Page 15 of Comanche Magic

  After grace was completed and the serving dishes began to make their rounds, Mary Graham fixed her sightless gaze on Chase with unnerving accuracy and said, "So, Mr. Wolf, are you a friend of Mrs. Belle's?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Mrs. Belle, my employer," Franny quickly interjected. "May Belle."

  "Oh! Yes, of course. May Belle." Chase gave a ner­vous laugh. "A friend of mine, yes."

  When Chase spoke, Mary Graham tipped her head as if to hear better, the first gesture he'd seen her make that bespoke of her affliction. A shaft of sunlight came through the window behind her and played upon her platinum-colored hair, which she wore in a braid encir­cling her head. If she had gray, which at her age she surely must, Chase couldn't detect it.

  "Ah," she said in a musing tone, "so that's how you made Francine's acquaintance."

  "Um, yes." It wasn't exactly a lie. Though she didn't formally bear the title, May Belle was, for all practical purposes, the madam at the Lucky Nugget, and over­saw Franny's enterprise. "That's how we met, yes. Through Mrs. Belle and my sister, who's Francine's good friend."

  "Indigo?" Mrs. Graham asked.

  "Yes."

  "Oh, Francine speaks so highly of her. So you're her brother. How nice."

  Mary Graham's thoughtful smile was radiant. Like his mother, she was still a lovely woman, the sort who had acquired a different kind of beauty with the years. As Franny grew older and her blush of youth faded, she would be just as lovely. If the hardships of her life didn't destroy her. The thought made Chase's stomach knot.

  Mary Graham wore a blue day dress of raw silk, the detailed bodice finely embroidered and edged with ecru lace to match that at her cuffs. Chase had already taken note of the children's clothing. All of it was homemade, compliments of Franny and her new Wheeler-Wilson sewing machine, he felt sure. Looking across the table at her, the magnitude of her responsi­bilities struck him. Just to keep all these people well shod, which they were, would cost a small fortune each year. It hadn't escaped Chase that Franny's own shoes were scuffed and badly worn at the soles.

  "Chase is a timber faller, Mamma."

  "Oh, my. Just the thought of felling those huge trees makes my pulse quicken."

  Chase grinned. "Once you learn how, it really isn't that dangerous."

  "Hard work, though."

  "Yeah, it keeps a man's muscles toned." Chase looked at Franny. "I've been recuperating this summer from a slight injury, which is why I was in Wolf's Land­ing and had an opportunity to meet your daughter."

  "What sort of injury?"

  "Cracked ribs. I was walking logs, slipped, and got crushed."

  "I thought you said it wasn't dangerous," Mary reminded him.

  Chase cleared his throat. "Yes, well . . . I wasn't using good judgment when it happened. One might say I asked for it."

  Franny's green eyes sharpened. "How is that?"

  "I was well into a jug of bourbon," Chase admitted.

  Mary Graham arched a delicate eyebrow. "You're a drinking man, Mr. Wolf?"

  By her imperious tone, Chase knew she didn't approve of those who imbibed. Luckily, Jason spilled the milk Franny was giving him at that exact moment and the distraction saved Chase from having to explain himself. To ensure that he wouldn't, Chase took a large bite of bread.

  "How long have you known Mrs. Belle?" Mary queried.

  Chase gulped to empty his mouth. "I, um . . . for years."

  "A generous woman, that. If not for her having hired Franny as her companion, I truly don't know what this family would have done. In a very real sense, she has been our salvation."

  Chase studied the blind woman's face, wondering how she could believe that anyone could earn the sums of money Franny did by working as a gentlewoman's companion. She served as a companion, all right, but not in the way her mother clearly believed. Chase's gaze shot to Franny. Two bright spots of color flagged her cheeks. In his peripheral vision he saw Jason grin­ning at him. Jason—one of Franny's many well-kept secrets. It occurred to him, suddenly, that the young woman across from him was surrounded by secrets, that neither of her identities was totally honest. Here with her family, she played one role, in Wolf's Landing another. Where in all of this was the real Franny?

