Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [87]
“So,” Thackery said on a deep breath, “that’s what you were up to.”
“Will you teach me how to use it?” Jules asked, her eyes steady on his face.
Thackery scratched the black woolly hair on his head. “No, ma’am,” he said finally. “That’s my job. Ain’t nobody going to get to you while I’m here.”
“If you don’t teach me, I will sneak away and practice by myself. You know I can do it, Thackery.”
“You need to have your bottom thwacked, Mrs. Saint,” Thackery said, his dark eyes calm on her upturned face.
Jules said nothing, trying to stare him down. But Thackery was made of stern stuff. “I’ll tell Dr. Saint,” he said.
“He won’t care!”
Thackery looked thoughtful. “Why not?”
She looked to him as though she wanted to cry and spit all at the same time. She said finally, “I am his cross to bear. You must know that he saved me, Thackery, then had to marry me because my father kicked me out. He didn’t want to, but he’s honorable. He really doesn’t care what I do or don’t do, just so long as I don’t bother him.”
Thackery heard the pain in her voice, and his reaction to it shocked him. He knew loyalty, indeed he did. Both the good Lord and Thackery knew how much he owed Mr. Hammond. But he’d sworn he’d never again trust another white. Until Mrs. Saint. Poor little mite. When he’d been a slave, it had never occurred to him that a white man or white woman could know a moment of unhappiness. Whiteness seemed to him then to be the key to all that was pleasant on this damned earth. Well, maybe white folk in California had more problems than those in Mississippi. He looked at Mrs. Saint, saw the pleading and defiance in those vivid green eyes of hers, and knew he had to say something, do something.
He temporized. “I could just take that little thing away from you, Mrs. Saint.”
“You try it, Thackery,” she said flatly, her eyes narrowed, “and I’ll . . . well, I’ll make you very sorry.”
“You just would, wouldn’t you? No, don’t answer that. I ain’t going to help you, and that’s that.”
He wouldn’t budge, and after another few minutes of fierce arguing, Jules gave up. She refused to speak to him all the way back to San Francisco. His last words before he left her at home were, “I’m going to the Wild Star to see Mr. Hammond. You just keep that damned toy put away, you hear?”
“I hear,” Jules said, and stomped into the house.
“What are you doing here?” Jules asked Thomas a few moments later. She was surprised to see him at home.
Thomas gave her a big smile. “I came home to ask Lydia to make something special for dinner. Penelope is coming.”
Jules groaned. “Does she have manners yet, Thomas?”
“If she throws her peas at you, I’ll put her bottom in the air,” he said, grinning widely. “Oh, yes, the Hammonds are in the city, and Saint invited them also. Seven o’clock. All right?”
Jules nodded. “Where is Michael?” she asked.
Thomas scratched his head. “I think he said something about seeing a Mrs. Branigan.”
Jules sucked in her breath. His mistress! No, she amended, not his mistress. His lover, his former lover. “Why?” she asked, and immediately regretted asking.
“How would I know, sis? He’s a doctor, isn’t he?”
But Saint wasn’t being a doctor, not on this visit. He sat in Jane’s parlor, a cup of tea balanced on his knee. The boys were outside playing at last, and Jane was fidgeting about, straightening the pillows on a chair.
“Well?” Saint asked finally.
“It’s your wife, Saint,” Jane said, watching him closely. She saw him close his eyes briefly, a look of pain crossing his face.
“What about her?” he asked harshly.
“Joe saw her today. She bought a gun at Haverson’s. I thought you should know.”
Saint stared at her, disbelieving. “He’s wrong,” he said flatly. “There’s no earthly reason for her to buy a gun. Thackery is with her all the time.”
“Joe assured me it was true,” Jane said. “That boy likes to fight, but he doesn’t lie. You know that, Saint.”
“Hell and damnation! Sorry,