Mae: Book Six: The Cattleman's Daughters Page 2

  Mae jumped and began pulling her ebony locks into a twist, but no matter how many times she tried to tuck them back into her cap, the silken tresses slipped free of the pins, spilling around her shoulders once more.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Jemma,” Mae said, frustration making her voice sharp, “it just won’t go in.”

  “Let me,” the young woman next to her smiled softly and lifted her hands as if in supplication. “I’m Melissa, by the way, Melissa Middleton.” Her smile brightened Mae’s mood.

  “Thank you,” she offered, turning her back to her new companion.

  “You have the most beautiful hair,” the girl spoke again, this time lifting several strands of the unruly mop and tucking them under the hat, twining them with a pin, then starting again. “It’s so thick,” the girl sighed, “not like mine.”

  Mae twisted in her seat to look at the other girl. “But your hair is stunning, it’s gold like the sun.” Mae couldn’t believe anyone with hair as lovely as Melissa’s could grumble about it.

  “If you say so,” the girl replied. “It’s just very fine.”

  “My hair was gold,” Jemma spoke absently as if to no one. The girls exchanged a look but wisely stayed quiet.

  “There, I’m afraid it will have to do until your lady’s maid can set it right.”

  “It was so much easier at home,” Mae mused, “I simply wore it down or in a braid…” she cut her sentence short at the look on Jemma’s face.

  “Where are you from?” Melissa brightened with curiosity.

  “My niece has come from Wyoming state, to study and learn what it means to be a lady,” Jemma’s sharp eyes glittered like shards of blue ice. “My brother has a prosperous ranch in that region.”

  Melissa Middleton looked at the young woman next to her, her head full of questions about the wild frontier, but when she looked at Mrs. Johnson something told her that now was not the time to ask them.

  “How lovely for you,” she said, smiling again. “I hope you’re enjoying your time in Boston?”

  Mae dropped her eyes, not sure how to respond. She didn’t want to complain; she knew her father had sent her here to improve herself, to be refined, but oh how she missed home.

  “I’ve been ever so busy learning new… skills,” Mae spoke carefully, “I haven’t had much time to see the city yet, but I’m sure I’ll love it once I do.” There, she’d been very civil and judging by the tilt of her aunt’s head, she hadn’t misspoken for a change.

  Melissa Middleton giggled. “You’ll have a wonderful time,” she said brightly. “I’ll make sure of it.” She squeezed Mae’s hand, smiling vapidly at the matron only inches away.

  The carriage turned off of the street and started up a gently curving drive through stiff iron gates. A stone wall surrounded the property and a large modern Victorian house stood on the pinnacle of the hill. It could have been a pretty home with its high turret and gingerbread trim, but the heavy trees and dark rust and gold colors that decorated it made it seem brooding and aloof.

  Melissa wiggled in her seat. She’d been to dozens of such homes in her lifetime, but she found herself squeezing the hand of the girl next to her for reassurance just the same.

  “Tea, Mr. Carver,” Jemma Johnson spoke as she entered the wide foyer of the home, peeling off her gloves and dropping them in the outstretched hand of the butler. “In the formal parlor, I think.” She glanced back over her shoulder to see that the girls were following. “Mae, go see to your hair,” she added, sweeping away toward dark sliding doors.

  “Yes, Aunt Jemma,” Mae’s voice was flat.

  “Miss Middleton, will you accompany me?” Jemma asked, politeness dripping from every word.

  “Oh, I’d love to, but might I go along and see how Mae fixes her hair? I’m sure it will only take a minute.” She smiled and tittered.

  Mae gazed at the lovely young woman beside her and wondered if she was as simple as she seemed.

  “What a good idea,” Jemma said, her smile stiff. “It will give you time to freshen up.”

  Mae repressed the urge to gallop up the stairs to her room instead taking them one at a time, in what she hoped was a stately manner.

  “What a splendid house,” Melissa said, as together they ascended to the second floor.

  “Miss Mae!” a voice called from a room at the end of the long corridor as they reached the top of the central staircase. A young maid, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years of age started, then curtsied. “Sorry Miss, I didn’t know you had company.” Again, she dipped before them.

