Silver Lining (23 page)

Louise suppressed a sigh. In her heart she had already guessed that Philadelphia would be one of those little, dainty, ultrafeminine women who made women like Louise feel clumsily gigantic and about as womanly as a fence post. Initially Gilly had caused the same effect, and still did to some degree, but Gilly's kindness helped Louise ignore or forget their differences in size and grace.

" Philadelphia is quite stylish. Everyone in Fort Houser looks to her for the latest mode. She receives fashion news from Paris , France , and she buys all her hats and footwear in Denver ." Carefully Gilly stripped strands of corn silk from a pale white ear. "As for what she's like… her mother passed when Philadelphia was about twelve, I believe. Early on she stepped forward as her father's hostess, and she's quite accomplished in that area."

Louise told herself to stop here. Just keep her mouth closed. "What exactly does a hostess do?"

Gilly shrugged. "Mr. Houser entertains a lot of important guests in town and from out of town.

Financiers, other bankers and politicians, people he's met during his business travels. Philadelphia chooses the menu for dinner parties, decides the seating arrangements, directs conversation and keeps it flowing. After dinner a hostess might entertain her guests at the piano or with song. Perhaps she would invite musicians to perform. Philadelphia also hosts exquisite teas and luncheons for the clubs and societies she belongs to."

"Do tell," Louise murmured, mimicking a say-nothing phrase she'd heard Livvy employ when they were buying fabric at the Ladies' Emporium. One thing she'd learned from listening to Gilly's explanation: she hoped Max never asked her to do any hostess chores because she didn't have a single hostess skill.

"As Mr. Houser's official hostess, I believe Philadelphia also takes his associates sightseeing or shopping, and she entertains them if Mr. Houser is otherwise occupied. For instance, she brought one of Mr. Houser's guests to the Fourth of July picnic and celebration."

So Philadelphia was charming and gregarious. In addition to being tiny, a fashion plate, and an accomplished hostess. How nice for her, Louise thought sourly.

"Actually, I don't know Philadelphia all that well. I'm twenty-six and she's only twenty. We don't really have the same friends. And Philadelphia is very social whereas I'm not."

This made Louise seven years older than Miss Wonderful. She was old, plain, tall and big, clumsy and graceless, without an accomplishment to her worthless name. When she looked down, she discovered she had whittled a potato into a sliver.

Livvy bustled into the room bringing the scent of lemon polish and lamp oil, a dust rag over her shoulder.

"Did Deke ride back to the herd, or is he still about? I want him to set up the long table outside. Far enough from the corrals to escape the dust and stink of cattle, and close enough to the kitchen that we can get the food on the table while it's still hot." She pressed Louise's shoulder on the way to the table to inspect the pies. "You're learning," she said with a smile. "Sprinkle enough sugar on top and no one will notice if the outer crust is a bit brown."

"I doubt I'll ever be much of a cook."

"Nonsense. You'll get the way of it. All women can cook. It comes natural, like getting up in the morning, like having babies, like living a life."

This life was so different from any Louise had lived that nothing about it felt natural. And deep down she didn't want it to. The day this life became second nature was the day she couldn't go back to what she had been. She didn't dare let herself change that much. If she did, she was just begging for heartbreak.

By the time Livvy returned from searching out Deke and getting the table set up, Louise and Gilly had the potatoes and corn almost cooked and ready.

"We'll keep the potatoes hot until it's time to mash them," Gilly said as Livvy popped her head in the kitchen door.

"Better get started. The herd is behind the barn now, and Max and the boys are cutting out the calves and beeves that need branding. Once they're in the pens, the men will come up to the house for dinner."

Max was here. Instantly Louise's face felt feverish and fluttery heat exploded in her stomach. She tucked her hands in the folds of her apron so Gilly wouldn't notice a sudden tremble. But that didn't help her. As she needed to keep busy, she volunteered to mash the potatoes and pounded them with the masher until her whole arm began to ache, going after the lumps like she was killing snakes.

"I'll slice up the bread, if you'll take the butter dishes out to the table," Gilly said twenty minutes later. "I think Sunshine set out the salt and pepper, but it wouldn't hurt to check. I don't know where she's got to."

