Authors: Patricia Hagan
"Will you stop it?" With his free hand, he squeezed her fingers that were digging into his arm. "You don't look Indian at all. French Creole, maybe. But that's not why they're staring."
"Then why?" She found it terribly unnerving. Most of the men had a smile on their lips, while the women seemed almost hostile. "Do they think I'm your
quadroon?"
"A quadroon isn't a
thing
," he corrected her, amused. "It's a woman who's one-fourth Negro, remember? And it's nothing to be ashamed of, at least not in my opinion. As for these folks, the men think you're ravishing, and the women are justifiably jealous."
A waiter in a white coat and black trousers showed them to a linen-covered table. A bowl of fragrant gardenias was in the center.
Raven was still unnerved by all the attention, but gradually that faded. Then her unease came from being faced with having to get through the meal without making a fool of herself. There was a bewildering number of glasses and dishes and silverware on the table, and she did not know what any of them were for. She knew nothing of glasses with long stems and eating utensils of different sizes and types. She would have to watch Steve and imitate him.
As they ate, he made small talk about the city. He told her that Mobile was outranked as a cotton port only by New Orleans, Savannah, and Charleston.
She pretended not to care when he bragged about her father and how he owned a regular line of packets, ships of the first class, to run monthly back and forth to New York. She felt like telling him that the fact her father was rich and successful made him no less a liar and scoundrel in her eyes.
When they were served dessert—a chocolate and cream concoction that made Raven's mouth water just to look at it—Steve asked bluntly, "Well, so far how do you like what could be your new life?"
Snappily, she informed him, "It's not going to be my new life. But quite frankly, I can't help thinking how my mother might have liked living here, had my father kept his promises."
"Do you really think she would have adjusted? Remember, while you've grown up in a white man's world, she was raised Indian."
"My mother was a very intelligent woman. She could have adjusted to anything. If my father thought otherwise, it's because he wanted to."
Steve had not wanted the conversation to go this way, but since she had brought up the subject, he dared ask, "But didn't she love the man she married at all? From what little I've heard about Seth Greer, it appears he was good to her."
"He was. He was also good to me. But goodness doesn't always make up for love, and my mother just loved my father so much she was never able to put him out of her mind. She died calling his name. I'm just glad Seth wasn't there to hear. It would have hurt him deeply, because even though he had to know my mother still loved my father, he didn't deserve to hear her confirm it with her dying breath."
"I guess not. But your father did have reasons for what he did, and he'll tell you what they were."
"I'll hear him out, but that's all. Then I'm leaving."
Steve pushed the chocolate concoction away and reached for the after-dinner brandy. Thinking of Raven and Ned's first meeting made him need a drink.
He hoped it would go well. He could understand Raven's resentment, but for Ned's sake he hoped she would not be too rough on him. "You know he wants you to have almost everything he's got. The least you could do is think about it instead of cutting off your nose to spite your face, as the saying goes."
Raven also pushed the dessert away. It was no longer appealing. Nothing was—except getting the meeting over with and leaving afterward. "Hating him as I do includes hating his money and everything he owns. I only came because you made me, remember?"
Steve set his jaw as ire rose. "What Ned did in the past doesn't matter. Maybe he shouldn't have made promises to your mother that he didn't keep, but that's over and done with and he can't undo any of it. All he wants now is to try and make things right with you before he dies. If you want to turn your back on him and walk out on everything he's offering, that's your loss. But I'm not going to let you hurt him, understand? For whatever time he's got left in this world, you're going to leave him in peace. Keep your mouth shut and let him tell you how sorry he is. Let him tell you he loves you. And when he dies, you can go, but while you're here, swallow your bitterness and hatred, understand?"
"I told you I have no intention of staying. He could live for months."
"He won't, but you aren't leaving while he's alive, because he doesn't deserve to have you walk out on him in his final days."
She jutted her chin stubbornly. "I'll run away."
His smile was almost sinister. "No, you won't."
"And what makes you think so?"
His tone softened. "Because I know Ned and I think I know you, and you're not as tough as you want people to think you are. Frankly, after you meet him, I don't think you'll be able to keep on hating him."
"You're real sure of yourself, aren't you?"
Steve didn't answer. He was not sure of anything anymore, except that he wanted Ned to have a peaceful death, if possible. That, and the fact that he needed to get away from Raven before he yielded to temptation and found himself embroiled in a situation it might be difficult to get out of. Something told him that if he ever made love to her, he would not be able to walk away. He needed to get her off his mind, stop thinking about how good it had felt to kiss her, how nice the feel of her body was against his, and the way to do that was to pay a visit to the waterfront. He knew lots of women there who could easily distract him.
"Are you finished?" he asked, an annoyed edge to his voice as he got to his feet.
Raven also stood. "Yes. I'm tired, and I'd like to go to bed. I'll find my own way to my room, thank you." And with a swish of her skirts, she breezed out, this time oblivious to the stares.
She hurried across the lobby and up the stairs to her room, slamming and locking the door, her heart pounding fast, but not from exertion. It was Steve's changing his mind about letting her go that agitated her. It wasn't fair. But at least he did not suspect he was actually the reason she wanted to get away as quickly as possible. And she could not let him know that, could not let him suspect how he made her feel.
A sound at the door made her jump, startled, and she whirled about in a mixture of fear and anticipation. If it were Steve, it meant he had a key to her room, which would then mean that his behavior at dinner had all been an act and he was now coming to—what? If he'd had any untoward intentions, they would have surfaced on the trail, out in the wilderness. Certainly not here, where she could scream and be heard. No, it was not Steve fumbling with a key in the door. It was someone else, someone who meant her harm.