  As the meal progressed, the children, who were remarkably polite, joined the conversation. Though all of them seemed genuinely fond of Franny, Chase couldn't help but notice that much of their interchange concerned things she had or might yet provide for them. Alaina and little Mary wanted dancing slippers. Theresa, a precocious thirteen-year-old, wanted rhinestone hair combs. Matthew, a year Theresa's junior, had high hopes that Francine would get him a hunting rifle. Even Frankie put in a bid, describing a ready-made wool suit jacket and vest he had seen at the mer­cantile. He was "old enough for store-bought clothes," he said. In Chase's opinion, he was also old enough to get himself a job and help support the family, but his thoughts on the subject weren't solicited.

  Another thing that troubled Chase was that Mary Graham gave him the impression she was somewhat concerned that her eldest daughter had a gentleman caller. Nothing blatant, just nuances in her expres­sions, so subtle he doubted anyone else would have noticed. Franny was a lovely and personable young woman. She was also twenty-two, which was uncom­fortably close to being considered an old maid. Any mother in her right mind would be pleased that she had attracted the interest of a young man. But Chase got the distinct feeling that Mary Graham was not.

  Though he knew it was uncharitable of him, he couldn't help but wonder if Mary Graham wasn't wor­ried that her daughter might marry and cease contribut­ing to her family's support. Could it be that the woman suspected the truth? That she not only knew what Fran­ny did to earn their living, but approved? The thought niggled its way into Chase's mind, and once there refused to be banished. Gazing at the filled plates on the table and the number of elbows bending, he couldn't see how the woman could fail to be suspicious of her daughter's income source. There weren't many jobs that paid a woman enough to feed and clothe eight people. From the looks of things, Franny had not only managed to provide the necessities, but a few luxuries as well. Mary Graham was blind, but not stupid.

  The gay atmosphere and lively conversation at the table didn't leave Chase much time to ponder those thoughts. Before he knew it, he had been sucked into the birthday spirit. Despite Jason's affliction and their mother's blindness, the Grahams were a jovial lot and seemed to enjoy one another's company. From tidbits of the conversation, Chase ascertained that Frank Gra­ham, Franny's father, had been killed in a carpentry accident over nine years ago. Without asking, Chase guessed that Franny, the eldest child, must have been about thirteen at the time of his death.

  "It was a tragic loss," Mary said softly, casting a pall over the festive mood. "For reasons I shan't get into"— she cast a sweet smile toward Franny —"measles were brought home, and our whole family came down sick. Jason and—" Her voice caught as though she were near­ly overwhelmed with emotion. Swallowing as if to regain her voice, she continued. "Jason and I suffered permanent effects, and the medical bills were exorbitant. Frank, God rest his soul, took every job he could get and worked himself into a state of exhaustion. If not for that—well, he was very agile and always so careful." She smiled again, but with sadness. "He had so many who depended on him, you see. He knew he was desperately needed and took great care. If not for our family tragedy, he would never have been roofing a church steeple when it had begun to sprinkle rain. It was slippery and danger­ous. But he wanted to finish the job so he could be paid. Because of that, he continued working."

  Chase couldn't miss the stricken expression that came across Franny's face. His heart caught, but before he could look deeply into her eyes, she bent her head.

  "Well, enough of that!" Mary said with forced bright­ness. Placing a hand over her chest, she said, "How I got off on that subject, I shall never know. As if it matters now. My wonderful, precious Francine has seen to our needs very nicely. Though we shal
l always mourn my Frank's senseless death, none of us can say we've ever gone without necessities. Francine has taken care of us, bless her dear heart."

  Chase swallowed a dry wad of meat. Searching Mary Graham's lovely features, he assured himself that he was misreading this entire situation. For a moment, it had seemed to him that Mary Graham had revealed the circumstances of her husband's death, not to inform Chase, but to remind Franny of her familial obligations. Perhaps even to prick her conscience? As if it could have been her fault that her family caught the measles? The very notion was absurd. Chase decided that, while he could usually read a person pretty well by looking into the eyes Mary Graham's blindness must be giving him false signals.