Swirls of dust hung over the pens when Louise stepped outside and peered toward the barn. By the time she reached the table and looked up again, the men had emerged from the dust and were walking toward the house.

Her gaze flew straight to Max. Tanned face, blue eyes, dark curly hair. Broad shoulders and narrow hips. A man handsome enough to set a woman on fire. Hastily, she pushed at the wisps of hair floating around her flushed face, and swore softly when she noticed a greasy stain on her dark shirtwaist, probably butter. Damn. Well maybe he wouldn't notice.

Max lifted his head toward the house, and she caught a quick breath and held it as his gaze touched her.

But it was only a touch that continued past her. His step faltered. For a moment Louise believed he had tripped over something, then she saw his expression go slack and his chest hitch.

Feeling her throat close, knowing what she would see, she followed his stare and watched Wally and a woman who could only be Philadelphia come around the side of the house and into view. Philadelphia was as Gilly had described her. Small, perfectly groomed, and exquisitely dressed in a forest green traveling suit with matching hat and cape. She was beautiful.

Against her will, Louise's heart sank into a swamp of jealousy. Philadelphia was everything any woman would want to be, everything Louise could never be. Max's family accepted her. Max loved her. And she was carrying his baby.

Philadelphia 's step also faltered, and she halted abruptly as if the sight of Max had thrown up a wall of shock and pain. Her face paled, and her eyebrows slanted in a helpless expression of deep sorrow and longing that swiftly altered to anguish. Blindly, she reached for Wally, curling toward his body where she pressed her forehead against his shoulder and raised her gloves up beside her cheeks. Wally's arm came around her in a protective gesture.

Then Livvy appeared as if by magic, all bustle and good cheer, welcoming home the newlyweds while everyone took a deep breath and struggled to compose themselves.

Louise stood beside the table, watching the drama unfold as Max and Wally stared hard at each other before Max thrust out his hand and Wally gripped it. Philadelphia stepped back, visibly collected herself, then turned to clasp Livvy's hand. She didn't look at Max nor did he look at her, but the sadness had returned to her gaze.

When Gilly and Sunshine joined the group at the side of the house, Louise picked up a butter dish because she needed something to do with her hands, needed to pretend that she was doing something useful.

Livvy must have seen her bend over the table and remembered her, because Livvy leaned close to Philadelphia and gestured over her shoulder. Philadelphia shuddered and raised her gloves as if warding off a blow and she shook her head no. Now Louise understood and she shuddered, too. Oh God. Livvy was going to insist on an introduction.

Despite the uncharacteristic pangs of jealousy, Louise truly regretted hurting Philadelphia . Philadelphia was least deserving of the disasters that had befallen her, and she had and would suffer the most.

Philadelphia had lost the man she loved, and she had lost him when she needed him most, while carrying his baby. She'd been forced to marry a man not of her choosing, and the wrong man would raise her child. For the rest of her life, she would be the target of gossip and whispers. And all of this had happened because a woman she didn't know and had never met wanted a child of her own.

Since Philadelphia refused to go to Louise, Livvy scowled and urgently beckoned Louise forward.

Louise would rather have stepped off a cliff.

But the moment had to come, she knew that. Inevitably she and Philadelphia had to meet. They were both part of the McCord family. It would be impossible to avoid each other.

Reluctantly and filled with dread, she pushed dragging feet toward the group at the side of the house.

She had almost reached Livvy and Philadelphia when she realized she was still clenching one of the butter dishes and her thumb was firmly imbedded in the butter. She threw Max a despairing glance over the top of Philadelphia 's hat, but he was no help. He and Wally were both staring blankly at Sunshine and the rock she showed them. Both held their faces carefully expressionless.

Livvy introduced Louise and Philadelphia and prattled on to say that three Mrs. McCords were too confusing, therefore they would immediately jump to the intimacy of using first names. Then Livvy took Gilly's arm and moved toward her sons, leaving Louise and Philadelphia alone together.

