. She never said we couldn't be friends."

Looking back, Susannah could see it was that fine distinction Diane had drawn, with her father's help, that had enabled their friendship to endure. She was grateful it had been made.

The carriage rolled to a stop with a slight lurch in front of the Wickham mansion. The driver came around to help her out. Susannah thanked him and walked up to the front door. She glanced at the bell key and hesitated, gripped by a sudden attack of nerves. It had been five years since she'd last seen Diane. Even though they had corresponded during all that time, it wasn't the same as meeting each other face to face again. People change, and friendships with them. Perhaps theirs had changed, too.

There was only one way to find out. Susannah turned the key and listened to the muffled ring of the summoning bell. Abutter in full livery opened the door and surveyed her with a jaundiced eye.

"May I help you, miss?" he inquired with doubt.

"Miss Susannah Gordon to see Miss Parmelee. She's expecting me," Susannah replied on a note of authority.

"She is, indeed." With a faint bow, he opened the door wider. "Please come in, Miss Gordon. I will inform Miss Diane of your arrival."

"There's no need, Billings." Diane's voice came from the second-floor landing. Susannah glanced up as Diane descended the grand staircase in a gliding rush, the skirt of her striped blue-green silk dress flowing behind her. "I saw the carriage drive up and knew it had to be bringing you, Susannah." She reached the foyer's marbled floor and crossed it, her hands reaching out to clasp both of Susannah's in welcome. "It's been years and years since I saw you last. And look at you—how tall and lovely you are."

Susannah laughed, relieved to see that Diane was as warm and generous as she remembered. "Tall is certainly accurate."

"Lovely is, too—although I suspect you are one swan who will always perceive herself as a homely duckling," Diane declared in amused reproval, then turned, instructing the butler, "Billings, take Miss Gordon's cape and bonnet, and ask Mrs. Kincannon to fix us some tea."

"Would you like it served in your quarters—"

"Heavens no." Diane laughed, and it was the same happy, melodic sound that Susannah remembered from her youth. "With all my trunks scattered about my sitting room, there is barely enough space to turn around. We'll have our tea in the parlor."

"Very good, miss." He nodded and took Susannah's cape and bonnet from her, then withdrew.

"The parlor's this way." Diane caught her hand and led her in its direction, just as she had done when they were girls.

Curiosity got the best of Susannah before they reached the room. "What are your trunks doing out? Are you going somewhere?"

"I leave for Boston tomorrow. Mother and Mr. Austin return from their honeymoon trip the end of this week, so I'm going back to make sure everything is in readiness for their arrival." She ushered Susannah into the parlor, a large room with towering walls and a mixture of furniture, high-backed chairs with deep seats and wide arms and squatty soft chairs of velvet with hassocks to match before them. Diane sat down in one of them and motioned Susannah to sit in its twin. "You don't know how glad I am that you came today. I was afraid we might miss each other. So tell me, how are your parents, your sister Temple, and The Blade? Their little girl Sorrel, does she still have that glorious red hair she had as a toddler?"

They chatted for a time about family and mutual acquaintances, catching each other up on the latest news. Not once did Diane give any indication that she was suffering any of the pain Susannah had glimpsed in Lije. She laughed and gossiped with Susannah as if nothing had ever happened. Susannah was almost ready to believe that it might have been one-sided except for the way Diane avoided any reference to Lije.

"So what are you going to do when you go back to Boston?" Susannah asked at last.

"I don't have any real plans, but I imagine my mother will keep me busy while she looks for a suitable husband for me," Diane replied in her typically careless voice. "She thinks it's time I was married."

Taking a chance, Susannah said, "Something tells me that Lije hopes she doesn't succeed."

Diane's smile faded. "I wasn't aware Lije thought about me at all," she said, rising from her chair and crossing to the window.

"He still cares about you, Diane."

Tensing, she swung around, a flare of hope in her eyes. "Did he ask you to tell me that?"

To Susannah's regret, she had to say, "No."

"I should have guessed that." Diane turned away again, her shoulders slumping a little even as her chin came up.

