Archer, Jane (23 page)

She turned and quickly crossed the room to the weak woman who watched her with intense, burning eyes in a face almost masklike with its white skin stretched over protruding bones. Alexandra caught the thin, hot hand in hers, and bent forward to catch the barely spoken words.

"Alexandra, I've loved you like a daughter. I've not long left."

"No, Eleanor—"

"Shh. I won't be in this world much longer, Alexandra. I have a request. I know it's a lot to ask."

"Anything, Eleanor. Anything."

"I, I—" she started to say, but succumbed to the wracking coughs that tore through her weak body. Alexandra pressed the heavy cotton handkerchief to her lips. Eleanor was too weak to help herself any longer. When finally it eased, Eleanor leaned back, even whiter than before, and Alexandra hastily hid the blood soaked cloth from her eyes.

"Please, Alexandra, will you go to my son? Go to Jacob in Texas. He's with his uncle, Lamar Jarmon, on the Bar J Ranch in south Texas, some- where close to Corpus Christi." She paused, almost panting, then continued. "I want you two to know each other, and I want you to tell him that my last days were happy ones with you and that I died in peace. You shouldn't be alone, Alexandra. A woman shouldn't live alone. I know that—how I know that. And a man shouldn't either. My son, dear Jacob, shouldn't be alone."

"Oh, Eleanor. I'll go. Of course I'll go to Texas, but I can't promise what will happen."

Eleanor smiled weakly at Alexandra. "I know, my dear, love is such a mystery, but yet I feel that fate has brought you here to me—and to Jacob. Go to him. You will be safe with him and you cannot live alone. It is a hard, harsh world, Alexandra. If it does not work out, I will understand, but go for me and for the two of you." She stopped, closed her eyes tightly as her body shook in spasms of unreleased coughs. Finally, she gained control, sweat beading her forehead. "I want him to know that I loved him as always and that his grandfather did, too. I want him to know that he was never forsaken by his family, and that his Norwegian blood is strong in his veins, perhaps stronger than his Southern heritage."

"I'll go, Eleanor. He'll know all this and if I can help him in any way, I will. I promise you this."

Eleanor smiled, her face relaxing in happiness. "I can die happy now, Alexandra."

"Eleanor, don't leave us, please. We will go to Texas together."

"No, my dear, time has run out for me."

Alexandra looked on helplessly. As the two women cheated death a while longer, the door opened, and Giles and Ebba entered.

Eleanor watched the three people beside her, then said softly, with much effort, "Ebba, you know my jewel box. Would you bring it to me?"

"Oh, Miss Eleanor, you know I'd do anything for you," Ebba said, before turning to leave the room.

Eleanor smiled wanly at Giles and Alexandra. "I've not much longer, Giles, and I'd like to thank you for what you've done for me in all the years we've been together. I've loved you like a second son, and if you ever need help, go to your uncle and brother in Texas. They'll gladly accept you and help you."

Giles smiled, a frozen movement across his face, but his eyes remained black and hard. "Thank you, Eleanor, but I'll not need their help. I appreciate all that you've done for me, and I'm truly sorry that you can't join your son in Texas. We'll all miss you, of course."

Eleanor shut her eyes. She knew Giles well, better than most. He was a Creole, a Southerner, unlike her and her son. He would survive somehow, she knew that, but she wondered just how many people he would hurt on the way. But she pushed that thought from her mind. He was no longer her concern. She must think of Alexandra and Jacob.

The bedroom door opened and shut, then there was a flurry of movement as Ebba approached the bed. "Here you are, Miss Eleanor. There's not much left, you remember. We done sold most of it to eat."

"Thank you, Ebba. I know. Will you take out what's there. I've saved two pieces, not for value as much as for sentiment. Yes, there they are. I want you to have the brooch, Ebba. It belonged to my mother. You have been good and faithful all these years. I want you to have it. It is a family heirloom—from my family."

"Oh no, Miss Eleanor, I couldn't. I—"

"No, don't argue, Ebba. Please, take it with my blessings."

"Thank you, Miss Eleanor, thank you. I'll never part with it," Ebba said as she stumbled away from the bed, the brooch clutched tightly to her bosom.

"Now, Alexandra, this is very special. It is from my father's family. You see, the design is Norwegian. I want you to have it. You were his granddaughter, and my daughter. He would want you to have it. I want you to have it."

