Fireblossom Page 13

  "I'm tired of having their dishes and baskets and plates cluttering up my house, that's all." He directed a menacing glare at the cobbler pan.

  "Never mind, then, I'll see to it." Titus reached protectively for the pan, which sat on the makeshift table. "You don't have to go within touching distance of Miss Avery, if that's what's got your back up."

  "Why the devil should you say a thing like that?" A muscle twitched in Fox's jaw.

  "Were you supposing I'm an idiot? I have eyes, son."

  It was unsettling for Fox to face the fact that he didn't seem to be fooling anyone—including, it seemed, Maddie herself. No one believed him when he said he didn't want her. Since the truth was impossible, he resolved to try different tactics. Tomorrow he would go down to Main Street in search of Graham Horatio Winslow III.

  * * *

  Stephen Avery, lounging in his bed, looked up from his breakfast tray when Madeleine peeked into the bedroom.

  "Hello, darling." He smiled weakly and patted the quilt, which had been painstakingly stitched by his late wife. "Sit with me for a bit."

  It was late, nearly eleven o'clock, and Maddie searched his face with worried eyes as she drew near. Her father had been sleeping more and more of the time since his return to Deadwood. Something wasn't right. To make matters worse, he wouldn't tell them where he had been or why. At first Maddie had accepted his stories about business dealings in Custer or Hill City, but now she was beset with doubts and worries. Gramma Susan didn't say much, but her eyes were keen and watchful behind her gold spectacles.

  This morning, observing her father's curiously flushed face, Maddie decided it didn't matter where he had been or what his secrets were. He had a right to privacy, and she was beginning to think that secrets were normal. She had a few of her own....

  "You look prettier each time I see you," Stephen said, gazing at her proudly. Madeleine's violet-and-cream-striped taffeta gown, with its heart-shaped neckline and fitted bodice, was proper yet provocative at the same time, and her bright curls were charmingly caught up in a series of loops that curved partway down her back. She was a breath of fresh air to him and his eyes shone with the depth of his love.

  "Thank you, Father." Smiling, she perched on the bed and clasped his hand. "You haven't eaten very much of your breakfast. How are you feeling?"

  "Oh, I suppose I may have picked up a touch of the ague while I was away. It's no use pretending I'm not ill; you can see for yourself."

  She sighed with relief. "Well, then, I shall send for Dr. Sick—"

  "The most ironic name," Stephen interrupted, laughing and then coughing. At length he added, "Who knows what sort of outdated potions they try to pass off as medicine around these parts? The redoubtable Dr. Sick might kill me with his cure."

  "But, Father—"

  "Just wait a bit, my dear. You may summon him if I take a turn for the worse." Attempting to allay her concern, Avery took a bite of coddled egg. "There, you see? I'm just a bit weak; nothing serious. Now then, tell me what's been happening in my darling daughter's life? How have you and Fox been getting on? His cabin looks amazingly impressive from the window."

  "Why do you link my fortunes with his?" she asked, coloring immediately.

  "No reason, really. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on my part. I know that there aren't many men to choose from in Deadwood, but Fox seemed different. Sometimes while I was away, I would think about you before falling asleep, and I confess to imagining tender scenes between you two."

  Maddie stiffened. "Wishful thinking indeed, Father. That man hasn't a drop of tenderness in his body as far as I know. However, his house is very fine, just as you observed, and he has been indulgent regarding Benjamin. He gives him simple chores to do which allow him to feel important." She hesitated, then continued, "As I have told you several times since your return, I'm adjusting well, I think. My garden is healthy and some of my flowers have buds on them. I have no personal life to speak of, but that's not a source of concern to me."

  It was clear to Stephen that his daughter was holding back all that truly mattered, but he saw that her pride would resist any attempt he might make to pry. A silence fell between them, then suddenly Maddie straightened.

  "I almost forgot!" She withdrew a creamy envelope from the pocket of her skirt. "Look at this—a little Chinese boy brought it to the door about an hour ago. Go ahead and read the note inside. Perhaps it will make some sense to you."

