Hallow House - Part Two (7 page)

"Sorry," Samara said, her mind fixed on what her uncle might have said to Mark.

"Will you come and watch me ride my pony?" Johanna asked. "I still need help putting on his saddle."

"Let's go."

To Samara's surprise, she found Sal in the stables. He grinned at her in greeting.

"Hi, Sal, this is my sister Johanna. Johanna, this is Salvatore Guerra. He taught me how to ride when I was little."

Johanna looked from Samara to Sal and back. "When you were little wasn't he little, too?"

Sal laughed. "I'm older than your sister, Johanna. Do you want me to teach you to ride like I did her?"

"Thank you, but Mark already taught me." Her big gray eyes examining him. "your n-name sounds hard to say."

"That's why everyone calls me Sal. You can, too."

"Okay. Maybe you can help me s-saddle Zazy--he's my pony."

Later as they watched Johanna trotting Zazy around the riding ring, Samara said, "What are you doing here, Sal? Did my father--?"

"Yes, thanks. I'm working her for the summer. This fall he's promised me a job in his Sacramento cannery. He thinks maybe I can work out a schedule to go to the agricultural college over at Davis part-time. They have a veterinarian course there. He talked to me a long time, actually remembered me from the time I worked here."

"Why wouldn't he?"

Sal shrugged. "You get used to Anglos thinking all us Mexicans look alike."

She stared at him.

He offered her a wry grin. "Don't worry about it. You're a nice girl and you've done more for me than you'll ever realize."

"Watch me, Sal," Johanna called.

"You've made a conquest," Samara said as he applauded Johanna's maneuver.

"She's cute."

"Wait'll the twins descend on you. You'll be sorry you ever heard of Hallow House." She laughed, but her tone grew serious once more. "I'm really glad you're here, Sal. You know, before Vera came, you were the only one I could talk to."

"Yeah, your brother was a regular little bastard, as I recall. Excuse my language. I know he's dead, but that's how I felt about him."

She didn't take offense, either at his opinion of her brother or his language. The way some of the girls at Stanford talked made Sal's word pale by contrast. And it was true Sergei had treated him meanly.

"There you are," Mark said from behind her. She whirled around, her heart slamming against her ribs.

Collecting her wits, she tried to steady her voice as she said, "You're just in time to see Johanna perform. And I don't believe you've met Salvatore Guerra. Sal, this is Mark Schoeder."

Mark looked Sal up and down, not offering his hand. "How do you do? We have not met before. Are you the new stable hand?"

Sal's face was impassive. "I'm happy to meet you, Mr. Schroeder. Yes, I'm the new stable hand.

"Sal's an old friend," Samara began, but stopped when Sal shook his head slightly.

"Excuse me," he said. "I have to help Jose."

Watching him walk away, Samara said to Mark, "Sal's not exactly a stable hand. He--"

Mark took her hand. "One of the charming things about you is your friendliness."

His touch made her forget everything else. She gazed into his blue eyes, every nerve aware of him.

"You're not w-watching me," Johanna accused.

Mark released Samara's hand. "Will you join Johanna and me in the pool this afternoon?"

In the mid-afternoon, when Samara came into the pool area, the first person she saw was Marie, relaxing in one of canvas lounge chairs. Marie had twisted her hair into an elegant French knot and wore wide-legged lounging pajamas in a pale blue that became her coloring and flattered her figure. Her makeup was impeccable and she managed to look younger as well as most attractive.

"A black swimsuit, Samara?" she said languidly. "So out of date. I'm sure you could find one that does more for you." She fitted a cigarette into white holder. "A suit with more sophistication." Smoke drifted above her head.

Yesterday Samara had though the black swimsuit fit her very well. She'd even believed black was sophisticated. Now she wondered anxiously if Marie was right. Did she appear gauche? She glanced at Mark in the hope he might be looking at her and she could find reassurance in his eyes. But he was busy instructing Johanna in the backstroke.

"After all, you're no longer a schoolgirl," Marie went one. "Why continue to dress like one?"

To think I felt sorry for her at diner last night, Samara told herself. I forgot how she can undermine people. She's just trying to make me feel like a dumb child again, the way she used to. The worst of it is, I know what she's doing, yet I let what she says bother me.

"Come on in, Samara," Mark called. "Show your sister a proper back stroke."

Samara jumped into the pool knowing there, at least, she was in her element. No one could fault her swimming. But when at last the three of them pulled themselves out of the water, there sat Marie, dry, poised and elegant, while Samara stood with dripping hair. She wrapped herself in her robe and hurried to her room where, after drying off, she yanked open her closet and glared at her clothes.

Everything she owned seemed hopelessly juvenile. After a moment she deliberately took out and put on the most babyish dress of all, a white on white dotted Swiss with puffed sleeves and a Peter Pan color.

Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she decided she looked like a little girl making her First Communion. All she lacked was the veil. Making a face at herself, she applied pale pink lipstick, then tied a pink ribbon around her head Alice in Wonderland style.

An dinner, no one reacted to her appearance. Samara watched Mark covertly to see if he paid attention to Marie, but all she noticed was that he looked several times at the new maid, Rosita.

Rosita was pretty with her olive complexion, large brown doelike eyes and curly black hair piled high on her head. She wore the neat tan uniform Vera insisted on, but she gave the modest dress a flair all her own. Not at all a bold girl, but noticeable. Samara saw Uncle Vince watching Rosita, too,

Samara didn't care about her uncle, but when she caught Mark staring at Rosita for the fourth time, a huge hand seemed to squeeze her chest until she couldn't breathe. The food she tried to eat stuck in her throat. At last she excused herself and fled to her room. There, she tore off the white dress and her slip, put on her oldest robe and flung herself miserably onto the bed.

