Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [34]
“Come,” he said, and helped her out of the tender. Her hand was cold and clammy, and he added gently, “I’ll be with you, Jules.”
She allowed him to assist her, then pulled her hand away. They walked into Wharf Street. Saint glanced briefly toward the fort, built in the early 1830’s and now used mostly as a prison. It was looking a bit the worse for wear, he thought. Dwight Baldwin’s home looked as neat as a pin, set back from Front Street, its paint fresh, its garden neat and green. He and Baldwin, a Protestant medical missionary, had been good friends during Saint’s stay in Lahaina. He started to ask Jules about him, when she suddenly pulled off her bonnet and shook her head. Her bright flame hair drew several glances, then a loud gasp.
“Juliana! My God, it is you!”
Saint turned to see a young man staring at Jules as if looking at a ghost. It was John Bleecher, the planter’s son. He wasn’t pimple-faced now, Saint noticed. Indeed, he was a handsome young man, well-formed, open-faced, and at present, pale as death.
Jules was very still. She moved closer to Saint, saying only, “Hello, John. How have you been?”
John roused himself. “Saint? Dr. Morris? Yes, it is you. Juliana, what happened? Everyone has believed you dead. Kanola’s body . . . well, it washed up on shore, and since you had been seen with her, we all thought—”
“Yes, I know,” Jules said, interrupting him in a curt voice. “She’s dead, but I’m not. I . . . well, I survived.”
“I don’t understand,” John said helplessly, wishing he could fling himself upon the pale, beautiful girl he’d wanted for two years now. But there was something terribly wrong. What was she doing with Saint Morris? He’d been gone for a long time now, five years.
“John,” Saint said pleasantly, “why don’t you help us with the luggage? I want to take Jules to her home.”
“Jules . . . ? Oh, yes, certainly.”
Saint watched the young man pick up Jules’s one small valise. No, he thought, she couldn’t marry him. He wouldn’t suit her; he wouldn’t understand her. He would stifle her spirit without realizing what he was doing. He would also paw her endlessly and scare her witless.
Saint shook his head at the direction of his thoughts. It was none of his business, after all. He would stay the two days the Carolina would be in port, then return to California. He would never see her again. Something inside him rebelled at the thought.
Etienne DuPres’s house was on Luakini Street, just one block behind the Baldwin house. It was set back from the busy street, its white clapboards gleaming in the sun. Saint heard Jules draw in her breath when she saw her brother, Thomas, clad only in trousers and an open white shirt, turn onto the street and wave to John Bleecher. Saint saw the shock on his face, but Thomas, unlike John, showed no hesitation. He gave a loud whoop and ran full tilt to his sister and swung her up into his arms.
“Thomas,” Jules whispered, burying her face in her brother’s neck.
Saint saw the front door to the DuPres house open and Aurelia DuPres slowly walk onto the narrow veranda. Saint saw her clutch at her flat bosom, then faint dead away. He’d forgotten how damned vaporish the woman was. Doubtless all the wretched clothes and tight corset she wore didn’t help matters.
By the time he reached her side, there were people everywhere, and pandemonium.
Saint had also forgotten how much he disliked Etienne DuPres. There was no joy in the man, only grim, unremitting purpose. He was tall and very thin, his black broadcloth suit making him appear gaunt. His eyes were not sparkling and alive like his daughter’s, but a pale cold gray. His hair was thinner now, the black streaked with white.
They were all seated in the small parlor, Jules’s mother fluttering her hands, Sarah, Jules’s older sister, silent and stiff, watching her sister, her lips pursed. Thomas was carrying on in his exuberant fashion, seated cross-legged on the floor beside Jules’s chair. Even though he was dark-haired and tall like his father, he had Jules’s openness and joy.
Etienne DuPres stood tall and silent next to