"But Eleanor, shouldn't Jacob's wife—"

Eleanor smiled. "I believe fate will take care of that, my dear Alexandra."

"Thank you, Eleanor. I will treasure it always."

"Now, I must rest. All of this has exhausted me. Go on about your duties, I will be all right here alone," Eleanor said, her breath growing ragged as her eyes shut, then suddenly she sat up, coughing violently.

Alexandra grabbed the cloth, but Eleanor jerked it away from her, pressing it to the blood that had begun to flow from her mouth. She glanced wildly around the room, not seeing what was there as the coughs wracked her body in one final spasm. She fell back against the white pillows, the blood stained handkerchief clutched desperately to her thin, white hand. And so she died.

Chapter 16

The late afternoon air was heavy and damp as gray clouds gathered over the small party under the old moss laden tree in the Jarmon cemetery. There was no wind on the hill, no noise save that of the dull thuds as dirt fell, covering the plain wooden boxes; and there were no smiles on the faces of the three who stood vigil over the two fresh graves.

Giles was filling in the last dirt of Eleanor's grave. Mister Jarmon's grave was already finished for Giles had not taken the trouble to dig either grave very deeply. He hadn't deemed it necessary. Ebba stood over Eleanor's grave, tears running down her cheeks as she silently mourned her friend of many years.

The thuds finally stopped. Giles straightened up, threw the shovel to one side, then glanced at Alexandra. Kneeling, she placed a small bouquet of spring flowers in the soft, moist earth of each grave, then opened the small family Bible she'd found in Mr. Jarmon's study. Ebba and Giles bowed their heads as she began reading from the book.

Giles left Alexandra no time for mourning. When She'd finished reading from the Bible, he took her arm and led her toward the wrought iron fence that surrounded the family cemetery. Now that it was over, she felt devoid of emotion as well as strength and allowed him to lead her away. But at the gate, she stopped and turned back. Ebba was watching them with a worried expression on her dark face.

"Ebba, are you coming?" Alexandra called to her, sensing the woman's concern.

"No, child, I've got my own peace to make here. You go ahead. I'll be up to the house a little later."

Alexandra nodded and turned back to Giles. The lamenting tones of a song Ebba sang filled the air and swirled around them. It was a strange sound with words that Alexandra couldn't understand and she knew it must be something out of Ebba's mysterious African past. It was a song for the dead.

Giles' hand was firm on her arm as he guided her through the thick grass and the maze of tree branches drooping low with the soft, gray, dead- looking moss. It all seemed to reach out at her as if to catch her in its clutches and hold her locked in the plantation's past. She tried to knock it away, hating the soft, almost sticky touch of the clinging moss, but it seemed to be everywhere, thriving in the warm, humid climate.

Now that it was all over, she wanted to hurry away. There was nothing left for her here. She had to leave, but she'd made no plans. She had been unable to do that while Eleanor still lived and now—now she couldn't seem to think. But she had to think, to plan. Eleanor had asked her to go to Texas and she'd promised, but Texas was so big, so wild, so untamed, so far away. Still, she had promised and perhaps she could loose herself in its vastness, hiding there from both Stan and Giles.

Giles.
She stole a quick glance at his handsome profile. His face was as inscrutable as usual and his dark eyes seemed focused on some point in the distance. She had to get away from him, but how? He was so powerful, so determined.

As they approached the almost empty, barren mansion, Giles' hand tightened around Alexandra's arm as if he had sensed her thoughts. She turned cold with dread, looking nervously around as if some way of escape would suddenly materialize. Giles led her relentlessly on toward the house. She didn't want to return to it. She didn't want to face the ghosts there. She dreaded it almost as much as she did Giles.

Soon they were at the back door. "I don't want to go back into the house, Giles," she said.

"We're going in, chérie. We must pack our few things. We're leaving in the morning."

"No. I can't spend another night in there."

"Really, Alexandra, you're being quite foolish." And his dark eyes turned hard as he dragged her into the mansion.

He led her up the stairs, heedless of her desperate attempt to get free, and she wanted to scream out but there was no one to hear, no one to help. It was so quiet on the second floor, so deathly quiet, broken only by their hurrying footsteps.

