Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [117]
Jules tapped her fork impatiently. “But the point is, Thackery, this is California, and everyone is free to do as he wishes here.” It was on the tip of her tongue to have Michael relate Leidesdorff’s tragic love affair, but she realized in time that it had been tragic simply because the man had been a mulatto, and therefore unacceptable to the white family.
“If you ate with your fingers,” said the irrepressible Lydia, “that would be another matter entirely. And that’s why Saint here doesn’t invite all those Sydney Ducks to dine with him!”
Saint chuckled, and Jules wanted to shout with the pleasure of the sound. She looked at Lydia, then at Thackery. We’re becoming a family, she thought.
Two days later, in the early afternoon, Jules, with smiling firmness, helped her husband upstairs to rest. Lydia had gone to do some marketing, claiming she’d best get out now before the rains started again. As for Thackery, he’d left to go to the Wild Star to see Brent Hammond.
When there was a knock on the front door, Jules sent a worried glance upward, praying it wasn’t a patient. She hated to turn anyone away, but Michael was more important.
It wasn’t a patient, however. It was a young boy.
“Miz Morris?” he asked, his voice a lisp through the gap in his front teeth.
“Yes,” Jules said.
“This is for you, ma’am,” the boy said, thrust an envelope into her hand, and scurried away before Jules could say anything else.
She frowned at the envelope, for there was no name or direction written on it. There was one sheet of paper inside. She read:
My dearest Juliana,
I trust you haven’t forgotten me. I wished to send my condolences about your poor husband’s blindness. I am near to you, my dear, very near. Do think about me, Juliana, and know that soon I will have you again.
It was signed with a bold J.W., nothing more. Jules dropped the paper as if it were a snake to bite her. She felt the familiar fear building, and wrapped her arms about herself, as if for protection. Her eyes went toward the windows, but the streaking rain prevented seeing outside. She thought vaguely that Lydia hadn’t missed the rain after all. Slowly she walked to the sofa and sank to the floor beside it. She heard a small, broken sound, and realized that it was from her own mouth.
26
Thomas sat behind Bunker’s large, ornate mahogany desk, a medical book propped open in front of him. He realized that he’d read the same paragraph at least three times and hadn’t taken in a single word.
He looked up with a snort of disgust and eyed the opulent library. Three walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with impressive tomes that nobody read. A thick bright red Aubusson carpet covered the floor, a lovely carpet, he thought, if one could but see more of it. His mother-in-law had covered it with heavy, clumsy furniture that depressed him. He wondered for a moment how his wife would have decorated the library.
Penelope. His wife. She was upstairs with her mother. My beautiful bride of three days, he thought, and sighed. It had never occurred to him that Penelope wouldn’t enjoy the marriage bed as much as he. His only experience with women had been with native girls on Maui. They had been loving, giving, and not at all reticent of telling him how to pleasure them. He’d learned a great deal, particularly from Kani, and when he’d finally gotten his new bride to bed, he was confident and anxious to begin his pleasure, and hers. She’d allowed him to kiss her and fondle her breasts, but when his hand moved downward, she’d acted as if he were insane—no, worse, he amended bitterly to himself: as if he were a disgusting animal. He’d breached her maidenhead finally, his teeth gritted at hearing her sobs of pain. And afterward, as he’d held her and stroked her and told her how much he loved her, she whimpered against his shoulder. Still, Thomas was optimistic. The first time couldn’t be very nice for the woman, but surely when he made