Glancing about for a weapon, she wished she had fired up one of the lanterns, but then her eyes fell on the water pitcher. Snatching it up, she held it high, ready to send it crashing down on the head of whoever dared walk through that door.
"Are you having trouble, Nonnie?"
Raven heard a man's voice, followed by a woman's response. "I'm afraid so. The manager keeps promising me a new passkey, but he never seems to get around to it. This one just doesn't like to fit in certain doors—like this one."
"Here. Let me."
There was a click, and the door swung open.
At the sight of the young woman in a white uniform and blue apron, Raven quickly lowered the pitcher.
"Oh, goodness!" The maid gasped to see Raven standing there. "I'm sorry. I forgot to knock. I thought you were still out for the evening. I'll come back later."
She turned, but Raven said, "No, it's all right. Come in, please. But the room is clean. I haven't mussed it at all."
"I was just going to turn down the bed. My name is Nonnie. If there is anything I can do for you, just let me know. And I'd appreciate it," she added hopefully, "if you won't tell on me for bursting in like I did. It could cost me my job, and this hotel is the nicest in Mobile. In fact, it's probably the only one that hires maids. The rest only have cleaning stewards, and that doesn't pay as much."
"Of course I won't say anything." Raven assured.
Nonnie went to the bed and carefully pulled the spread back. "You're pretty." She smiled over her shoulder. "Where are you from?"
"Texas. And thank you," she added self-consciously. No one had ever told her she was pretty before except Steve. Her mother had been a no-nonsense kind of woman who had no time for such things as being concerned with how someone looked. Seth had been the same way.
The maid regarded her curiously. "Are you staying all by yourself? Surely not. You must be married."
"No, but there is someone traveling with me, and we aren't married, so he has a room of his own,"
"Oh, I see." She nodded approval.
Raven did not want to continue talking about herself, so she pointed to the bed. "That is really a beautiful tepee, isn't it? I've never seen one like that before, made out of material instead of skin, and certainly not above a bed, but I guess you don't need tepee walls in a room," she added, with a nervous little giggle.
At first Nonnie thought the guest was just trying to be funny, but by the expression on her face she could tell she was serious. Looking at her warily, she said, "That isn't a tepee, ma'am. It's called a canopy, and I can't imagine one being made of anything except fabric." Her eyes narrowed. "Where did you say you're from?"
Raven turned away, embarrassed. "Texas," she mumbled. "We... we don't have beds like that out there." She went to the window, keeping her back turned. She did not want to talk anymore, afraid she'd make an even bigger fool of herself.
Nonnie decided she was just a country girl come to town, and that was nothing to be ashamed of. She was straight out of the fields herself and grateful for a better job. "Well, I've heard Texas is rather uncivilized, so I'm not surprised they don't have canopies. This one isn't as nice as the ones in some of the other rooms. They've got netting to keep away mosquitoes."
Raven didn't care about mosquitoes or canopies or anything else. All she wanted was to leave, and as she stared down at the busy street below, she wondered how far she could get before Steve discovered she was gone and trailed after her.
"Anything going on down there?" Nonnie asked as she plumped the pillows. "It's usually quiet this time of night. Most of the noise is down at the waterfront."
"All I see are men, and they all seem to be walking in the same direction." Raven thought that was odd. "They all seem to be in good spirits, too."
Nonnie gave a scornful sniff. "You can bet they are. They're going to buy whiskey and women, both plentiful at the wharves. Makes me sick, it does, how a whore can sell her body to a man. They don't care if a man is married or not. All they're interested in is the money."
Raven made no comment. It was not a topic she was interested in discussing. She knew about bawdy houses, because the soldiers, thinking she was a boy, had had no reason to watch what they said around her. When they did start talking about women and sex, she had taken her leave as quickly and discreetly as possible, but sometimes not quickly enough, and the descriptions became pretty explicit. She had learned more than she wanted to.
Nonnie went on. "I tell you one thing, miss, when I get married, I'll keep my man satisfied so he won't have no call to go looking for another woman, no matter what it takes. I know some women would just as soon their man take a whore and leave them alone, but not me. I'll keep my husband's bed warm, to be sure. Say, it's getting dark in here. Should I fire up a lantern?"
Raven declined and was relieved when the maid finally left, even though she was lonely, for it was the first night in weeks that Steve had not been near. It was an experience she'd never had before, having a man so close by, and she could not deny she had enjoyed it.
As her thoughts drifted while the shadows of night crept into the room, she was struck to think maybe the women in the restaurant had not been jealous of her looks at all, but envious because she was with Steve. He had looked so handsome—clean-shaven, hair neatly trimmed, clothes neat and well-fitting. What woman would not be proud to be at his side? And she was even more so, for she knew of his rugged, almost feral side, which was exciting in a different way. She knew the smell of him, the feel of him, and her skin prickled deliciously to remember the intimate moments they had shared.
She crossed her arms over her chest, as though to steel herself against regret for how the evening might have ended had tension not sprung between them. Would they have gone for a walk, dappled by moonlight filtering through the moss-draped trees? Would they have maybe even held hands? No one had ever held her hand. Raven could almost feel the warm strength of his fingers laced through hers. And if she allowed herself to, she could yet taste his lips.
"Stop it," she commanded herself aloud. This was foolish. This was insane. She was tormenting herself for nothing. The kiss had been a mockery. He had seen through her ploy, knew she was teasing him into wanting her, and laughed in her face. Instead of shivering deliciously to remember, she should be quaking with fury that he could be so callous. Not that she condoned her own behavior, far from it. She had felt common, debased, to flaunt herself as she had. But her way of punishing him had turned against her, and now she was paying the price by feeling absolutely terrible about it all.