  “Ginny, Aunt Jemma said you’re to fix my hair before I go down for tea. I’m afraid I’ve made quite a mess of it.”

  “Yes, Miss,” the girl called Ginny answered stiffly, her rusty, gold hair bobbing in its tight bun.

  Together Mae and Melissa stepped through the door of Mae’s room, and immediately Melissa transformed.

  “Heavens, what a stuffy old woman your aunt is,” she stated, plopping down on the settee at the foot of a dark oaken bed and removing her gloves. “Is she always like that?”

  Mae studied the young woman a few moments, then nodded. “She wants everything to be just right.”

  “It must get terribly boring,” Melissa said. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. We are of an age and we should be friends. Besides, you saved my life.”

  The sound of a brush clattering to the floor made them both turn to see Ginny wide-eyed and staring.

  Smiling, Mae stepped over to the girl, picked up the brush and handed it to her. “It was nothing, Ginny. Now quickly put my hair back up properly before Aunt Jemma comes looking for us.”

  “Yes, Miss,” Ginny stuttered, guiding Mae to the bureau. “Let me take your hat and…” her work quickly consumed her, concentration bringing silence.

  Mae watched in the mirror as Melissa stood and strolled around the room. “It really is a nice house,” the blonde woman stated. “A bit stuffy, perhaps, but lovely.”

  Smiling, she walked up behind Mae, meeting her eyes in the mirror, her soft, green gaze cheerful. Mae couldn’t help but smile.

  “Can we truly be friends?” Mae’s dark eyes implored. “I’m afraid I don’t know anyone in this city but my aunt.”

  “We’ll be the best of friends. I just know it,” Melissa said, laying a hand on Mae’s shoulder. “I’ll talk to Papa and you can come for a visit. We’ll have so many adventures.” She tittered at the end, tossing her head back and turning on the spot.

  Mae smiled for the first time in what seemed like ages, her heart feeling light. She would have a friend, a real friend to call her very own. She’d been so lonely, especially since her cousin Sean had stopped coming to visit.

  “How long have you been in Boston?” Melissa asked, looking around the room at the dark wallpaper and heavy blue drapes. “You know, this room doesn’t suit you at all.”

  Mae blinked, wondering what to say first. “I’ve been in Boston nearly three months now, but Aunt Jemma felt I needed to, uhm, study and learn a few things before I came out.”

  A sudden tap on the door interrupted their conversation and another maid stepped through the door. “Tea is served, ma’am,” the darker woman spoke, curtsied, and left without a backward glance.

  “We’d better hurry,” Mae said, turning back to the mirror.

  “All done, Miss Mae,” the young woman called Ginny smiled, patting the last strand into place.

  The formal parlor was just what Melissa expected: a large square room set with plush, fashionable furniture and small tables. Brocade gold wallpaper extended to a high ceiling. Once again she thought that the room could be lovely if it weren’t so formal, if every piece of furniture had not been purchased for fashion’s sake.

  “There you are, girls,” Jemma Johnson smiled, tilting her head politely. “Won’t you have a seat?”

  Together the young ladies, as different in appearance as they could possibly be, walked to the settee and sat, carefully folding their ankles under them and acc
epting the cups offered.

  “Now, Miss Middleton, won’t you tell us a little about yourself?” Jemma asked, lifting a fragile gold and green cup to her lips. “I may know your family.”

  Mae watched as her new friend delicately lifted the proffered cup and sipped from it.

  “Oh, we’ve been in Boston forever,” the girl said, her green eyes bright. “My father is the owner of some sort of trading agency; it’s been in the family for ages.”

  Mae noted the hungry look in her aunt’s eyes and she wondered what it could mean.

  “Delightful,” Jemma said, a smile touching her lips. “I hope you’ve recovered from your fright,” she offered, her voice utter politeness. “Sandwich?"

  “Thank you," Miss Middleton said, lifting a triangle from the plate. "I’m so thankful you were both in the park today. Without a doubt your niece saved my life. It was a complete miracle, I’m sure of it.”

  “Well, Mae can be rather daring,” Jemma’s comment felt like an accusation.