Vera tapped on her door a few minutes later, then entered. "Don't you feel well, dear?" she asked.

"I'll all right," Samara mumbled, wishing to be left alone.

"You didn't eat much." Vera reached to touch her forehead. "You're not feverish. What's the matter? Can I help?"

Samara shook her head, afraid to say anything for fear of bursting into tears.

"Well..." Vera retreated to the doorway, hesitating there. "If you want me I'll be in the library with your father."

Samara sighed in relief when Vera closed the door. She pushed her bare feet into slippers and quickly climbed to her refuge in the south tower before someone else found her.

From the window seat she watched the evening shadows creep down from the hills and engulf the valley. Stars appeared in the dark blue of the sky. She began to relax. Mark hadn't promised her anything. He had every right to look at a pretty girl if he wanted to. There was nothing wrong with him inviting Marie to watch him swim, either.

I have no right to be jealous of him, she chided herself, dropping her head to allow her hair to screen her face, forgetting that pink ribbon that held it in place. She lifted her head, shoving the ribbon aside until it slipped down around her neck.

Unfortunately, she was jealous. Right or wrong, she wanted his exclusive attention, wanted him to feel about her the way she did about him. But that was no reason to slip back into the days when she'd used her hair to hide from people.

As she raised a hand to until the ribbon around her neck, she froze. What was that weird noise? A high whistling whine, unlike anything she'd ever heard, infiltrated the tower. An inhuman noise that no human throat could possibly form. Where was it coming from?

A bizarre image filled her mind--wind whistling through the skull Sergei had stolen from the cave. Or was it the skull trying to speak?

She shot up from the window seat, poised to flee as the whining grew and faded, grew and faded. Standing in the darkness, with one hand on the doorknob, she paused. Hadn't she promised herself never to run away from her fears again?

"Who's there?" she called, surprised her words hadn't come out as a frightened squeak.

There was no answer, but the whining noise ceased. After a moment she cautiously opened the door. The landing light wasn't on so she emerged from darkness into darkness. Trying to convince herself she wasn't frightened, she groped her way toward where she knew the landing light switch was.

She touched cloth, heard a muttered curse. Hands grabbed her, something tightened around her neck and she dropped into nothingness.

When Samara opened her eyes, she saw a painted mountainside covered with trees. She blinked, trying to focus. "Are you all right?" Mark's voice asked.

She turned her head and saw his face above her, then realized she was lying on the floor with her head and shoulder in his lap. The smell of turpentine told her they were in the north tower, but she didn't understand how she'd gotten there.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You don't remember?"

"No, just my throat..." She felt her neck.

"I had no idea you were up here," Mark said.

"The south tower's my favorite hideaway."

He shook his head. "I did not know. After dinner I came up to paint in this north tower and I must have fallen into a doze. I heard someone call, woke up to darkness and came out onto the landing, also dark, where I ran into you."

She stroked her throat, feeling the pink ribbon. "I couldn't breathe."

"I beg your forgiveness. My hand tangled in your ribbon and it choked you. You fell against me and I carried you in here and turned on the light so I could see what was wrong. I would not have hurt you for the world."

"It wasn't your fault and I'm not really hurt." She shifted position and he lifted her higher, into his arms so he cradled her.

She wanted to stay right where she was forever. A dim recollection of a whistling noise came to her and was banished when his mouth covered hers. Then nothing mattered except Mark.

"Your uncle warned me to stay away from you," he whispered after a time, his warm breath tickling her ear, sending pleasing little shock waves through her. His words, though, made her pull away and sit up.

"Uncle Vince? Why on earth would he do that?"

"The hired help are not to fraternize with the lords and ladies of the manor."

She stared at him. "He said that?"

"In essence. Plus you are much too young and inexperienced for an old roué such as I."

Samara rose, realized her robe had opened slightly and blushed, drawing it close about her and tying it more securely. "My uncle doesn't run my life. I'm not a child, and what I do is my affair."

"I do work for your father," Mark reminded her.

Drawing an indignant breath, she said, "Surely Uncle Vince didn't threaten to have Daddy send you away."

Mark raised his eyebrows. "Did he not?"

"My father likes you. He wouldn't agree with my uncle."

"I think where a father is concerned, his daughter's welfare takes precedence over all else. Neither of them would believe me if I said I loved you very much and would never wish you any harm."

Samara's heart flip-flopped. "Do you love me? Really?"

"You are the first perfect girl I have ever met. Beauty, innocence and a strong, fine spirit. Unfortunately, your family has money. It is difficult for wealthy parents to believe a man could love their daughter for herself alone."

"I don't care about money," she cried. "Only you. I love you, Mark." She flung herself into his arms.

His kiss, hard and demanding, thrilled through her.

When she felt his hand under her robe, caressing her bare skin, she melted inside, clinging to him, strange and exciting sensations filling her with need. She moaned when he put her away from him.

"We must not lose our heads," he said hoarsely. "Difficult as you make that for me. We must go slowly to work our way through the opposition."

She sighed as she tightened the belt of her robe once again, "But I want you to kiss me some more."

He shook his head. "It is best if I seem to accede to your uncle's wishes. I tried to begin convincing him at dinner when I looked everywhere but at you. That poor little maid, I embarrassed her with my ogling."