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CHAPTER NINETEEN
There was the Door to which I found no Key; There was the Veil through which I might not see. Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee There was--and then no more of Thee and Me.
Evangeline smiled politely at the little man behind the counter as he handed her the letter. She placed the letter securely in her reticule, nodded pleasantly at the gentleman who held the door open for her to leave the post office and walked outside into the gunmetal gray light hovering over New York City. It was turning colder as she walked up Fifth Avenue toward the hotel where she and her husband were staying so she stopped in a little tea shop to get warm. Ordering a pot of black tea, she settled back in her chair, removed her gloves and laid them aside. She waited patiently for the waiter to bring her order, then poured herself a cup of tea before opening her reticule and withdrawing the letter. She stared at the envelope for a moment, her frown returning as she scanned the unfamiliar handwriting. Laying the envelope aside, she took up her bone china cup and took a sip of the scalding brew. The fumes made her eyes water, but the soothing warmth of the rich tea went a long way in calming the frayed nerves that had started the moment the postmaster had responded yes, ma'am to her query of: "Do you have any mail for Mrs. Sinclair McGregor?" She glanced down at the letter as though it were a spider sitting there. In no hurry to read the letter, she took another sip of tea, gathering the courage to open the repulsive thing. Now and again--as she consumed the hot beverage--she would cast a wary eye to the ominous letter then look away, her gaze turning dark with dread. There was, she thought with growing dismay, no reason for the old woman to write to her. It had been understood that unless something of major import took place in Savannah during her absence, there would be no need for Grace Vivienne Brell to contact her. Since only the old crone knew where she and Sinclair would be staying, the letter could be from none other than the witch, herself. "Is everything all right, Madame?" Evangeline looked up at the waiter, annoyed at his interruption. "Yes, thank you. I'm just no used to these Northern climes," she replied, batting her eyes in such a way she knew would make the young man blush with wayward thoughts. When he did just that, she allowed her lips to pull into a coy smile. "Is it all right if I just sit here awhile longer? Until I thaw out?" She reached out to touch his hand in passing. "Stay as long as you want," the young man hurried to say. He blushed again, then backed away, loath to look away from such a beautiful woman. "Will you let me know if you need anything else?" "Of course," she answered, her smile seemingly just for him. Since the day was lowering with what looked like a chilling rain, the little tea shop was empty of all but two customers. The one other lady sitting at the rear of the shop was engrossed in a bulky novel and had yet to look up. Evangeline knew she could stay as long as she wished. After pouring herself a second cup of tea, she took a deep breath, picked up the envelope and slipped her finger beneath the flap. The sound of the paper tearing as it opened set her teeth on edge for it vividly reminded her of a line in a poem she had once read: "The fabric of her life was ripped opened with the cutting point of a pen." As she exhaled, Evangeline unfolded the one page note--her gaze going to the signature to make sure the letter had, indeed, come from the old woman; but the bold scrawl of a 'G' across the bottom of the note did not reassure her. With her hands trembling, she lifted her eyes to the top of the page and began to read: "On Friday of this past week, your sister-in-law hanged herself to death in her jail cell. I suggest you do not return as planned next week, but rather take an extended trip to your birthplace. Arrangements have already been made at the Conniver House for your visit." Absolute shock rippled through Evangeline. She stared at the letter, her face now devoid of even the ruddy glow the cool air had brought to her cheeks. Ivonne, dead? How could that be? There had been no love lost between the two women, but to learn such startling news about her rival had turned Evangeline speechless. Nothing the old woman could have written to her would have stunned her more than this! Yet the first thought that came into her mind was of Sinclair's reaction to hearing his beloved Ivonne was gone. "Oh, dear God!" Evangeline whispered, her hand going to her mouth. She drew in quick, shallow breaths of panicky air, her eyes darting from one side of the room to the other in her agitation. She was vaguely aware of the other customer staring at her--disapproval on her sharp, thin face--but she ignored the woman. What was she to tell Sinclair? She closed her eyes slowly, trying to still the sudden rapid beat of her heart. Bitter vetch rose in the back of her throat at the mere thought of sitting her husband down and relating this tragic news to him. Of late, things had been--if not romantic--at least pleasant between the two of them. The last three days had even been enjoyable. Not one drop of liquor had passed her husband's lips and he had even relaxed enough in her presence to relate some of the funnier moments of his war days. Telling him about Ivonne would put a stop to the smiles he had been hesitantly bestowing upon her; to the gentle looks he had began to give her; and the begrudging friendship, if not romance, she thought might well be starting. "Oh, Sin," she murmured. "I dare not tell you this. It would ruin everything!" She looked down at the letter once more and re-read the lines advising her to extend the honeymoon to her birthplace. "New Orleans," she said, unaware that she had spoken aloud until the other customer shushed her with a loud hiss. Turning her head, Evangeline glared at the thin, cadaverous-looking bookworm until the other woman sniffed and resumed her reading. Certainly New Orleans would be a warmer place than this Yankee icehouse was. The mere thought of the Spanish moss-draped live oaks and