Elaine Coffman - [MacKinnon 04] (9 page)

As she wandered around the great house, Israel padding
quietly at her side, she couldn’t help thinking this would be her home for the
rest of her life. Her children would grow to adulthood here, and here she would
grow old, sipping tea in the quiet of the evening with the man she had married,
a man she didn’t even know. She reached down and gave Israel a good scratching
behind the ears. He licked her hand eagerly. Her children would love him.

She continued on her tour, noticing a museum-like quality
that made her uncomfortable. There was an odd, unused smell throughout, one
that reminded her of a church on Sunday morning, when it is first opened after
being closed over a long, wet week.

That didn’t give her much bother. She would have pastilles
burning, she told herself, just as soon as she unpacked her
cottage orne
.
Then those musty smells would go away. From that moment on, the house would be
aired and smelling fresh as the place it occupied, between the forest and the
sea. She glanced around the room, imagining how it would all soon look with her
own things scattered about.

In this room her children would play oranges and lemons in
front of the carved mantel, and in the music room she could picture Barrie at
the piano, her mouth held in that funny little grimace as it always was
whenever she practiced her scales, while Ainsley pulled sheets of music from
the rosewood Canterbury. In the library, her Staffordshire figure of Robert
Burns and Highland Mary would rest upon the mantel, while her husband would
prop his slippered feet on the richly covered needlepoint ottoman, patiently
listening to Fletcher, whose hands were filled with an assortment of fishing
poles, as he told about the big one that got away. And then later, at night,
after she had put the children to bed, she would go up to their bedroom and
take her gown from her chest, and after dressing and brushing out her hair, she
would wait for her husband in a carved rosewood bed.

Her heart lurching at the thought, Maggie quickly pulled her
thoughts back, finishing her tour of the house, bypassing the dining room and
kitchen, poking her head into the music room and then the parlor. Just before
reaching the staircase again, she paused before two European-sized doors,
distracted for a moment by the sonorous chimes of a long-case clock. The clock
she recognized immediately as English, closer inspection telling her it was
made by Joseph Windmills. Somehow, looking at its oak carcass covered with
seaweed marquetry, she felt closer to home. How strange that she, a Scot to the
core, and therefore not too enamored with anything English, would be comforted
by the languorous ticking of an English timepiece.

Turning away from the clock, she opened the double doors and
looked briefly at its panels painted with elaborate pastels of naked cherubs
and clouds before stepping into the salon.

Holding the candlestick aloft, Maggie inhaled sharply. The
room was breathtaking.

And so was the portrait of the woman in crimson velvet.

Immediately after she recovered from the shock of the
enormous painting hanging over the fireplace, Maggie noticed something else.
There was no musty, unused smell to this room as there had been to the library
and other rooms of the house. This was a used room, a room someone had laid out
and furnished with great care. This room was lived in and looked after, for
already signs of wear were present in the scuff marks across the gleaming
wooden floors and the stack of papers scattered across the top of a gateleg
table, the familiar aroma of a gentleman’s cigar. Her gaze rested for a moment
on the box of cigars lying open on the table.

Maggie put the candlestick down and lit a nearby lamp.
Taking the lamp in hand, she went to stand beneath the portrait. The sudden
burst of light brought the painting to life, and the effect was electrifying.
The colors were magnificent. It was as though the artist had just placed his
brush upon his palette and stood back to survey his final touches. The pigments
burst forth with a riot of fairy-tale tints, where iridescent flesh tones were
radiantly fresh against shades of auburn hair blazing with copper fire. The
marvelous flow of an exquisitely clinging red velvet gown swirled, light and
vaporous as gauze, around a body pulsing with life.

Out of the shadows of supposition, out of the mystery of wonder,
appeared reality. Katherine. A woman standing in a regal pose, her hands
resting on a table strewn with flowers, as if she were about to touch them and
give them purpose and meaning. Her dress was red, but a deep, breathing red
that became dark as claret as it melted into wine-dark shadows; a dress that
revealed a gently curved nape and the hollow at the base of her throat, then
sloped gently over the feminine curve of her breasts. The woman was beautiful,
yet her beauty was subtle and somewhat sad.