  Stephen looked at the envelope. On the outside, in a flowing hand, was written "Miss Madeleine Avery." The paper was expensive, all but unheard of in brawling Deadwood. Frowning, he took out the neatly folded note and read aloud, "Greetings to Miss Avery. My name is Graham Horatio Winslow the Third, of the New Haven Winslows, and I am newly arrived in Deadwood. I have been given to understand that you share this rather awkward condition, and also that we may come from similar backgrounds and share similar characters. I beg that you will forgive my abrupt address, but I perceive no other way. I ask that you receive me today at noon so that I may introduce myself. I expect nothing; I hope for friendship. Yours respectfully, Graham Horatio Winslow the Third."

  "Do you know this man?" Maddie inquired, clearly flustered after hearing the missive read aloud.

  He shook his head slowly. "No... and I am inclined to think that I would remember someone so singular to these environs."

  "Well, I suppose I shall have to meet Mr. Winslow," she replied, with a sigh. "I can hardly turn him away. Noon is fast approaching, so I'll find Gramma Susan, warn her, and see what refreshments we have to offer this unsolicited visitor."

  She took Stephen's nearly untouched tray with her. When she paused in the doorway to glance back, she saw that her father was already asleep again.

  When Maddie joined her grandmother in the kitchen, Susan was experimenting with a new recipe for small Cornish pasties shaped like turnovers. The fragrance of the diced steak, potatoes, onions, and pastry all baking together was heavenly.

  Susan O'Hara took Maddie's news with typical good humor. Of course any newcomer was always welcome, as far as Susan was concerned, but she agreed with her granddaughter that in this case, something besides pasties ought to be served. Bustling about happily, she prepared tiny triangular sandwiches filled with thin-sliced chicken and cucumber and arranged them on a tray, with plates of orange segments and oatmeal cookies. Tea was brewing, and Maddie had just assembled little cups and saucers that matched the exquisite Canton teapot when a polite knock sounded at the front door.

  "Just pretend I'm the maid when I bring all this into the parlor," Gramma Susan hissed as Maddie prepared to greet her guest. "There will be time enough later to identify me if you and Mr. Winslow form an attachment." The whimsical smile she gave her granddaughter told her how much stock she put in that likelihood.

  Looking every inch the decorous and gently bred young lady, Madeleine opened the door. Facing her was a man who could have been plucked from one of Philadelphia's excruciatingly refined dancing assemblies. He wore an immaculate gray cutaway coat, light trousers, a brocade vest with a rolled collar, and a stiff white shirt, celluloid collar, and a perfectly executed four-in-hand tie set off by a scarf pin. He carried a violet nosegay and doffed a bowler hat to reveal curly blond hair parted in the center.

  "You must be Miss Avery," he said, awestruck. "Word of your beautiful hair has preceded you! Allow me to introduce myself. I am Graham Horatio Winslow the Third, of the-"

  "New Haven Winslows?" Maddie couldn't resist exclaiming.

  "Ah, I see that you are familiar with my line," Graham said. "I am not surprised. You hail from Philadelphia, after all, and it is my experience that the better families are acquainted all along the eastern seaboard."

  Maddie was momentarily at a loss, then she put out her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winslow. Won't you come in? I was just about to have tea and hoped you would join me. How kind of you to send a note in advance."

  "I brought these for you." He presented the vio
lets and sketched a bow. "Somehow I felt that you would be the sort of lady who would love flowers."

  Maddie paused in the act of pressing her nose into the blooms to inhale their perfume. "It's most unexpected to meet a man like you in Deadwood, Mr. Winslow."

  "And even more unexpected to encounter a true lady like yourself, Miss Avery," he replied earnestly. "It's as if I have discovered a treasure much more valuable than gold."

  "You are... too kind, sir." Despite an occasional prick of amusement, Maddie could not help responding to his compliments and admiration. After the treatment she had received from Fox of late, Graham Horatio Winslow Ill's effusive kindness was almost soothing... for an hour or two, at least. Good will bubbled up in Maddie as she watched Gramma Susan darting in and out of the parlor to serve the tea, apparently delighting in her little masquerade. Mr. Winslow, though unfailingly polite, treated Gramma Susan with a condescending air that made Maddie want to giggle. Still, she was entertained. They discussed all the latest news from the East, sipped tea, exchanged opinions about Elizabeth and Robert Browning, Harriet Beecher Stowe, the movement for women's suffrage, Napoleon Ill's Second Empire in France, and Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities, which Graham had read on the train from New Haven to Chicago. Maddie was beginning to quite enjoy herself, feeling that she had found a friend who could help her to escape mentally from Deadwood when the need arose.

