Paint the Wind by Cathy Cash Spellman
Jason smiled a little—life was so very predictable. The thought made him pause. That's what made Fancy special—she was not predictable at all. Just when he thought he had her where he wanted her, she flitted away; the fun of the chase made Jason feel young again. He hugged Aurora, picked up her small valise, and led Fancy down the corridor toward his waiting carriage.
"Are you all ready to come home to my house, Aurora? It's awfully big, you know; we may have to give you a road map, so you won't get lost finding your new room." He smiled benevolently.
"I like big houses, Mr. Madigan. I always wanted to live in one."
"Well, then, now that your dream has come true, we can't have you calling me Mr. Madigan, can we? How does Uncle Jason suit you?"
Aurora hugged the man who held her. "Uncle Jason sounds wonderful," she said contentedly, relaxing into his strong arms.
"At least one of the women in the Deverell family is glad to be coming home with me," Jason chuckled, casting a sidelong glance at Fancy. He would have given quite a lot to know what she was thinking.
Chapter 55
The year after Aurora's illness was the most magical of the child's life. Every dream she'd dreamed while poor, every happiness imagined on her daily walks through the streets of the rich, was now reality.
Hardly a week went by when Jason didn't present her with a trinket of some kind; when he traveled, he sent home parcels of goodies. He engaged a proper nanny, and a tutor, so that Fancy was able to see her daughter's education seriously under way. He bought the child a pony with fine blood lines, so she might ride with them at their summer house in Tuxedo Park. Aurora had taken to riding like an eaglet to flight.
The child was not the only one for whom life had improved; Fancy had to admit Jason's money and influence had changed the complexion of everything. She learned the jargon of business, and the uses of power by powerful men. Her theatrical career skyrocketed, not simply because of Jason's importance in New York—she was, after all, immensely talented—but he opened the doors and her gifts allowed her to walk through them, so that Fancy Deverell was soon a household name spoken with envy. The very fact that Aurora was so happy and well cared for allowed Fancy the freedom to stretch and expand and succeed.
She hobnobbed with the greats and the merely self-important... she wore Paris gowns and furs and jewels. The press followed the gilded couple on their glittering social rounds, and Fancy reveled in the attention. In fact, she had so many of the things she'd always coveted that it troubled her deeply that she wasn't happy.
But Fancy didn't love Jason Madigan.
What you want and what you need may be two very different matters, Magda had said, and Fancy had never understood her meaning, until now.
"You didn't need Dinero's company did you, Jason?" Fancy asked the question over dinner. She'd begun to pay close attention to Jason's business machinations. The attention flattered him, and he allowed her freer access to his dealings; he liked acting the role of tutor.
"I didn't need it financially, no. That's astute of you to observe, my dear. But I did need it to teach that pup a lesson about who's in charge. Power is a funny game, Fancy. Even after you win it, you only get to keep it if you know how to wield the thunderbolts. Some men lack decisiveness, some lack the balls for the dirty work, some simply don't see the big picture clearly enough to want it all. Power demands showmanship. Nailing Dinero to the wall will deter others from making the same mistake he made."
"Which was?"
"Thinking he could play in my league."
Fancy rang the bell to signal the servants to clear the table for dessert.
"What would you have done in my place, my dear?" he asked. "You know this scenario, how would you have played it?"
"Slapped his wrist, I suppose, which would only have made him angrier. I can see that breaking the wrist is far more effective as a deterrent, I just don't think I'd have the stomach for it."
Jason laughed heartily. "I told you you had the instincts for business, Fancy. All you lack is the ruthlessness. But give me time, my dear, and you may even develop that."
Fancy smiled without meaning it, as she rose to take coffee and dessert before the drawing room fire. She had no intention of staying with Jason nearly long enough to learn ruthlessness. She was happy, now, that she hadn't married him, for it was clear to her that the life she led was not enough. She didn't want to be merely an appendage to any man; much as she liked the comfort and safety Jason provided, she felt fettered by their relationship. A songbird in a gilded cage is still a captive, and there were things she was learning about him that were disturbing.
Fancy didn't yet know exactly how or when she would escape— and she intended to learn everything possible before going—but she definitely intended to go.
"Damn it! I thought I told you to stop those union organizers."
"I tried, Mr. Madigan, but they're real determined, sir. Their lives are on the line here—if we break the strike, their families will starve."
"That is not my concern, Goretti, I gave you specific orders that you failed to carry out and your failure is costing me money."
Fancy stood outside the half-opened door and listened, her horror genuine. She'd read about the dock strike in the papers, her sympathy with the unionizers. She hadn't known Jason owned stock in Amalgamated Shipping. God Almighty, was there anything he didn't own stock in?
"Jeez, Mr. Madigan. I don't think there's any way to stop them unless we kill the bastards."
"How you stop them is not my concern."
"If we kill them, Mr. Madigan, can my men count on your friends at City Hall to cover for us? I don't want to end up in jail or nothin'."
"You do as you see fit, Goretti. I assure you there will be no repercussions over your efficiency. The men at City Hall are as tired of these infernal dockers as I am."
The man let himself out of the study and Jason resumed his work at the desk. Fancy stepped into the room, shaking with indignation. Jason frowned at the realization that she'd overheard the discussion.