  After the meal, Mary Graham was ensconced on a stool to crank the ice cream machine while Franny and the girls washed the dishes. Frankie invited Chase out­side and promptly began rolling a cigarette the moment they were on the porch. Recognizing the logo on Frankie's pouch as that of a fine tobacco, Chase had to swallow back questions and more than a little outrage. Frankie was plenty old enough to assume the responsi­bilities of a man, yet he was still attending school, tak­ing advanced mathematics in preparation for college under the guidance of a special tutor, which left the support of his mother and siblings to his sister. Some­thing about this picture left a bad taste in Chase's mouth. Did the boy have any inkling of how much his sister had sacrificed to provide the money he so thought­lessly squandered? Expensive tobacco, indeed. If the boy wanted to indulge, he should pay for his own habit.

  Chase couldn't help but recall the threadbare dresses and scuffed shoes Franny wore for everyday back in Wolf's Landing. Yet her family wore only the best? The house was modest of structure, but the interior was nicely done, the furnishings far from shabby. Some­thing about all of this seemed way off plumb to him. Way off plumb. He was dying to get Franny alone so he might ask why she didn't insist Frankie and Alaina quit school and work so she might seek other employment.

  In a family the size of the Grahams', Chase soon realized that moments of privacy were a commodity in short supply. The moment the ice cream was ready, Franny cut and served birthday cake, which got the party festivities off into full swing.

  Spying a horsehair chair in one corner, Chase retreated to it so he might observe without intruding.

  Franny . . .

  Seeing her in this setting with her family, Chase could scarcely believe she was the same reserved young woman he had come to know. Here, she had no fear of being recognized, a paranoia he now understood was to protect her family from scandal. Her laughter came easily and rang through the house as sweetly as a melody. Her gentle patience with her mother and Jason told Chase more about her than she could know, not only that she was as sweet within as she was without, but that she was loving and loyal to a fault.

  Those two qualities had obviously led her into a life as a prostitute, the ultimate sacrifice any young woman could make. But what other recourse had there been? Mary Graham, for all that she clearly loved her chil­dren, was blind and unable to shoulder the responsibil­ity for their care. Unlike many widows, she hadn't been in a position to remarry. Not many men were willing to take on a blind wife with a ready-made family this size. The financial burden alone would be a deterrent.

  That thought made Chase's stomach tighten. How blithely he had pursued Franny, thinking to rescue her from the life she led. Now he realized it wasn't quite that simple. To assume responsibility for Franny, he would also have to assume responsibility for her family. The monthly outlay for food and lodging alone would be considerable. Chase suspected a child such as Jason probably incurred extraordinary medical costs. The man who took on this challenge would do well to make ends meet. Things like buying tracts of timberland would be out of the question.

  In that moment it struck Chase how impossible a sit­uation this was. On his own, with only himself to worry about, his future looked bright. He could reach for the moon and stood a damned good chance of attaining it. If he married Franny, he could kiss his dreams good-bye.

  One life in exchange for eight; that was the sacrifice Franny had made. As noble as that was, it was also a shameful waste. Leaning over Alaina as the girl opened her gifts, Franny looked so sweet and beautiful, every man's dream, with her gentle smile and shimmering green eyes. She deserved so much more than she had, so very much more. And Chase yearned to give it to her.

  When Alaina opened her gift from Franny, Chase instantly recognized the pink lacy dress as the one he had seen on Franny's sewing table. The girl gave a squeal of delight and danced about the parlor, holding the gown pressed against her.

  "Oh, Franny, it's so beautiful! I just love it."

  Chase's gaze shifted from Alaina and her new dress to Franny's attire. Her rose pink, lightweight cotton blouse had stylish ruffled caps at the sleeves and ruffles at the waist. Her wool skirt, cut on the bias to flow gracefully from her hips to the floor, was a deeper rose. In contrast to her golden hair, the blend of colors put him in mind of rose petals and sunlight. It was a pretty outfit and of the latest fashion, unlike the drab, thread­bare rags she usually wore. Chase suspected that she set aside special clothing to wear only at home so her family would never guess the truth, that she did with­out herself so none of them would be deprived.