  "Have another sandwich, Mr. Winslow," she invited warmly. "Let us speak of anything other than our arduous journeys West, Custer's massacre, and the current price of gold and land in Deadwood." She paused, then added, "I don't even want to know why you came here."

  He laughed, perhaps a bit too loudly. "I know what you mean, Miss Avery, and I am happy to comply. I fear that I have made a mistake coming to the Black Hills, but it isn't one that can be rectified by wishing. It's such a long way back to New Haven...."

  Desperate to steer the conversation away from reality, she said, "What poets do you enjoy? Longfellow?"

  "Yes, I like Longfellow and Tennyson and Shelley most particularly. I find that I'm rather put off by some of the newer poets, like Whitman, who I know you'll agree is occasionally shocking in his approach."

  Maddie stared at him as his last words sank in. A torrent of unwelcome questions surged up within her. How had Graham Winslow heard of her and how did he know so much about her? How did he know she was from Philadelphia? Only one person could have informed Winslow that she had used the word shocking to describe Walt Whitman's poems. It was too neat to be a coincidence.

  "Pardon me, Mr. Winslow," she said, with her sunniest smile, "but have you met a gentleman called Fox? He's quite amiable—a tall, strong fellow with dark hair and blue eyes. He lives next to us, and if you haven't met him, I think you should. I am certain that the two of you would become friends."

  Graham had gone pale as she spoke, then gradually looked relieved. "As a matter of fact, I have met your friend, Fox. He is splendid! He's given me invaluable advise about purchasing land here in town, and I owe him an immense debt."

  "So immense that you might attempt to court me if he asked you to?" Maddie inquired sweetly.

  Winslow broke out in a sweat. "Hot today, isn't it? Horrible weather."

  "Would you mind terribly if I asked you to see yourself out, Mr. Winslow? I've just remembered a very pressing appointment."

  With that, Maddie stood up and marched into the kitchen. She didn't even pause to speak to Gramma Susan before throwing open the back door and emerging into the sunlight. Through the pine trees, she could see Fox and Benjamin in front of the log cabin, sawing a log supported between two sawhorses.

  Her hands were balled into fists, and she felt as if fire were flashing from her eyes as she strode up to them. Fox looked up, wiped his forehead with his rolled-up shirtsleeve, and then went back to sawing as if Maddie didn't exist. Her brother glanced between them, confused.

  "Benjamin, you must hurry home right now. Gramma Susan needs you." She was too angry to think of anything except a lie. While the little boy was running toward the other house, Maddie turned to inspect the flowers she had planted. "Don't you water them? You have to water them or they'll die."

  Fox merely shrugged and continued sawing patiently.

  Maddie threw herself at him, striking his face with her fists, hearing her underarm seam rip, grappling for his shoulders as if she could bring him down and overpower him. "I hate you!" she sobbed. "How dare you let my flowers die? Are you killing them to hurt me? What kind of man are you? And that person you bribed to come into my home and lie to me! Did you think I wouldn't know he was a fraud? Do you take me for a fool?"

  Fox caught her wrists and held her easily away from him. "Good God, have you lost your mind?"

  Tears were streaming down her face. "Why—why—?"

  Fox's jaw tensed and his blue eyes hardened as he stared at her. "Because I can never give you what you want, Maddie. Understand? I want you to forget all about me."

  His voice was like a steel blade that penetrated her heart. Maddie thought she might die from the pain, but then she heard another voice, high-pitched and frightened, crying out from the row of pine trees.

  "Fox, Fox! Come quick!" It was Benjamin. "Something's really wrong with Papa! He says he has to talk to you right away!"

  Chapter 11

  July 30-August 2, 1876

  Maddie lifted her skirts and ran, oblivious to the mud that spattered her ivory kid shoes. Fox sprinted past her across his lot, between the pine trees, and then he disappeared inside her house.

