Tracie Peterson (28 page)

“Can you carry it all or should I call for your friends?”

“Ain’t no friends. Them’s my brothers Willy and Sam,” one little boy replied.

“Well,” Darlene said, opening the door, “would you like for them to come and help?”

“No, ma’am,” the oldest boy of the group announced. He had the remains of a black eye still showing against his pale white face. “We can carry it.” And this they did. The children each took responsibility for some article with the youngest delegated to carrying the candy sack.

“I’ll see you next week,” Darlene said and waved to the elusive Willy and Sam. They didn’t wave back, but Darlene knew they saw her generosity. How sad they were trudging off in the filthy snow. Little feet making barefoot tracks. Silent reminders of the children’s plight. Darlene wanted to cry whenever she saw them. No matter what she did for them it was never enough. Scraps of material and sweets wouldn’t provide a roof over their heads and warmth when the night winds blew fierce.
How could God allow such things?
she wondered. How could she?

Without willing it to be there, the image of Pierce Blackwell filled her mind. She wondered if the Blackwells in all their finery and luxury ever considered the poor. The Valentine’s ball Pierce and his father would attend was purported to be for charity. Would children like these know the benefits of such a gala event or would the rich simply line their pockets, pay their revelry expenses and advertise for yet another charity ball?

The children had passed from view now and only their footprints in the snow remained to show that they’d ever been there at all. Noting the fading light, Darlene rushed to close the door and get back to her work. There was still so much to do in order to be idle on the Sabbath.

An hour later, Darlene breathed a sigh of relief and brought two braided
Hallah
loaves to the table. Stowing images of the ragged children and Pierce Blackwell away from her mind, Darlene set her thoughts to those of her
Shabbes
duties. She could hear her father puttering in his bedroom and had a keen sense that in spite of her worries, all was well. Taking down long, white candles in ornate silver holders, Darlene placed them on the table and went to the stove. In a small container beside the stove, long slivered pieces of kindling were the perfect means for lighting the
Shabbes
candles. Darlene came to the table with one of these and after lighting the candles, blew out the stick. Then with a circular wave of her hands as if pulling in the scent from the candles, she covered her eyes and recited the ritual prayer.

“Baruch ata Adonai, eloheinu melech ha-olam, ahser kiddeshanu bemitzvotav, vetsivianu le’hadlik ner shel Shabbos
—Blessed art thou, Oh Lord, who sanctifies us by His commandments, and commands us to light the Sabbath lights.”

Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.
M
ATTHEW
7:20

P
ierce lightly fingered the edge of a starfish shell and waited for his name to be called. He hated with all of his being the very fact that he was seated in the City Hotel ballroom, waiting to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. What would happen if Aunt Eugenia failed to top the bidding and buy him out of harm’s way? Then again, what if Aunt Eugenia’s way was one and the same?

The City Hotel’s ballroom had been transformed into a lush underwater world. Heavy blue nets hung overhead to give the illusion of being underwater with a greedy fisherman hovering dangerously overhead. Many considered it pure genius to compare catching an eligible bachelor to amassing a good catch of fish, but Pierce wasn’t among their numbers. He was literally checking his pocket watch every fifteen minutes and remained completely bored by the entire event.

“And bachelor number twelve is Pierce Blackwell. Mr. Blackwell, please come forward.”

Pierce sighed, adjusted his new coat, and went up to the raised platform where he would be auctioned to the highest bidder. Putting on his most dazzling smile, Pierce pretended to be caught up in the evening’s amusements.

“Pierce is with us after a three-year absence in Europe, and the ladies here tonight are no doubt in the best of luck to be a part of this gathering. As you can see, Mr. Blackwell would make an admirable suitor for any eligible young woman.” Giggles sounded from the ladies in the audience.

“The bidding will open at one hundred dollars,” the speaker began.

A portly matron in the front waved her fan and started the game. Pierce remained fixed with the facade of congeniality plastered on his face. He nodded to each woman with a brilliant smile that he was certain wouldn’t betray his anguish.

“The bid is at eight hundred dollars.” The crowd ooohed and ahhhed. The heavy-set woman holding the eight hundred dollar bid blushed profusely and fanned herself continuously.