  After Alaina finished opening all her gifts, Chase was once again invited to join Frankie outside on the steps for a smoke. Though he enjoyed his tobacco as much as the next man, Chase had been raised by a father who usually helped with kitchen chores, and he found Frankie's aversion to "woman's work" irritating. Despite his grown-up airs, the boy had a lot of matur­ing to do, in Chase's estimation, and the sooner he got that behind him, the better for Franny.

  Unable to resist having a little fun at Frankie's expense, Chase regarded the youth's handsome profile for a moment. "You know, Frankie, I'd swear we've met before today."

  The boy's blue eyes filled with puzzlement. Taking a deep drag from his freshly rolled smoke, he exhaled and said, "Really? If we have, I don't recollect it."

  Enjoying himself immensely, Chase pretended to ponder the past. Finally he shook his head. "I know I've met you. I guess it'll come to me sooner or later."

  A few minutes after that when he and Frankie reen­tered the house, Chase waited for a lapse in conversa­tion, snapped his fingers, and said, "I have it!"

  "You have what?" Turning from the sink, Franny fastened curious green eyes on him.

  Chase clapped Frankie on the back. "Where I met Frankie." He gave a knowing laugh. "You young rascal, you. It's quite a ride to Wolf's Landing for a Saturday evening at the saloon. I'm surprised you ventured that far afield."

  The ensuing silence that fell over the room seemed deafening. Frankie's face turned scarlet. "Wolf's Land­ing? I'm afraid you're—"

  Interrupting him, Chase said, "I knew it'd come to me eventually. Where I'd seen you, I mean." At Frankie's agonized expression, Chase cast a quick glance toward his mother. "Oh, say, old man. I didn't mean to—well, you know. I thought that—" Chase cleared his throat and did his best to look embarrassed. "What with you being the man of the house and all, I figured you were past having to—hey, I didn't mean to let the cat out of the bag."

  "Frankie?" Mary said softly. "What were you doing in Wolf's Landing? The only reason I can think of would be to visit your sister, and you know very well Mrs. Belle forbids her to have callers at her home."

  Frankie squirmed. "I, um, went to Wolf's Landing with some friends of mine, Ma."

  "To the saloon?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "With which friends?"

  "Just some fellows from school."

  Chase sneaked a glance at Franny. To his relief, her eyes were twinkling, and he could see she was strug­gling not to laugh. Pressing her lips together, she assumed a disapproving expression as she folded the dish towel and hung it on the rack. "The saloon in Wolf's Landing is no place for boys your age, Frankie," she scolded. "I've heard the gossip about that place, and I happ
en to know there are women of ill repute in residence upstairs."

  Mary gasped. Frankie's face flushed a deeper shade of crimson.

  Chase decided now would be a circumspect time to make his exit. Giving Frankie another apologetic pat on the back, he bid Mrs. Graham a polite good-bye, thank­ing her for including him in the birthday festivities and expressing his regret that he couldn't stay longer.

  "It's a long ride back," he explained, "and I'd like to get most of it behind me before it turns dark."

  Like a queen from her throne, Mary Graham held out her hand for Chase to take. He smiled slightly at the gesture, aware that it was born more from necessi­ty than any illusions of grandeur. The woman couldn't see and had learned ways in which to compensate. By extending her hand expectantly, she prompted people to grasp it and thereby avoided any clumsy groping. Chase found her manner endearing, the earmarks of a woman who hadn't been beaten by her affliction and probably never would.

  "I'll walk you out," Franny said as he drew his hat from off the rack. "Please excuse me for a few minutes, Mamma. I shall be back shortly."

  Chase had tethered his horse at the water trough. Franny fell in beside him as he descended the porch steps and struck off in that direction. She waited until they were well out of earshot of the house before speaking.

  "Well, are you finally satisfied?"

  Chase heard the bitterness in her voice and knew he had it coming. Now that he had met her family, he could better understand her penchant for secrecy. "I'm sorry, Franny. When I saw you leaving town again yes­terday, I couldn't resist following you."