Who had painted this portrait and brought her to such
unexpected life?

Israel, who had been sitting quietly at her side, stood and
crossed the room. Suddenly she felt the presence of someone in the room with
her, and Maggie’s attention was drawn away from the portrait. Turning, she saw
the huge, hulking figure of Molly Polly standing in the doorway behind her.

Maggie’s hand flew to her chest. “Och! You frightened me.”

“I’m sorry for that. I came back to check the candles in the
dining room. I had forgotten to tell you to blow them out.”

“I’ve already done that,” Maggie said.

“Yes, I saw. I just came in here to tell you I was leaving
again. Didn’t want the sound of me rustling around in here to frighten you
none.”

Israel whined and went to Molly, sniffing her hand and
circling her twice before coming back to sit beside Maggie. Molly looked at the
portrait, but said nothing.

“Can I get you anything before I go?”

“No, nothing, thank you.”

Molly looked at her for a moment, then slowly let her gaze
glide back to the painting.

“It’s a lovely portrait,” Maggie said. “I was just admiring
it.”

Molly looked at it for a moment. “Yes,” she said at last,
“it is lovely. But not nearly as lovely as she was.”

Maggie felt a catch in her heart. “You knew her.”

“Yes. Quite well. She was a beautiful woman, inside and out.
I was proud to call her my friend.”

Maggie looked up at the portrait. Strangely, she felt no
dislike, no hostility, toward this woman. “Aye, she is beautiful. I ken the
artist is exceptional. He seems to have captured the fire and spirit of her.”

“Yes, he has.”

“Was it painted by someone well known?”

“It was painted by someone I know well…your husband.”

There was no way to hide the jolt of surprise that
registered on her face, or the paleness Maggie knew was left when the blood
drained away in defeat. Her heart began to pound. “I didn’t know…I had no idea
he was such an exceptional artist. His brother never mentioned it.”

“Well, that’s because Adrian isn’t an artist—at least not in
the sense you mean. That,” she said, nodding toward the portrait, “is the only
thing he ever painted.”

Maggie studied the painting again. “It’s hard to believe
he’s never painted before. The color, the detail…it’s perfect, down to the
exact hue of the draperies over the window. I knew immediately just where she
was standing in this room when he painted her.”

“Everyone feels the same way, yet, hard to believe as it is,
Katherine was never in this room. She had been gone for quite some time when
this house was built. And the painting was done before it was even started.”

“He must have built it as a tribute to her.”

“Katherine would have hated this house. It’s nothing like
her.”

“Yet he built it for her.”

Molly shrugged. “Perhaps. Adrian never knew Katherine, not
really. He fancied her, thought himself in love with her, but he never knew
her.”

Maggie studied the portrait. “For a man who didn’t know her,
he certainly seemed to capture a lot of her on canvas.”

“Superficial,” Molly said, and the words poked at Maggie
like the point of a knife. “He painted what he saw. Beauty. He didn’t know
Katherine’s heart. If he had, he wouldn’t have loved her so stubbornly all
those years. Katherine was never meant for him. Those two would have never
suited. If Katherine had married Adrian, they would have been like two mules
hitched together, one straining to turn right, the other, straining just as
hard to go left. She would have never been as happy here as she is in Texas.
She’s a lover of the land, just like Alex. She isn’t a woman of visions and
dreams.”

“And Adrian is?”

Molly gave her a frank look. “He is. Are you?”

Maggie smiled at her candidness. She and this woman would
get on well. “I’m a Scot, and Scotland is a place of visions and dreams.
Although we love to wallow in the glories and moan about the tragedy of the
past, we are a forward-looking people. We’re born inventors, and astute in the
sciences. We cling like lichen to the words of James Bos well.
Spero meliora
,
‘I hope for better things’.”

Before Molly could respond, Maggie swept her skirts aside and
sat down, indicating with a sweep of her arm for Molly to do so as well.
Leaning forward, her arms folded in her lap, she spoke with her customary
frankness. “Tell me about my husband, about the visions and dreams that brought
him to California.”