the stately pines; the elegance of the French Quarter; the lacy iron balconies and white-washed buildings set Evangeline's Cajun blood to racing. She knew he would have no objection to leaving New York for he hated the looks his soft, Southern drawl brought to the faces of these Yankee victors. That was why he rarely left the hotel except to dine and, even then, he allowed her to do most of the talking. No one had been acutely impolite to him, but their cool reception of him at the places where she and he had gone always served to make him uneasy and eager to leave. "New Orleans it is," she thought firmly and refolded the letter, slipped it back in the envelope and placed it in her reticule. She withdrew the money to pay for her pot of tea and motioned for the waiter. She would not tell him about his grandmother's letter. Obviously that was the best course of action. It would destroy him and definitely put an end to the honeymoon. "No, he must not know," she said to herself. "There will be time enough when we return to Savannah for him to learn of Ivonne's foolishness." The thought of what her husband would surely do upon hearing the dreadful news make her blanch. By all that was holy, she hoped the news did not unhinge him! As she walked briskly back to the hotel, her mind was alive with things that needed to be attended to before she and Sinclair could set sail for the Crescent City. The hotel's concierge could certainly make the travel arrangements for them so that would not be a problem. Getting Sinclair to agree to prolong their stay would not prove to be too difficult a problem, she hoped. After all: had he not turned his life over to her in all ways except the one she wanted the most? Evangeline stopped, her lips slowly parting. "In all ways except one," she whispered. Ivonne had been a problem before she and Sinclair left for New York and would have been a major problem once they returned to Savannah. Despite Sinclair's oath to remain with her until Ivonne returned from France, that would not have stopped him from pining for her. His thoughts would have been on Ivonne Delacroix the entire time, making it virtually impossible for Evangeline to get a foothold on his heart. But now…………… A light mist began falling from the darkening sky, yet Evangeline barely noticed it. Her thoughts were racing as she stood there under the canopy of a millinery store. Ivonne had been as good as dead, anyway, she thought, for she had had every intention of making sure Edward's widow would not survive long after her return from exile. There had never been a question of allowing Sinclair to ever sneak off with his longtime love; of allowing him to ever leave his rightful wife. "Do you need help, Ma'am?" one of the shop girls from the millinery store asked as she came to the door. Evangeline tore her thoughts from Ivonne and looked blankly at the girl. "What?" she inquired. "Do you need help?" the girl repeated, fanning a hand at the display of expensive hats in the window. "Do you see anything you like?" Evangeline shook her head. "No, I…….." She shook her head again. "Thank you, but no." She hurried on, becoming aware of the falling rain. With every step toward their hotel, Evangeline's heart grew lighter. No longer would it be necessary to find a way to get Ivonne Delacroix out of Sinclair's life; the stupid chit had seen to that! Now, all that was needed was to keep Sinclair away from Savannah for a few more weeks until word arrived from his grandmother that it was safe to bring him home. She would have her husband to herself until then. Evangeline smiled. That would certainly not be a hardship at all.
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It had been years since Sinclair had been in New Orleans. He had always liked the city and looked forward to conversing in the sultry Spanish language he had mastered in college. His French--thanks to Ivonne and her brother Robert--was better than his Spanish, but he liked the way the Latin words rolled off his tongue. And the food, he thought as he savored the lobster bisque that was their meal that evening, had no rival in the States. He grinned around a succulent mouthful of the rich lobster dish and nodded at his wife's raised eyebrow. "Didn't I tell you it was the best you'd ever eat?" Evangeline inquired. She took a sip of her white wine. "I won't be able to get into any of my clothes if I keep eating like this," he warned her. Evangeline shrugged as she swirled the wine in her glass. "Then I will buy you new clothing, Sweetie." Sinclair looked down at his food and chuckled. "What do you find funny?" his wife asked. He shrugged. "You make me feel like a gigolo when you say that." He looked up. "Hell, I am a gigolo." "You most certainly are not!" Evangeline insisted. "You are my husband." The humor left Sinclair's face. "I am a kept man," he responded and when she made to disagree, he interrupted her. "You have the money, Evangeline. You have the home and the land and the workers. What have I got?" "You have me," she stated firmly, her eyes steady on his. He stared at her for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Aye, I do," he said quietly. A little ripple of hurt squiggled through Evangeline's heart and she reached out and put her hand over his where it rested beside his wine glass. "I know I was not your choice of wife, Sinclair," she told him. "Both of us were blackmailed into this marriage, but………" She squeezed his hand. "I must confess that I have come to care for you a great deal." "Don't," he said, withdrawing his hand from hers. He held her look. "You know as soon as it is decently possible, once Ivonne can return home, she and I will be together, Evangeline. I love her; she is my life and I want no other beside her." A brief flicker of anger shot through Evangeline's blue gaze but was deliberately stamped out as quickly as it flared. She let a tremulous, hurt little smile that wasn't entirely false hover over her red lips. "I know how you feel right now, dearling," she agreed, "but I am hoping that perhaps you will….." "Leave it alone, Evangeline," he asked. "Ivonne has always been the only woman I've ever loved and as long as we live, she will always