Twin of Ice Read online

  Rafe relaxed. “The kids’d like that. Maybe you can come on Sunday mornin’ when they’re not down in the mine. You think Fenton’ll agree?”

  “I sorta think he will,” Kane said, finishing his whiskey. “I guess I better go look for my wife. The way she’s feelin’ about me right now, she just might leave me here.”

  Rafe rose. “You better let me find her, and I guess you’ll have to ride home in the back of the wagon. If the guards saw you leave when you didn’t enter, they’d get suspicious, and then the other ladies that drive wagons could get in trouble.”

  Kane nodded. He didn’t like the idea but he knew the sense of it.

  “Kane,” Rafe said as he stood by the door. “If I could give you some advice about Houston, it’d be to just be patient with her. Women have odd ideas about things that men can’t begin to understand. Try courtin’ her. You did somethin’ that won her in the first place, so maybe you can repeat it if you try courtin’ her all over again.”

  “She don’t much like presents,” Kane muttered.

  “Maybe you’re not givin’ her the right presents. One time, a girl was real mad at me, and what made her come ’round was when I gave her a puppy. Just a little mutt, but she loved it. She was real grateful, if you know what I mean.” With a smile and a wink, Rafe left the cabin.

  * * *

  Houston waited all the way back to Kane’s house for his explosion, but it never came. He climbed onto the wagon seat with her after she was out of sight of the guards and, although Houston never said a word, he talked to her about the scenery and some about his business. A few times she started to reply, but she stopped herself. Her anger at him was too deep, and she couldn’t soften toward him. He’d soon realize that she could never love him again, and he’d have to release her from being his prisoner.

  At home, he said good night to her politely and went to his office. The next day, he came to her sitting room at lunch time and, without a word, took her hand and led her down the stairs to the kitchen, where he picked up a picnic basket from Mrs. Murchison. Still holding her hand, he led her down the paths of the garden to the very bottom—to the statue of Diana where they’d once made love.

  Houston stood rigid while he spread the white linen cloth and the food, and he had to pull her to make her sit on the cloth. All through the meal, which she just nibbled at, Kane talked to her. He told her more about his business, telling her what a difficult time he was having without Edan to help him.

  Houston didn’t reply to anything he said, but her silence didn’t seem to bother him.

  After they’d finished eating, Kane turned around and put his head in her lap and continued talking. He told her about talking to Rafe about his mother. He told her about how dingy Rafe’s house had been and how his own quarters, when he was growing up, hadn’t been nearly as bad.

  “You think there’s somethin’ I could do to get Uncle Rafe away from the mines? He’s not a young man any longer, and I’d like to do somethin’.”

  Houston didn’t speak for a moment. She’d never heard such a question from Kane. “You can’t offer him a job because he’d think it was charity,” she said.

  “That’s what I thought. I don’t know what to do. If you have any ideas, will you let me know?”

  “Yes,” she said hesitantly, and into her mind’s eye came the picture of Rafe walking with Pamela. They made a striking couple.

  “I have to go back to work now,” he said, startling her by kissing her quickly and sweetly as he rose. “Why don’t you stay here and enjoy the garden?”

  He left her alone and Houston wandered about looking at the plants, and in the rose garden she borrowed a pair of clippers from a gardener and snipped a few blooms. It was the first time since she’d arrived that she’d done anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary. “Just because the master is horrible is no reason to hate the house,” she said to herself to justify carrying the roses inside.

  When Kane came to dinner, the house was full of freshly cut flowers, and he did little more than grin at Houston all the way through the meal.

  The next day, Blair came to luncheon, talked about her friend from Pennsylvania, Dr. Louise Bleeker, who’d come to help in the clinic, and asked if Houston was all right. For some reason, Blair no longer seemed to hate Kane.

  “Things aren’t much better,” Houston said, toying with her meal. “And you?”

  Blair hesitated. “Lee will get over it, I’m sure.”

  “Over it?”

  “He’s a bit angry with me right now. I, ah . . . made a journey in the back of his buggy. But let’s talk about you.”

  “Let’s talk about the magazine. I have two new articles for you.”

  On Sunday, Kane roused Houston from bed, remaining far back from her, not getting too close to her sleepy form inside the warm bed. He tossed on the bed a dress of deep rose zephyr-gingham that was trimmed with narrow bands of black velvet ribbon. “Wear that and get dressed as fast as you can,” he ordered before leaving the room.

  Minutes later, he returned wearing corduroy trousers, a bright blue flannel shirt and navy suspenders. He stood for a moment looking at Houston in her underwear, the tight corset pushing her breasts up above the lace-edged chemise, her legs encased, from the knee down, in black silk stockings with little butterflies going up one side, and wearing tiny black leather high-heeled shoes.

  He gaped at her for a moment, then turned and left the room as if, if he stayed any longer, he might not live through it.

  Houston dropped the robe she’d grabbed but not bothered to cover herself with and let out a sigh. She told herself that it was a sigh of relief and not the sigh of regret that it sounded like.

  He didn’t tell her where they were going when he lifted her into the buggy that he’d given her, but started driving. Houston didn’t ask him where they were headed, but her face showed her surprise when they turned up the road to the Little Pamela mine.

  The guards allowed them to pass without so much as a challenge or a question and, once through the gate, people came out of the houses and began following them. Houston started to wave to a few women she knew.

  “They don’t know you when you’re clean,” Kane warned her.

  She couldn’t help looking around, as more and more people began following them, and there were enormous smiles on the children’s faces.

  “What have you done?” she asked.

  “There,” he answered, pointing. In front of them was the only open area in the camp, the mine mouth in the background. In the center of the dirt field were wooden crates.

  Kane halted the buggy and two boys with black-rimmed eyes held the horse as he helped Houston down. When they were standing on the inside of the circle of people who had gathered around the boxes, Kane grinned and said loudly, “Go to it boys.”

  As Houston watched the boys tear into the crates, Rafe walked up behind them.

  “The boxes came two days ago, and I didn’t think you’d mind if I told ’em what was inside. They’ve been dancin’ around and nervous with excitement since then,” Rafe said, as he put his hand on his nephew’s shoulder.

  Houston looked at that hand on her husband’s shoulder with astonishment before turning back to see what the boys had found in the crates. They withdrew baseball equipment: uniforms, bats, gloves, balls, catchers’ face masks.

  Kane turned to Houston, his face showing his expectation.

  Had he done all this just to impress her, she wondered. She looked about the circle of parents who looked on their sons adoringly. “And what did you get for the girls?”

  “Girls?” Kane asked. “Girls can’t play baseball.”

  “No? What about tennis, archery, bicycling, gymnastics, fencing?”

  “Fencing?” Kane said, his face turning to anger. “I guess nobody can please you, can they, Miss Ice Lady? Nobody’s up to your standards, are they?” he asked before turning away and walking toward the boys, who were swinging bats and tossing balls in the air.