"What happened between you, Diane?"

"I don't want to discuss it."

"That's what Lije said when I asked him. Why? What did you two quarrel about?" "It doesn't matter."

"It does to me," Susannah insisted. "I care about both of you. You sounded so happy in your letter. I'd like to help if I can. Did your mother come between you?"

There was a long moment of silence before Diane finally replied, "Only indirectly. You see," she began with a rush, turning to argue her case to Susannah, "Senator Frederick had an opening in his Boston office. It was a tremendous opportunity for Lije. I was certain I could persuade Judge Wickham to recommend him. But Lije wouldn't even consider it."

"You wanted Lije to live here in the East." Susannah wanted to make certain she understood Diane correctly.

"Yes. After all, there are so many more opportunities for him here—especially if Judge Wickham chose to champion him. If Lije became a success, Mother couldn't possibly object to him. But Lije rejected the idea out of hand. He was going home, and that was that. He was unreasonable—absolutely and totally unreasonable."

"To be honest, Diane, I can't imagine Lije ever agreeing to live in the East."

"I should have known you would take his side," she accused stiffly.

"It isn't a case of taking sides," Susannah told her. "It's simply that I know Lije, I know what he's been through, what the family has been through. He's strongly protective of his father, Diane. He always has been, and I expect he always will be." She stood up, needing to emphasize her point. "Diane, he was a little boy when he saw his grandfather killed by a group of men in black masks. He adored his grandfather, but there was nothing he could do to help him. He was too young, too small. He had to simply stand there and watch. He's never forgotten that."

"It was a terrible experience, I know, but it happened a long time ago," Diane argued.

"But it still colors his thinking."

"Then he should understand that my family is important to me, too," Diane countered. "My mother has her faults. I don't deny that—but she is still my mother. I care about her."

"And you should," Susannah agreed. "But as much as I wish I could say otherwise, I don't think the day will ever come when your mother will approve of Lije—no matter how successful he might become."

"I don't know why we're discussing any of this," Diane said with impatience, but Susannah noticed Diane didn't disagree with her comment. "Lije has made it clear that he doesn't care anything about my feelings. So why should I care about him?"

"You don't mean that, Diane."

"That's where you're wrong, Susannah," Diane stated, her temper flaring. "I do mean it."

Susannah made another attempt to reason with her, but Diane only grew more adamant. Rather than create a rift in their friendship, Susannah changed the subject.

Privately, she had hoped she would have something positive to write Lije, something to give him hope. But now that she understood the nature of their quarrel, she saw nothing that would remedy the situation. Unable to offer him any encouragement, Susannah decided not to mention her meeting with Diane at all when she wrote him.

 

 

 

5

 

 

Campsite Off the Texas Road

November 15, 1860

 

Twilight streaked the western sky with swirls of magenta and violet that grayed to purple where the sky spread over the rest of the land. The shadows grew longer and thicker, blackening the ground. A whispering wind carried the chill of approaching winter on its breath as it stirred the few leaves still clinging to the blackjack trees.

High above, the first evening star winked dimly while below, the glow of a small campfire threw its faint light against the darkness that gathered beyond its circle of stones. Wisps of aromatic steam rose from the large tin mug on the fire's edge and scented the air with the smell of coffee boiling.

Lije rescued the mug from its bed of hot embers and set it on a flat stone to steep. Automatically, he retreated from the fire, forsaking its feeble warmth to settle back against his saddle, his heavy coat fastened all the way to his neck, his thick leather gloves covering his hands. The air was so cold he could see his breath.

He tore off a chunk of beef jerky from his saddlebags and slowly chewed it. Silence built around him, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire or the stomp of his horse. He idly scanned the shadows. This was the time when the ghosts of the night came out, when the rustling wind reminded him of the whisper of silk, when he saw the golden lights of her hair in the campfire's dancing flames, when the heat of the fire caressed his skin like the warmth of her breath.

With jaws rigid, he reached inside his coat to once again confront his ghost. He pulled out his latest letter from Susannah and shifted closer to let the firelight play over the words penned in Susannah's precise hand.