She stepped into the middle of the red-faced, screaming people. “Zachary,” she said, in a voice that was at once cool and commanding. Startled, they all stopped to look at her.
“Zachary, you will come with me and we will wash you. Mr. Fenton, you will call your carriage and return to your home. You may send flowers of apology later. And you, Pamela, may go upstairs to your room and bathe your wrists with cologne and lie down.”
She stood there quite still, her hand outstretched to Zachary, until Pam and Jacob moved to obey her. Meekly, the boy took her hand and followed her into the kitchen. He was much too old to allow a woman to wash his face and hands, but he sat there quietly and let her tend to him as if he were four. After a few minutes, he began telling her about the fight.
“I think you were perfectly right to defend your father,” Houston said.
Zach’s mouth dropped open. “But I thought you didn’t like him anymore.”
“Adults fight differently than children do. Now, put on a clean shirt and you and I will visit Ian.”
“That bas—,” Zach began but cut himself off. “I never want to see him again.”
“You will see him again,” she said, leaning forward until they were nose to nose.
“Yes, ma’am,” was Zach’s answer.
Houston and Zachary spent hours with Edan and the rest of the Taggerts. Houston felt as if she’d stepped into the middle of someone’s honeymoon, as Jean and Edan kept giving each other looks when they thought no one else was looking.
Sherwin took over the boys and had them both in the back garden pulling weeds and moving rocks. By the time Houston and Zach returned home, he was too tired to be angry at anyone, and he and Ian had a date tomorrow to play baseball with some of the town boys, all of whom Houston had called and invited.
When at last she’d climbed into bed, after having heard Pam’s three apologies and four thanks, she was exhausted. On the table by the bed was a vase of two dozen red roses from Jacob Fenton to “Lady” Houston.
Now, she was still tired as she ran to catch the streetcar before the rain began again.
She was nearly at the corner, approaching the Chandler Opera House, when thunder cracked, the skies opened and the rain began—and a hand pulled her into the alleyway. Houston’s scream was covered by the thunder.
“You’ll have ever’body in here if you don’t be quiet,” Kane said, his hand over her mouth. “It’s just me, an’ all I wanta do is talk to you for a minute.”
Houston glared at him through the rain that was running down her face.
“This is the same place that I pulled you in that first time, you remember? I asked you why you’d defended me to that bad-tempered little woman. This is sorta like an anniversary, ain’t it?”
His face softened as he spoke and, as he let his hand on her mouth relax, Houston let out a scream to wake the dead. Unfortunately, the rain covered her scream, and the people within hearing distance had moved indoors.
“Damn you, Houston!” Kane said, replacing his hand. “What’s wrong with you? All I wanta do is talk. I’m gonna take my hand away and if you scream I’ll stop you. You understand me?”
Houston nodded, but the moment he released her, she pivoted on her left foot and started out of the alleyway. Kane, with a curse of disbelief, made a grab for her and the stitching at the waistband of her dress tore away.
Houston turned back to him, her face furious as she looked down at her dress, now attached only for a few inches at the front. “Can’t you ever listen to what a person says? I don’t want
to talk to you. If I did, I’d be living with you,” she shouted above the rain. “I want to go home. I don’t care if I never see you again.”
As she again turned to leave, Kane reached out for her. “Houston, wait. I have somethin’ I wanta say.”
“Use the telephone,” she said over her shoulder.
“You little bitch,” Kane said through clenched teeth. “You’re gonna listen to me, no matter what I have to do.”
He made a grab for her, succeeded in pulling the rest of her skirt away and they both fell into the mud that was about three inches of soft ooze from several days of rain. Houston fell on the bottom, burying her face in the wetness, while Kane, on top, remained relatively clean.
Houston managed to lift the upper half of her body out of the sucking mud. “Get off of me,” she said, her lips closed to prevent the mud from entering her mouth.
Kane rolled to one side. “Houston, honey, I didn’t mean to hurt you. All I wanted was to talk to you.”
Houston turned so she was sitting up in the mud, but didn’t try to rise as she used her skirt, now completely torn loose and hanging about her hips, to wipe some of the filth from her face. “You never mean to hurt anyone,” she said. “You just do whatever you want, no matter who gets in your way.”
He was grinning at her. “You know, you look pretty, even like that.”