be the only woman I will ever love." Evangeline dipped her head, lest he see the triumph his words brought to her face. "I don't want to hurt you, Evangeline," she heard him say and glanced up to see him watching her. "I just want you to understand that there can never be anything but friendship between us." She cocked her head to one side. "Are we friends, Captain?" she asked. "I would like to think so," he replied. "You could have made these past three weeks intolerable had you been so inclined." He took up his napkin and wiped his lips. "I appreciate the fact that you've allowed me a modicum of freedom." Evangeline winced at the bitter tone in his voice. True, she had kept a constant watch over him for fear he would leave, but she should have known he would not. Sinclair McGregor was an honorable man and he would always honor his debts. She intended to see that she became his biggest debt. "There is one little thing which we have overlooked of late, though," she injected into the conversation, studying his eyes to catch his reaction. "We are to produce an heir for WindLass." She made herself blush. "Have you forgotten?" Sinclair looked away from her. "No, I have not forgotten." Not since that first night on board the ship bound for New York had he lain with her in the carnal way, she thought with dismay. Not that any amount of carnal knowledge she had of him would produce the heir the old woman wanted. There would never be children of this unholy union no matter the degree of diligence on her husband's part. But Grace Vivienne Brell did not know that. And neither did Sinclair. "I know you find me repulsive, Captain, but………." she began and almost smiled as he quickly corrected her. "You are a very beautiful woman, Vangie," he told her. "Any man would want you." "Any man except you," she replied. Sinclair picked up his wine glass and drained it. Evangeline only allowed him one glass per meal and that had begun to wear thin. He glanced around, caught the eye of their waiter and pointed to his glass. Evangeline's lips pursed. "Sinclair, I don't…….." She stopped as she saw his face take on a hard, challenging look. "If you want me to service you this evening, Vangie, don't begrudge me my only means of courage," he snapped. Had any other man said such a thing to her, Evangeline would have thrown the remainder of her own wine in his face. As it was, she was sorely tempted to do just that and it was difficult not to act on her impulse. She glared at her husband, almost hating him, then relaxed as she noted the humiliation on his handsome face. He was mortally ashamed of the role he was being forced to play and the more she rubbed the salt of his predicament into his open wounds, the more rebellious he might become. So instead of reacting hatefully to his remark, she lowered her head demurely. "I understand, Sinclair." Through the fringe of her lashes, she watched him. "Although I fear I am falling hopelessly in love with you, I know you will never be able to reciprocate those feelings." She saw him frown. "I will not expect you to do so." "It is not my intention to hurt you, Evangeline," he said again. "I just want things understood between us." Evangeline pretended to sniffle. "I quite understand the way it is to be, Captain." Sinclair looked out over the room. "I will do what is expected of me," he told her. "I know you will," she replied and looked up to see him closing his eyes to what he no doubt thought was an unbearable situation. Had she been a less selfish person, she might have felt his hopelessness and feeling of being trapped. Yet even if she had felt those things, it wouldn't matter. If that was the only way she could have him, then so be it. Sinclair McGregor was hers and she would kill anyone who tried to take him away from her! "Shall we order dessert?" she asked. Sinclair shook his head. "No." He folded his napkin and laid it beside his plate. "I've lost my appetite. I'm ready to go back to our suite." Once more, that flicker of anger pulsed in Evangeline's blue orbs, but she refused to allow it to become a full-fledged conflagration. She merely inclined her head in agreement of her husband's wishes.
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He lay in the darkness and stared at the ceiling. Beside him, she slept soundly, her head on his shoulder, her arm draped possessively across his naked chest, one shapely thigh pressed intimately between his legs. Outside the thick mosquito netting, lightning flared dangerously. A storm was brewing out in the Gulf and already the waters of Lake Pontchartrain were churning. It was hurricane season and the air was too still, too humid and too full of the sharp tang of the sea. The ominous crack of lightning and the answer rumble of thunder as it moved toward New Orleans had been what awakened him from the restless sleep that had claimed him after their lovemaking. Hot and sweaty after the ordeal, he had rolled off his wife and lay there, allowing her to wiggle close to him as she ran her hands over his body. "I have never had that kind of pleasure ever before," she told him. "I'm glad I pleased you," he'd responded. "Did you………." She had stopped, seemingly shy about asking whether or not he had enjoyed the interlude. Which he had not. "Go to sleep, Vangie," he's said, instead. She had plastered her body to his and laid her head on his shoulder, her arm over him and he had once more felt the suffocating entrapment that he had felt on the ship. "Good night, my love," she had whispered, her lips on his chest. A loud shriek of lightning as it stitched across the sky made the woman lying beside him jump and she pressed her body closer to his, her fingers curling over his ribcage. "It's all right," he said. "I don't like storms," his wife said. "There's nothing to worry about," he responded. "I'm glad you're here," she said. "Don't leave me, Sinclair." A single hot, scalding tear fell from Sinclair McGregor's left eye and slid into the crease of the saber cut on his cheek. "No," he whispered. "I can't."
THE LEGENDS BEGIN WITH THE KEEPER OF THE WIND
Go To Chapter Twenty - not yet published - to be continued |
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