  “We’ve decided we’re going to be the best of friends, haven’t we, Mae?” Melissa reached out a hand, laying it on Mae’s arm. Her cheerful voice had returned, so unlike the way she’d spoken in private.

  “Yes, of course,” Mae’s voice was soft strained. Please let it be true, she whispered in her heart.

  “That will be splendid, won’t it Mae?” Her aunt’s blue gaze made Mae shiver.

  “Yes, Auntie, Melissa and I will be true friends.”

  “Mr. Middleton.” The butler, Mr. Carver’s voice shot through the room, softly drawing their attention even as young Mr. Middleton himself stepped into the parlor.

  “Good afternoon,” the man called Reese said, handing his hat to the butler. “I came as quickly as I could.” He tipped his head to the ladies.

  “Already?” Melissa pouted at her brother, her green eyes imploring his. Their eyes were so alike.

  Reese Middleton looked about the room. It was everything he hated about Boston society. It was soft, and plush and gaudy, more form than function.

  His eyes came to rest on the young woman who so recently had saved his sister. She sat on the edge of the settee next to his sister, her raven locks a harsh contrast to his sister’s gold. Her eyes, wide, nearly black and almond shaped, met his and his heart skipped a beat.

  “Perhaps I could take tea with you,” he said, moving to a low chair near the settee. He caught his sister’s soft gasp that she covered with a gentle clearing of her throat, and he darted her a warning glare.

  “Oh, how lovely,” Jemma said, rising and pulling a chain near the mantle.

  “Another cup for Mr. Middleton,” she simpered as the butler re-entered. “Perhaps some extra cakes?” she queried, looking to her guests.

  “Thank you,” Reese Middleton smiled, his eyes still on Mae.

  Chapter 3

  Boston, Massachusetts April 1891

  "Miss Mae? Miss Mae?" Ginny shook Mae's arm, pulling her out of her thoughts. "You do day dream so," the girl complained.

  "Sorry Ginny, I'm just so excited," Mae said, examining her hair in the mirror. Somehow Ginny had managed to pile the black locks in an intricate knot on the top of her head, while leaving tiny strands loose, framing her face. The woman, though young, was a wonder with hair.

  The woman curled these strands with a hot iron, creating a sense of softness to Mae's countenance and making her feel pretty. The curls wouldn't last an hour in her straight tresses, but for now they were lovely.

  "We need to get you into your dress, Miss," Ginny chided again. "You don't want to be late."

  Together they turned to look at the white confection of satin and lace hanging from the wardrobe door. To say the gown was elegant, with its short puffy sleeves and V shaped bodice, was an understatement.

  "I still think you should have had red," Ginny pronounced, lifting the gauzy dress from its hanger and raising it over Mae's head. "With your white skin and black hair, red is your color; it makes you glow."

  Mae smiled at the woman's statement. "Red is my Ye... my great-grandfather’s favorite color," she said, remembering not to use the Chinese term of endearment. No one in Boston knew that her mother had been half Chinese, and Aunt Jemma assured her that it would only complicate things if they did.

  "He's a wise man," Ginny retorted, buttoning the tiny row of hook and eye pearl beads up Mae's back.

  The sound of voices below drew their attention. "Oh do hurry!" Ginny huffed. "Here, put these on." She handed Mae a pair white slippers.

  The shoes had a small heel and Mae groaned. "I'll break my ankle in these," she said, slipping them on.

  "You'll do no such thing. You've been practicing for days how to walk in those, so I'll have no nonsense about broken ankles." The girl glared at her and Mae impulsively pulled the maid in for a hug.

  "What would I do without you, Ginny?" she said, stepping back and smoothing her gown before turning to examine herself in the mirror.

  "Probably wander around in britches and an old coat," Ginny said smiling, then blushed as Mae plunged her small hand into the bodice of her dress and fluffed the ruffles sewn there, trying to encourage even a tiny bit of cleavage.

  "I feel like I'm cheating somehow," Mae said finishing her task. "There. I don't think I'll ever get over the size of these skirts," she added with a sigh, smoothing the layers of satin. In contrast to her small waist, they seemed voluminous.

  "Get down stairs," Ginny snapped. "Ms. Johnson will have my ears if you're late."