  By the time Maddie burst into the kitchen, her face was pink, her hair a fiery tumble of curls down her back. Susan O'Hara was waiting for her.

  "Gramma, what's happened?"

  "There's no cause for alarm, darling," the old woman replied in soothing tones. She took Maddie's trembling hands and looked into her eyes. "Your father has had a... spell of some sort. He had a pain in his chest and he began to sweat, but it has passed now. Apparently, however, it frightened him enough to disclose some of the matters he has so clearly been keeping to himself."

  "But... what about a doctor...?"

  "Benjamin has run for Dr. Sick, who may or may not be in Deadwood. Failing to find a physician, he will seek advice from one of our friends on Main Street."

  "Well, I'm going to Father right now!" As Maddie started toward the doorway to the parlor, Susan caught her torn sleeve.

  "My dear, he's asked to speak to Fox. We must allow them some privacy."

  Her granddaughter whirled around, eyes ablaze. "That's ridiculous! Why, Father could die without seeing anyone except that vile Fox. I do not believe that there is anything he wishes to say to him that he would not wish me to hear also!"

  Susan stepped back. "Have it your way."

  Maddie knew a momentary pang of shame for shouting at her grandmother. "I'm terribly frightened... about Father."

  "Of course you are." Susan's voice was neutral.

  Precious seconds were ticking away. Maddie gave the old woman a faltering smile, then hurried toward the doorway to her father's bedroom.

  The door was locked.

  "Father?" she called, knocking. "It's Maddie. May I come in?"

  A mumbling sound was followed by the click of the latch, and then the door swung open. Fox stood before her. "You must be very calm, and if he asks you to go, you mustn't argue, Maddie."

  She pushed past him, pausing only long enough to cry, "I'll thank you not to instruct me regarding my own father, sir!" An instant later she was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Stephen's hand. He was shockingly pale and drawn, and for the first time she noticed that his wavy black hair was flecked with gray. "Papa," Maddie whispered. "How are you?"

  He managed a brave smile, but there was fear in his eyes and he made no effort to move. "No doubt I'll recover, my dearest. What of you?"

  "I?" she echoed.

  "You... look as if you've been in an accident," he remarked, still smiling faintly.

 
Maddie felt Fox's eyes on her like a brand as she fingered her flurry of unbound curls and with her other hand felt for the ripped seam in her sleeve. She gave a short laugh. "I did have an accident of sorts, but it was nothing serious. I'll be much more careful in the future."

  "Well, then, if you have set your mind at ease, my dear, I would ask you to grant me time alone with our friend Fox."

  Bristling, Maddie tightened her grip on his hand. "Father, how can it be that you would share confidences with him and yet deny your own daughter the same honor? Am I not worthy of your trust? Please, can't you see that I'm a woman now and not a child?"

  "Miss Avery, your father hasn't much strength." Fox put a hand on her shoulder. She jerked away as if scorched.

  "Never mind, Fox," Stephen whispered hoarsely. "Madeleine is right. She is an adult and I should not try to shield her from the secrets of my past if she prefers the painful truth. Besides, it may be necessary that someone here understand what is transpiring over the next weeks... in case I do not recover." He gestured for Fox to sit down on a nearby stool, which his friend did, hitching it closer to the bed.

  "You are going to be fine, Father," Maddie murmured, tears pricking her eyes at the very thought of losing him so soon after they had been reunited.

  The room was oppressively hot, and Fox rose to throw open a window and roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Then, settling himself on the stool, he looked over at Stephen expectantly.

  "I don't have the strength to explain everything I've done the way I'd like to, Maddie," Stephen said, begging her with his eyes to understand. "I do want you to know that I loved your mother... though I realize I wasn't always the husband she deserved."

  "She loved you, too," she replied.

  "I was away too much, but the urge to seek adventure and explore new land was too powerful for me to resist. Your mother seemed to understand that I would not be happy if I remained in Philadelphia and followed the rules. It has occurred to me that she, who never bent if she could remain erect in life, allowed me to bend for both of us." Stephen pointed to the bottle of brandy on the table beside his bed, and Fox poured him a small glass and helped him to drink it.