Louise spun out a string of silent cuss words and wished she were anywhere but here, wished there was some place to put down the damned butter dish. She drew a breath and released it slowly, then she did the right thing. All her life she'd tried to do the right thing, which usually meant doing the hard thing.

"I know it doesn't help, and it doesn't change anything, but I'm truly sorry that I set in motion all the bad things that have happened to you. I never meant to hurt you or anyone."

Philadelphia 's eyes glittered like shards of glass. "I know all about you,Low Down." She spat Louise's name and made it sound like an insult. "You immoral piece of garbage! You didn't care which man drew the marble; you would have slept with any of them! You're an affront to decent women. You're not fit for respectable company!"

All right, she'd known this meeting would not be congenial. Philadelphia had every reason to despise her, and no reason at all to be cordial or forgiving. But Louise had always assumed that genuine ladies conducted themselves as Mrs. Halston had. Cold and distant with no flash of emotion, as if true ladies floated above the crass passions of inferior persons. In the true-lady world, an icy invisible barrier kept the riff raff at bay. Thus shielded, a true lady conducted herself with scathing politeness no matter the circumstances. This was Louise's uninformed opinion, and Livvy McCord's conduct had seemed to bear it out.

Louise didn't think grand ladies spoke as Philadelphia just had. And she didn't think grand ladies got themselves pregnant before marriage, no matter how sick in love they were. People with backgrounds like Louise's thumbed their noses at convention, but ladies and gents were the ones who set the conventions and followed them to the letter. Or maybe she just wanted to find something about Philadelphia to criticize.

She moved her thumb in the butter. "I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing! Don't speak to me. Stay out of my sight!" Spinning from Louise, she called to Livvy.

"Mother McCord, might I be shown to my room? Our journey was tiring and," she spread her hands and darted a quick glance at Max, "and our homecoming upsetting. I'd like to lie down if I may."

"Of course. Your room is ready." Linking arms with Wally and Philadelphia , Livvy walked them toward the front porch with Sunshine right behind. Gilly looked back and forth from Max to Louise, then excused herself and hurried back to the kitchen.

Max watched Philadelphia walk away. Maybe he studied the single brave feather quivering on her hat, or maybe he watched the sway of her stylishly draped bustle. All Louise knew for certain was that he seemed unaware of his own wife who stood in front of him with her hair a mess, a stain on her shirtwaist, and her thumb in the butter.

"Are you all right?" Louise asked in a low voice. It had to hurt to see the woman he wanted walking off to inspect a room she would share with another man.

Max looked at her without a flicker of recognition. When his vision cleared and his gaze sharpened, he swore, then pulled off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. "How's everything out at the place?

Did you have any problems?"

"Of course not. Everything is right as rain."

Dust had collected in the creases on his forehead and fanning from his eyes. Louise experienced an absurd urge to stand close to him and wipe the dust away with her fingers. She wanted to press her nose against his throat and inhale the scents of horseflesh and cattle and man sweat. Wanted to touch him and shake him and say, Look at me. Please look at me.

"You have your thumb in the butter," he said suddenly.

"I know. Will you be home tonight? Or will you stay here with the boys?"

If he hesitated, she didn't notice. "I'll be home after supper," he answered, looking at the butter dish and her buried thumb. Then he muttered something about washing up and walked away from her. She watched him go as he had watched Philadelphia , with loss and longing in her eyes.

*

The dark, sweet scent of whiskey reeled through her senses even before she entered the shadowy kitchen. Seeing Max's deeper shadow at the table, she walked past him to fetch her shawl from the mudroom, then went to the shelves near the sink. Enough moonlight filtered through the frost on the window glass that she had no difficulty finding a glass to take to the table.

"There's no reason for you to be up," he said when she reached for the bottle and poured herself a drink.

"I know." The whiskey scalded the back of her tongue, flowed toward her stomach like liquid fire.

Raising her knees, she propped her bare feet on the edge of the chair and tucked her nightgown in around them. "I hope it doesn't snow before the rest of the herd comes in and the branding is finished.

Feels like it could, though."

The bottle clinked against the lip of his glass, then silence. She didn't mind. It was nice to sip good whiskey and quietly share the darkness. Good companions didn't need words.