Dreamkeepers (38 page)

Molly grabbed up a cloth and went to wipe up the puddle of water made by Donna’s boots.

“Here, let me do that.” Adam tried to take the cloth from her hand.

“I’ll do it.” Her voice was tighter than she intended, and she kept the cloth in her hand, refusing to relinquish it. Almost glaring at him, she added, “Lunch is almost ready.”

He frowned, then shrugged his shoulders and joined the others.
He didn’t even kiss me when he came in,
Molly thought angrily.

She poured the coffee for lunch and reluctantly admitted her cousin had an unfailing gift for monopolizing male attention. Her husky overtones, her tinkling laughter, the men’s lower voices, all joined together. Molly was silent during the meal, speaking only when necessary.

“Your wife’s a good cook, Adam. Pretty and a good cook. You can’t beat that combination.” Patrick was a diplomat, Molly decided.

“She is pretty, isn’t she?” Adam’s face creased with a smile. He tried to hold her eyes with his, but Molly looked away.

“Molly is a good cook,” Donna chimed in. “She used to live with us, you know. Mama always said if Molly opened a restaurant in Anchorage, she would make a mint!”

“It would be a terrible waste to hide all that beauty in the kitchen.” Patrick’s voice had a slightly critical tone.

“I didn’t mean to hide her. You know that, Pat, darling. I just meant she is such a good cook it’s a shame to waste all that talent.”

Molly got up from the table to serve the dessert and thought her churning stomach was going to betray her, but her self-discipline and pride came to her rescue.

Seating herself again, she looked directly at Patrick. “Tell us about your trip to Australia.” Her voice didn’t betray her, thank God, and she had, at least, got the attention away from Donna.

The remainder of the dinner conversation was lost to Molly as her mind turned over the possibility that Adam hadn’t wanted to be alone with her. That thought was only a step away from the speculation that Donna was the woman he loved and he would not have insisted on consummating their marriage without her invitation.

If the two large cases Donna had brought with her were any indication, she had come prepared for a long stay. Her clothes took up more than half of Molly’s wardrobe. The perfumes and cosmetics that she used to retain her clear, soft skin dominated Molly’s dressing table. Her belongings were strewn around the room which had literally taken on her personality.

In the afternoon she changed from slacks to a long, plaid wool skirt which she paired with a long-sleeved, high-necked sweater. Looking elegant and sensual, she curled herself up in the big chair with a magazine and Adam’s transistor radio after the men went to Adam’s room to look over his work.

Molly stayed in the kitchen. She wanted to stay as far away from her cousin as possible. She cleaned shelves and rearranged the supply cabinet. The work absorbed a couple of hours and her jumbled thoughts were no closer together when she stopped than when she started.

Donna sauntered in to lean against the counter and watch her. Molly knew she had something to say and braced for the ridicule that was sure to come.

“Adam said he would do anything to get his hands on Uncle Charlie’s files.” Molly glanced at her cousin and saw malice in her eyes. “Guess Uncle Charlie thought that would be the only way he could get a husband for you.”

“What do you mean?” Molly’s hands stopped their movement. Her cousin’s blue eyes stared at her arrogantly, and the corners of her pink lips tilted.

“Adam told all of us, the gang at the club that is, that he would have to marry you, but he said he was going to get more out of it than just the files. We made some bets, and if you know Adam like I do, you know he can’t resist a dare. He bet our friends at the club that he would have you in bed in less than a month.” She paused, then added a contemptuous little laugh. “He intends to collect six thousand dollars on that bet.” Her voice took on a confidential tone. “I wanted to warn you, Molly. I don’t like you very much, but after all, you are my cousin. I think it was kind of stinking of Adam. After all, you’re not wise in the ways of a man like him.”

Molly stared at her disbelievingly. She felt sickened. Humiliation made her stomach heave. She could feel the betraying tears prickling at her eyes and turned away.

“Who told you about the will, Donna?” She used every effort she possessed to keep her voice calm.

“Adam—who else? He said if he didn’t marry you, the files would be destroyed, and Mama would have control of your money and have to look after you for five years.” Her voice took on a dreamy quality. “He knew I’d wait for him.” She looked at Molly’s drawn white face and pressed on. “He told me it was only for a year and if I loved him, I should be willing to wait that long.”

