He finally realized that Luther was unconscious at his feet. He shook his head.
“What’s going on here, James?” Oliver Warfield shook him again. “Why the hell did you beat Luther up?”
“What the devil do you mean? You’re her damned father, for God’s sake. He was forcing himself on her, Oliver. He made her stand still for it with a knife to her throat. Ask
her yourself.”
“I can’t ask her, James. She’s gone.”
Luther was sitting up now, shaking his head. “I was just taking what she offered, James,” he said, and whimpered when James took a step forward.
“Stop it, James! Look at your hands. Your knuckles are bleeding.”
“It’s true, Mr. Warfield,” Luther said, seeing possible help from Jessie’s own father. “Your daughter acts just like a man, and she wears those tight trousers. All of you know she’s just asking for it. Well, she gave it to Wyndham last night. It was my turn, that’s all. You, Sam, you told me you wanted her, too. Don’t you remember? We flipped a coin to see who would get her first.”
“My God,” Oliver Warfield said. He jumped on Luther, pounding him in the belly with his fists. James managed to pull him off. “My God,” Oliver said again. He shook his head and walked away.
James strode after him. “Oliver, wait. Dammit, we’ve got to do something.”
Oliver stopped. He turned and looked at James, silent for a very long time. Then he shrugged. “You walked away from her last night. What do you expect me to do today? You want me to beat up a dozen men? Is that what you plan to do?”
“I don’t know,” James said slowly. He felt more helpless than he had when he’d been dragged by a huge black stallion for fifty yards. “I just thought it was all nonsense, just as Jessie did. I couldn’t imagine anyone believing that Jessie and I would be making love in the Blanchards’ garden.”
“Folks love scandal. If it isn’t real, they’ll tug on it and jerk on it and mold it about until it’s real enough to hurt a person really bad. You had a good day, James. You beat Jessie in all three races. If you don’t mind, I’d just as soon not come to Marathon tonight with that God-awful champagne you like so much.”
He turned and walked away.
James just stared after him. He felt swamped with guilt and anger. None of it was his fault. Damn Glenda and her wretched mother. And curses upon Jessie’s head as well. If she hadn’t interfered, well . . . actually, if she hadn’t been up in that elm tree with a gun, he would have been dead and none the wiser today for it.
Glenda came into Jessie’s room without knocking. At first she didn’t see her sister. She rarely visited this particular bedchamber. Indeed, she hadn’t been inside for some three or four years, since she was young and tended to idolize her older sister until she’d learned that Jessie was peculiar. Since Glenda was a lady born and bred, she couldn’t afford to pay any attention at all to this strange female who just happened to share her parents with her. The room wasn’t all that large; indeed, it was a bit smaller than Glenda’s bedchamber. But what it had that Glenda’s didn’t have was a nearly full wall of windows that faced west. Precious Baltimore sunlight streamed into the room, so bright it hurt the eyes to look directly into it. There were no draperies. None at all, which of course wasn’t the right thing. Glenda wondered if her mother knew that Jessie had removed them. Other than that ghastly bright sunlight, there was only a bed, a large armoire, and a small writing desk. There was no vanity table. There was, Glenda remembered, a long skinny mirror on the inside of the armoire.
“What do you want, Glenda?”
“Ah, Jessie, there you are. I didn’t see you sitting there in that window seat. The sun’s so bright. I just wanted to speak to you for a moment.”
“Yes?” Jessie didn’t move. She was tired, was sore from her adventure of the previous night, and bruised and battered from the five races she’d ridden in today. The knife cut on her throat throbbed gently. She’d bandaged it herself and loosely wrapped a colorful scarf around the bandage.
“Mother asked me to come tell you that you shouldn’t come to church with us tomorrow. Not after what happened today. Mother doesn’t think it wise for you to show yourself for a while. She said that if the men were trying to get at you, the ladies would shred you.”
“Shred me?”
“Yes. Mother says that ladies swoop down on their own sex with more abandon and joy than an army of men. She said they’d make hash out of you and shred you.”
“Mother didn’t send you, Glenda. Doubtless she doesn’t want me with you tomorrow, but I’m sure she’ll come to tell me herself. Now, what do you want?”
“I want you to go to Aunt Dorothy in New York City. If you ask Papa, he’ll send you as soon as possible.”
Aunt Dorothy, her father’s younger sister, was as gracious as a mad dog, more pious than a reformer, the widow of a minister of too ample means. She’d terrified all three Warfield sisters since they’d been born. Jessie had overheard her father telling her mother once that he never doubted his brother-in-law’s money came from stealing half the money in the tithing plate every single Sunday.
“I would rather die than go to Aunt Dorothy. You know what she’s like, Glenda.”
“Yes, but what else can you do? If you go out of the house, men will think they can take you at their whim. They believe you’re a slut, that James has already had you. The ladies will shred you. I heard Papa say he couldn’t allow you to race anymore. You’re ruined, Jessie. It’s that simple. You must leave.”
“If I leave, then you and mother will somehow try to trap James again into marriage.”
“It’s none of your affair. Oh yes, I realized last night that you were there because you’d eavesdropped on us. You were there to keep me from having James. I deserve James and I’ll have him.”
“He doesn’t deserve you, Glenda.”