“One thousand dollars,” Eugenia Blackwell Morgan announced and a hush fell across the room. She stepped forward in a heavy gown of burgundy brocade. Multiple strands of pearls encircled her throat and in her hand she held an elaborate ivory fan. She cut a handsome figure and appeared to know it full well. Pierce personally knew many men who would love to pay her court—if she was a less intimidating woman.

“The bid has been raised to one thousand dollars. Do I hear one thousand, one hundred?” Silence remained and there was not one movement among the bidding women. Pierce wondered if by prior arrangement, Eugenia had forbid any of them to outbid her.

“Then the bid is concluded at one thousand dollars.” Applause filled the air and Pierce bowed low as he knew he was expected to do.

Stepping down from the platform, he went to his aunt and bowed low once again. “Madam,” he said in a most formal tone.

“Oh, bother with you,” Eugenia said, and swatted him with her fan. “Come along.”

Pierce offered his arm and Eugenia took it without a word. Although it was proper for a gentleman to lead a lady, Eugenia clearly made their way through the crowd to the table she had reserved to be her own. Sitting there waiting was an incredibly beautiful young woman. Her thick dark hair reminded Pierce of Darlene, but that was where the similarities ended. The haughty smile, sharply arched brows, and icy-blue eyes of the woman clearly drove the image of Darlene from his mind.

“Pierce, this is Amanda Ralston. She is the only daughter of Benjamin Ralston.”

Pierce bowed before the woman and received her curt little nod. “Your servant,” he said and looked to his aunt for some clue as to how the game was to be played.

“No doubt you are familiar with her father’s name and their family,” Eugenia said with pale, tight lips. “I will leave you two to discuss matters of importance and to dance the night away.”

Inwardly, Pierce groaned. Outwardly, he extended his arm. “Would you care for some refreshment? The bidding will no doubt continue for some time.”

With a coy, seductive smile, Amanda put her gloved hand on Pierce’s arm. “Perhaps later. Why don’t you join me and tell me about your time in Europe?”

He took the chair opposite her. “What would you like to know?” He was evasive by nature and with this woman he felt even more of a need to maintain his privacy.

“You were away a very long time. Did you perhaps lose your heart to some young Parisian woman?”

Pierce’s expression didn’t change. “No, I simply had no reason to return to America.”

“No reason? There’s a fortune to be made in this country and men like you are the ones to do the making.”

Well,
thought Pierce,
she certainly has no trouble putting her thoughts into words.
“America did fine in my absence.”

She laughed a light, stilted laugh. “Mr. Blackwell, you do amaze me. This is a time of great adventure in America. A great deal of money is changing hands. Don’t you want to be a part of that?”

“Money changes from my hand all the time,” he replied smugly.

“Well, the more important thing is that it returns ten-fold,” she fairly purred.

Pierce thought of his land deals in Chicago and wondered if she’d swoon should he be as vulgar as to mention figures. She was clearly a woman looking out for her best interest and as far as Pierce was concerned, her interests were far removed from his.

“I find this conversation rather dull for a party,” Pierce finally spoke. “Surely a young woman of your caliber would rather discuss dances and debuts rather than banking ledgers.”

Amanda lifted her chin slightly in order to stare down her slender, well-shaped nose. “My father believes the banking system is doomed to fail. What say you to that, Mr. Blackwell?”

Pierce looked at her thoughtfully. She was incredibly beautiful. Maybe too much so. Her emerald-green gown was a bit risque for her age, at least by Pierce’s standards. Should Constance ever show up in such a gown, he’d be persuaded to throw a wrap about her shoulders. Amanda seemed fully comfortable, if not motivated by, the daring low decolletage of the gown. Her creamy-white shoulders glowed in the candlelight, while the ecru lacing of her gown urged his gaze to travel lower. Pierce refused to give in to the temptation and pulled his thoughts away from Amanda. Music was beginning at the far end of the ballroom. No doubt the auction was completed and now the dance could start again.

“Would you care to dance?” Pierce asked politely.

“I suppose it would be expected,” Amanda replied.