Molly was shaken to the core. Along with her anguish, she felt a white hot fury. She wanted to strike that mocking mouth, but not even that satisfaction would have wiped out the pain Donna had caused her, or the truth of her statements for that matter. If ever she wished herself dead, it was at this moment.

Satisfied that she had accomplished what she had come here to do, Donna sauntered back to her chair by the fire and picked up her magazine.

Stunned by the obvious truth of her cousin’s words, and the betrayal of the man to whom she had given her heart and body, Molly numbly went to the bedroom. After closing the door softly behind her and making sure the connecting bathroom door was firmly closed, she collapsed on the bed. A noise like pounding surf was reverberating through her head. Her limbs shook as if with a fever as reaction set in. Her tortured senses were unable to believe Adam would play such a cruel trick. She choked on a thousand unanswered questions. The humiliation came up in the form of a lump in her throat which she thought she would never be able to swallow. The shame of remembering how she had asked him, had almost begged him to come to bed with her, drew her to her feet, and a wave of weakness set her swaying against the bedpost. She looked at herself in the mirror.

“You fool!” she said aloud. “You dumb, stupid fool!”

She drew on all the courage she had and refused to give in to a storm of weeping. It may have been an inherited pride which decreed that humiliation must be borne with head held high. Whichever it was, her courage or her pride, she looked far from downcast when she opened the door and went out of the room.

Holding herself aloof from all that Donna had said, she spent the next few hours in the kitchen. The first hour or so was taken up with cleaning. She washed the cabinets and counter, scrubbed the wall behind the big range, washed all the globes on the gaslamps, and polished them until they shone. When the kitchen was spotlessly clean, she started baking. She made cookies and cake, the kind Jim liked best, rolled out a half a dozen pie crusts and put them in the freezer, then started a meat pie baking in the range oven. With the kitchen neat once again she put on her parka and went out into the cold, crisp air to bring in more wood for the range. It was totally dark now. The short winter days brought the darkness long before dinner time.

Dog was in the yard and ran to meet her, wagging his tail and making a circle of tracks in the snow. She almost broke her stony composure at his show of affection. Keeping her mind in the safe chamber of suspension, she threw a few sticks for him to chase, patted his head, and returned to the house.

After dumping her armload of wood in the box by the range, she took off her heavy parka and was hanging it on the hook, when Patrick and Adam came into the kitchen. She turned to face them.

“What’s the matter?” Adam stopped short. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

“I’m all right.” Beyond his shoulder she could see Donna approaching and for an instant closed her eyes. Then she turned her head and forced her stiff lips to stretch into a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Adam got out glasses and bottles and mixed drinks.
Entertaining is easy for him,
Molly thought resentfully. Donna kept up a flow of amusing chatter. Molly was able to maintain her composure; the shock of the betrayal had blocked out every emotion and she felt herself in perfect control. She was determined to be the master of her own actions.

Afterward, she didn’t know how she got through the rest of the evening. Only her strength of character kept the inner misery from surging up and boiling out of her.

When Adam came to her, she looked at him with vacant eyes.

“Would you like a drink, Molly mine?” he asked softly, intimately.

She shook her head.
Deceit comes to him as naturally as breathing,
she thought. A mask of politeness moved over her face.

“Excuse me. I’ll get the dinner on.”

For a long while she didn’t have to speak or look at any of them. Donna was at the end of the room. The “personal message” program was being broadcast for the second time that day and she was listening and laughing with the two men about the advice given Mrs. Watson regarding her lumbago and the report of the Johnsons’ groceries being left at the wrong stop.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed. “Imagine, having everyone in the North knowing about your lumbago!”

“That’s how Adam knew to meet us at the tracks,” Patrick told her. “He heard it on this program.”

“Is that true, Adam?” Donna turned the full force of her blue eyes on him. “You knew I’d be there with Patrick?”

“No. They just said visitors were coming.”