  Mae hugged the young woman again, then flounced through the door. She could hear voices below and paused at the head of the stairs to see who might be arriving.

  A stodgy looking older man with a receding hairline was moving into the parlor as she began to descend to the lower floor. Mae recognized him from one of her aunt’s dinner parties, but couldn’t recall his name.

  Mae was concentrating so much on walking properly that she didn't notice the next guest’s arrival until Mellissa Middleton squealed and raced toward her. All thoughts of a regal entrance evaporated as she lifted her skirts and scurried down toward her friend.

  "Mae, you look stunning!" the other girl exclaimed. "An absolute vision."

  "Me? Look at you, Mel. You're the belle of the ball," Mae gushed, taking in the soft chiffon green of her friend’s elegant dress that set her eyes to sparkling. The color accentuated every aspect of Mel's complexion. Her green eyes dazzled like gems, her alabaster skin seemed to glow and her golden locks, tucked high on her head, shimmered in the late afternoon light.

  "You both look beautiful," Reese's smooth tones reached them as he stepped into the hall, and Mae looked down on her friend's brother with a smile.

  "Thank you for bringing Mel tonight," she said, taking Melissa's hand and walking the rest of the way down the stairs. "I'm so pleased she could come." Mae's eyes twinkled with merriment as she squeezed Mel's hand.

  "We wouldn't have missed it for the world," Reese replied, looking her up and down as he handed his hat off to Mr. Carver, the gray-haired butler. "Shall we?" he offered, lifting his elbows, one for each girl.

  "Oh look there's Maddison Smith," Melissa said as they entered the parlor, releasing her brother’s arm and reaching for Mae's. In a moment both girls had left him alone as they floated across the room to their friend.

  Reese sighed as he watched them go. He and Melissa had met Mae James nearly a year ago, and he still couldn't figure the young woman out. He’d spent hours and hours in their company, yet she seemed to barely notice him.

  “Abandoned so soon?” A deep voice drew his attention and he turned to see the man who had entered the party as they arrived.

  “My sister and Miss James are great friends,” he said, looking the man up and down. “Reese Middleton,” he added, offering his hand.

  “Jackson Wilms,” the man responded politely, his eyes straying to where Melissa and Mae were chatting with a group of friends.

  Reese studied the man even as he took his h
and. The handshake was limp and flaccid. Mr. Wilms wasn’t a tall man, perhaps only five-six or seven, and had a substantial paunch under his elegant waistcoat and dining jacket. His face was round, his hair receding, and his eyes droopy.

  To Reese, the older man’s appearance spoke of over-indulgence and dissipation, something he’d seen too much of among the wealthy of Boston.

  “So you are a friend of the family, then?” Wilms asked. “Have you known Mrs. Johnson long?”

  “Not overly so, as I said my sister is a close friend of Mrs. Johnson’s niece.”

  “Miss James seems a spunky little thing, doesn’t she?” Mr. Wilms’ words seemed harmless, yet they made the hackles on Reese’s neck stand on end. There was just something about the man that set him on edge.

  “She’s a delightful and cheerful companion for my sister,” Reese replied noncommittally. “If you will excuse me, I believe my sister is looking for me.” With that he strode off toward the group of young women.

  “Ladies,” Reese spoke as he approached, offering them his most charming smile. Miss Smith tittered at the unexpected attention. Reese was all too familiar with this response, but held the smile anyway.

  “Reese,” Melissa beamed at her older brother. “We’re off to the refreshments table, won’t you accompany us?” She smiled up at him, a gleam in her eye, and he wondered what she was up to.

  “Of course. If you’ll excuse us, ladies.” He nodded to Miss Smith and her companions, who darted a scowl at Melissa and Mae as they once more took his arm.

  “Madison is a lovely young woman, don’t you agree Reese?” Mel spoke, drawing his attention.

  “Yes, of course,” he said absently, his eyes straying back to Mae who seemed to be trying to take in everything at once.

  “Unfortunately, she’s rather a bore,” Mel added, pinching her brother’s arm.

  “Ouch!” he proclaimed, looking at her with surprise, and then catching the mischief in her eyes.

  “Everything is so lovely,” Mae mused. “Everyone so elegant, and just look at the food. It’s like art.”