Alexandra felt smothered by the oppressive atmosphere of the house and by the restraint of Giles' hand. As he paused momentarily before his bedroom door, she flayed out against him in an attempt to escape him before it was too late. But he merely chuckled demonically and opened the door.

Giles quickly crossed the room to a massive bed and threw Alexandra into its soft, enveloping center. Then he locked the door. She looked up at the sound, fear catching at her heart, and saw Giles standing there, a soft, knowing smile on his lips.

Looking for escape, Alexandra glanced quickly around the room, hating on sight the heavy, masculine furniture. The windows were covered with thick, velvet drapes closed tightly to keep out the sun and air. The room was stuffy, humid and no breeze found its way inside. There was no movement anywhere in the house, only the two people caught together, staring at each other across the room.

"Chérie, how alluring you look on my bed," Giles said, breaking the silence. "I would have enjoyed seeing you there sooner, but you've not been very obliging, not since that night in the gazebo. But I've been very patient, have I not?" Slowly, he moved toward her.

She shrank back in the bed, watching his intense black eyes, and felt helpless. "No! No, Giles. You can't mean to—"

He kept coming closer.

"I, I'm not well. I must rest. The funeral—"

"Not well, chérie? Then I have just the thing for you."

He turned abruptly and went to a sideboard. He picked up a decanter, and poured a small amount of the amber liquid in a crystal glass, then added a white powder.

"Oh no, Giles. I'm not forgetting the brothel. I don't want it."

"It's not what you had before, Alexandra. This will be good for you. You'll like it."

"No! Put it away."

"You must remember to do as you're told, Alexandra," he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed and jerked her to him.

"No! Let me go!" she screamed, but he forced her mouth open and poured the liquid down her throat. She choked, gasped, then finally swallowed the drink.

"There, in a moment you'll feel quite well, Alexandra," Giles said as he let her up. He walked back across the room to pour himself a drink. He downed it with a quick flick of his wrist as his eyes roamed greedily over Alexandra's reclining body,

Alexandra huddled back in the bed and felt a warm languidness begin to spread through her. Her arms and legs felt heavy, relaxed, like liquid. She leaned back against the soft pillows and watched Giles as he took off his coat, then began to undress. She smiled, thinking that she wasn't upset any longer. She didn't feel anything except a kind of euphoria creeping over her. It felt good. Nothing really mattered anymore.

Giles was walking toward her, his lean, hard body proudly displayed for her. He was a strikingly handsome man with a smooth body that was perfectly proportioned. He was closer now and there seemed to be a rosy hue to the room, to him, to everything. He was stretching his arms toward her and she didn't move away. She just lay still, not caring.

"Alexandra, my love," he whispered as his hands expertly undid her bodice, then continued with the rest of her clothing. "You are so perfectly beautiful. Our bodies are so perfect together. How can you not want to see them joined?"

He slipped the gown from her and gazed at her body barely shielded from him by her chemise. "I've never seen such perfect beauty." He pulled the chemise from her, the stockings, and she lay naked before him, her breasts full, firm, her curls red-gold in the soft light. He pulled the pins from her hair, letting it cascade down around her body. "So beautiful, so very beautiful," he murmured, making no move to touch her.

Alexandra lay still, feeling herself lost in a rosy euphoria in which nothing, no one, could ever touch her, or hurt her again. And the young, dark god before her seemed a natural part of her dream. She moved slowly, stretching her limbs in abandon, letting her legs fall apart.

"You are so very beautiful, Alexandra. I have not had the chance to fully appreciate your beauty before. This time will be perfect. You know that you belong to me now, that I am your master in every way."

Alexandra smiled, stretching lazily like a cat. She hardly heard what he said, and it didn't matter anyway. Let the young god talk if it pleased him. But she wondered vaguely somewhere in her mind why he didn't touch her. Men always had before. But that was unimportant, too. It just felt delicious to be lying, without any clothes, on a soft, comfortable bed.

"You know, Alexandra, growing up on a plantation a boy has a chance to indulge in women early. I was not yet in my teens when I began, but there is a problem. Early on, a boy realizes that sex can become boring, no matter how beautiful the woman, if there is not more to stimulate him. Look now at me. You cannot excite me by simply lying there, no matter how perfect you are. It takes more for me, much more. I have trained many slave women to cater to my desires and I will train you, also, until there is nothing you cannot, or will not do for me."