Molly, looking reluctant, sat down. At first Maggie had to
extract each bit of information, but before long, Molly was telling her about
the days of the gold rush, and how Adrian and Alex came west, inflamed with the
passion of promise, and how they struck it richer than they ever imagined. “It
was Adrian who had his heart set on building an empire here in these redwoods.
He saw his future here. Alex never wanted anything more than to be a farmer. He
always planned on returning to Texas.”

“To marry Katherine.”

“No. To marry her sister, Karin.”

Apparently the shock of surprise was well written across
Maggie’s face. “You don’t know about Karin?” Molly asked.

“No. Ross didn’t tell me much about Katherine, just that
Adrian had always been in love with her, and his twin brother married her.”

“Well, that much is true. It was a strange twist of events,
and complicated as all get-out. Alex had his heart set on Karin. Adrian was in
love with Katherine. Katherine fancied Alex.”

“And Karin? Who did she fancy?”

“Herself, mostly. She married some wealthy man, one a lot
older than she was, but from what I hear, she’s happy with the choice.”

“And with Karin married, Alex turned to Katherine.”

“No. Alex married Katherine before all that.” Molly sighed.
“I can see you’re primed to go the full distance, so I might as well tell you
now, if I‘m to have any peace.” She shifted her large frame into a more
comfortable position. “Alex and Adrian always fought like dogs and
cats—something I suppose is quite normal for twin brothers—but one night they
had a real knock-down, drag-out, and Alex, nursing his wounded pride, went off
and got himself wasted…”

“Wasted? You mean drunk?”

“Worse than drunk.” Molly paused, her look reflective.
“Lord-a-mercy! I’ll never forget the way they fought that night. I had to break
them up with a chunk of kindling. After Alex got himself wasted, he wrote Karin
a letter, asking her to come out here to marry him, only he wrote Katherine’s
name by mistake.”

“And Katherine came.”

“She did.”

“Did Alex tell her what happened?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Molly sighed. “Partly because of Adrian and his threat to
kill him if he did—although that wasn’t the real reason, since Alex was never
one to back down because of Adrian’s threats. I s’pect this time it was
because, deep in his heart of hearts, Alex knew Adrian was right. Katherine
didn’t deserve the humiliation and hurt that would be inflicted by telling her
the truth.”

“So she’s never known… After all this time, she’s never
known.”

“Oh, she found out, all right, and it damn near cost her
life. She went streaking out of here like her bloomers were afire. Alex went
after her, but a grizzly got to her first.” Molly paused. “You ever hear of a
grizzly?”

Maggie shook her head.

“It’s a bear, particular to these parts, and not like any bear
you’ve ever seen. Some can reach over eight feet tall when standing. They’re
easily provoked and deadly when they attack. I’ve heard tell of them fighting
when they’ve been hit with as many as twenty slugs of lead. It’s almost
impossible to bring one down unless you hit him in the right spot.”

Maggie winced and turned her head away. “How dreadful.”

“Yes,” Molly said, her tone reflective. “There wasn’t much
we could do for her here, so they took her to San Francisco. Adrian and Alex
stayed with her for a while there. Alex knew he was in love with her by that
time, of course, but he was too muleheaded to admit it. Katherine returned to
Texas as soon as she was well enough to make the trip.”

“Alex didn’t go?”

Molly shook her head. “He didn’t know Katherine was leaving.
But Adrian did.”

“And when Alex discovered Katherine was gone? Did he go
after her then?”

“Not exactly. He hung around here for a while, looking as
sad as a locked-up hound, before he decided to go after her. I’ve never seen a
happier man in my life than Alex the day he sold his part out to Adrian and lit
out for Texas.”

“Perhaps it was for the best, then.”

“Oh, it was that, all right, for things would have never
been the same between Adrian and Alex after that. Alex was too resentful toward
Adrian for knowing Katherine was leaving him and not trying to stop her.”

Maggie glanced at the lovely woman in the portrait. She
could see why a man would follow her to the ends of the earth. She could see,
too, how easy it must have been for Adrian to love her.