The murmur of their voices surged over and around Molly, although she was near enough to join in the conversation if she had wished to; but the words they spoke were inaudible to her numbed senses. An air of unreality settled over her. With the perfectly groomed table prepared, and the food on it, she approached the others and told them that dinner was ready.

She served the meal calmly and efficiently, exchanging pleasantries with Patrick, asking him about the food in Australia. Her glance passed indifferently over Adam. He and Donna talked together about some person unknown to her. One time Donna’s voice directed a question to her. She looked in her direction, and her face suddenly blurred, so she turned away and ignored her.

Patrick helped with the cleanup. She would never know what they talked about. The time seemed to go terribly fast and they were finished.

“You’ve worked enough for today, Molly. Come sit by me.” Adam beckoned to her.

She shook her head, not bothering to answer. A frown came over his face and he came toward her.

“What’s the matter with you? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m going to bed.” She started toward her room. He grabbed her arm and turned her around.

“You’re not going to bed!” he grated. “We have guests.”

She stood still, looking down at the hand holding her arm. A shudder of repulsion shook her.

“Your guests. Not mine.”

“You said you didn’t mind Pat coming and Donna is your cousin,” he hissed at her.

“I’ll prepare their food, but that’s all. Let me go!” Her voice was deadly quiet.

He released her arm. “I don’t understand you.”

“No,” she said, “I guess you don’t.” She left him looking after her with a look of astonishment on his face.

In her room she fumbled in the dark until her fingers felt the familiar lamp and turned it on. Her dazed eyes took in the articles on her table and the clothing strung around the room. She clicked off the lamp, not wanting to see these things, and undressed in the dark. She found her gown under her pillow, slipped into it, and crawled into bed. Her body was weary and her head throbbed. Her troubled mind whirled and she sought the sweet oblivion of sleep. Worn out by the emotional upheaval she had been through she immediately sank into a deep sleep.

She awoke and sat up in bed. The illuminated dial on her watch told her morning was several hours away. The events of the day before were clear in her mind. Knowing who was sleeping beside her, and not wanting to look at her, she kept her eyes averted and slipped out from under the covers. The air in the dark room was icy cold. Hastily she reached for her flashlight, then donned jeans and a flannel shirt. She brushed her hair back, secured it with a rubber band, and left the room. The fire had burned down in the cooking range and the big log in the fireplace was almost used up. She shivered as she tugged the fire screen aside to poke at the coals on the grate. After selecting several small logs from the woodbox she carefully piled them on the burning coals and replaced the screen.

The house was unnaturally quiet. She cocked her head to one side and listened. Suddenly it occurred to her: the clock on the mantel was still. Aiming the beam of her light on the clock, she found the glass door of the clock case was open and the pendulum had been removed. She replaced the pendulum, wound the clock, and started the pendulum swaying. The familiar ticking was comforting in the quiet room.

She stoked up the fire in the kitchen range and made coffee in the granite pot. Cupping her cold hands around the steaming cup, she sat in the chair close to the fire and leaned forward to soak in the heat. The flickering flames cast a cozy glow around the dark room. The clock on the mantel struck five times. It would be a while yet before the unwanted people in her home would be up and around.

She began to tremble and picked up the afghan from the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders. She rocked gently. The firelight threw her shadow on the wall and she watched it, not thinking or feeling, just rocking. The kindling snapped and popped and the flames spread to the larger logs and flared.

She got up, walking carefully, like someone in great pain, and refilled her coffee cup.
They could keep love,
she thought as she sat down again.
It wasn’t worth the price.

She tried to think of her father, tried to remember how happy he had made her when he brought her here to this house, but her thoughts kept straying. With a jerk she would drag them back from the forbidden territory, but back they would go as soon as she relaxed her restraint.

It was very odd to be sitting here, making plans to leave. From the very first moment she had known she would be leaving. Her pride warred endlessly with common sense even as pain stirred in her stomach. It hurt her.
Oh, God, how it hurt!
She would have done anything in the world for him . . . anything. It didn’t seem that all this had really happened to her. How could her father have made such a ghastly mistake in judging a man’s character? He would understand that she was doing what she had to do. She would go to Herb Belsile and tell him she couldn’t accept the terms of the will. Tim-Two would look after the house until she could return.