With the grace of a cat, Pierce was at her side. He helped her from the chair and led her across the room to where other couples were already enjoying the strains of a waltz. Pierce was not entirely certain he wished to waltz with Amanda. It was such a daring dance of holding one’s partner close and facing each other for a time of constant consideration. But, he’d been the one to open his mouth and bring her this far. He supposed there was little to do but carry through.

He whirled her into the circling dancers and tried not to think about the way dancing seemed to further expose her figure to his eyes. Didn’t she realize how blatantly obvious her assets were being admired by every man in the room?

“Perhaps,” he said a bit uncomfortably, “this gown was not intended for such dancing.”

Amanda looked at him with complete bewilderment. “Why, whatever do you mean, Mr. Blackwell?”

Pierce coughed, more from nervous energy than the need to clear his throat. “It’s just that the cut of your gown seems, well, a bit brief.”

Amanda’s laughter rang out in a melodious tinkling sound. “Why, Mr. Blackwell, that is the idea.”

Pierce felt his face grow flushed. There was no dealing politely with this woman. “Miss Ralston, I am not in the habit of keeping company with women whose sole purpose in designing a gown is that they should overexpose themselves to the world.”

“My father says that beautiful things should be admired,” she replied curtly. “Do you not think I’m beautiful?”

Pierce wanted to say no, but that would be a lie. “Yes, your countenance is lovely. Your spirit would raise some questions, however.”

“My, and what is that supposed to mean? Spirit? Why you sound as though you were some sort of stuffy reverend from the downtown cathedrals.”

Pierce turned her a bit too quickly, but he held her fast and she easily recovered the step. “I am a man of God, but not in the sense you suppose. I am of the Christian faith and I believe in women keeping themselves discreetly covered in public.”

“Ah, but what about in private?” She tripped and fell against him. Only then did Pierce realize it was deliberate. “Oh my, have I compromised you, Mr. Blackwell?” she asked with a hint of a giggle.

Pierce could stand no more. He set her back at arm’s length and admonished her. “If you cannot contain your enthusiasm for the dance, madam, perhaps I should lead you from the floor.”

“Remember, you’re mine for the evening. Charity and such, you know.” She was amused with his discomfort and it registered clearly on her face and in her voice.

Without warning, Pierce pulled her rudely from the circle of dancers. “It seems I’ve winded myself,” he said with a look that challenged her to suggest otherwise. “I’ll take you back to our table.”

She said nothing as he escorted her back and only after she had been seated did Pierce excuse himself to bring back refreshments. “I won’t be a moment,” he promised and left her very clearly alone.

Rage coursed through him. She was no better than the women of the night, only she wore expensive satin and jewels. He would throttle Constance if she ever dared to toy with men in such a fashion. Taking up two glasses of punch, Pierce tried to steady his nerves before returning to the table. Without thought he downed both cups before realizing what he’d done. Smiling sheepishly, he put one cup down, offered his for a refill, and picked up another for Amanda.

He walked slowly back to the table. Maybe too slowly for by the time he’d returned there had gathered a number of seemingly unattached young men. He wondered silently if he could just slip away unnoticed, but Amanda hailed him in her bold and open fashion.

“Oh, Pierce, darling,” she announced, “I thought I’d simply perish before you returned. You gentlemen will excuse me now, won’t you?” She batted her eyes coyly at the group and smiled as though promising each of them something more than she could deliver.

The men graciously but regretfully took their leave, and Pierce was finally able to place the cup of punch on the table at her fingertips. “It was good of them to keep watch over you in case you expired before I returned,” he said sarcastically and took his seat.

“Why, Pierce Blackwell, you’re jealous.” She laughed and took a long sip of her punch.

Pierce couldn’t decide the path of least resistance and so said nothing. This only added fuel to Amanda’s imagination. “Mrs. Morgan told me that your father is quite anxious to settle you down with a wife. I must say, I was honored to be singled out for such consideration. You know my father has made himself a tidy sum of money, nothing compared to your father, of course.” She stopped for a moment, took another sip of punch, and continued, “But together, we would clearly stand as one of New York’s wealthiest couples.”