"You would actually kill those poor men on the docks just to break this strike, Jason? I can't believe I heard you say that."
Jason looked annoyed, shuffled his papers, then sat back and stared at her.
"I will kill no one. And you had best learn not to eavesdrop, if you can't handle what you hear. Survival goes to the fittest, Fancy. Read Mr. Darwin. When it comes to paying for your jewels and furs and caviar, you're not so squeamish about asking where the money comes from. Business is hard and dirty. The losers can get hurt if they're in the way. I don't make the rules, Fancy. I just live by them."
"Is murder one of the rules?"
"Just one of the occasional hazards."
"That makes me ill."
"See that you're over it by six. The governor is stopping by for drinks and I'm taking him to see you perform."
Fancy nodded perfunctorily, sick at heart. How naive she'd been to think there was any line he would stop at, if something he wanted was on the other side. And he was right that she'd never questioned the origins of the money that pampered her.
At least she hadn't married him. Money and power were one thing... murder was something else entirely.
The bed creaked with Fancy's restless movement. The nightmare had awakened her and she'd lain there, with visions of Leadville vivid in her mind.
With each day she resented her entrapment increasingly, but now she feared Jason, too, and knew escape might not be easy. He didn't like to lose and didn't take rejection gently. It was in bed with Jason that she most often thought of leaving.
Almost as if he'd heard her thoughts, Madigan turned to take Fancy into his arms. She groaned inwardly; they'd already made love once tonight and she didn't relish the thought of another session. She felt the hardened flesh press against her buttocks and knew there was no evasion.
Jason crushed Fancy's lips hard against his own and rammed his body into hers. She'd noticed that the quality of his busi
Not that he wasn't capable of being a tender lover, too; he was often a fine technician, who played her body to perfection. But he could be brutal... or careless... or callous, as he was tonight. But his moods and motivations no longer mattered to her; she felt repelled by the violence she sensed in him now, and by the unthinkable acts of power he committed entirely without conscience. Ever since the Amalgamated incident, she'd made it her business to learn as much about his business as she could.
She'd seen firsthand how power games are played, how money buys not merely comfort, but everything and everybody. For a year she'd lived in Jason's considerable shadow, with everything anyone could wish for, except freedom and self-determination and the love of the right man. And she had to admit that in the beginning, none of that had mattered enough to offset the rewards and Aurora's love for him.
She felt guilty for not loving this man who had given her so much of what she wanted. It wasn't his fault that she'd misunderstood her own rebellious needs—but it wasn't hers that he'd turned out to be a murderer.
Jason climaxed, rolled over in the bed, and was asleep in minutes. Fancy, wide-eyed, and unsatisfied, waited until he was asleep to get away. Gingerly, she pulled back the covers and tiptoed to the marble bathroom where she sponged herself clean of him with quiet determination, before going through the adjoining door to Aurora's bedroom.
Aurora's hair spread out around her on the pillow like a dark and silken cloud. Fancy stood for a moment taking in the lovely picture, barely breathing. I love you so much, she thought. How can I hurt you by leaving here? Will you ever forgive me if I do?
As if she'd heard the thought's echo, Aurora stirred uneasily in her sleep and drew her legs up into a fetal ball beneath the covers. Fancy leaned down and brushed her daughter's velvety cheek with her lips.
Silently she turned and made her way back to the bedroom. She would read Jewel's letter one more time, and see if it still made her heart beat faster... see if she really had found the escape route.
Jewel Mack,
Proprietress The Crown of Jewel's Leadville,
Colorado June 1, 1878
Dear Fancy,
You've sounded way off your feed in your last three letters, kid. Damned if I don't think New York disagrees with you. Each time you write you seem less happy and who could blame you, stuck out there with all them concrete buildings and having to ride your horse on a path in a park, instead of out in God's country. Even if you are the best damned actress in New York and everybody knows your name, what fun does that give you?
So I've got a proposition for you, and I want you to think real hard before you turn me down. There's a boom on here in Leadville, the likes of Sutter's Creek! Every second bozo on the street has struck it rich enough to have gold hanging out of his ears—including Bandana and your friends the McAllisters, who, by the way, named their mine the Fancy Penny, in your honor, I'd guess if I had to.
That theatre we talked about once could rake in dough by the sackful, if we do it right now and don't let some other saloon get the drop on us.
Come home, Fancy! Do yourself and Aurora a favor. Cities are no place for a kid to grow up. Just let me know real quick if you're game, because if you say no, I'll have to find someone else to be my partner.
Your friend, Jewel
Fancy folded the letter and stared at the cream-colored stock; she'd reread it so often during the last week, the paper was dogeared. Jewel's proposal could give her exactly what she'd need to make a life independent of Jason, and just the mention of Chance McAllister's bonanza made Colorado seem seductive all over again. If he had all the money he'd ever dreamed of, would he still remember what they'd once planned together? They'd named the mine the Fancy Penny, they couldn't have forgotten.
There was no way on earth to leave Jason and remain in New York City; he would pursue her with the same single-mindedness he reserved for anything he wanted. But Leadville was far enough away for safety, and the one place on earth where she could finally put her unfinished business with Chance to rest.
Fancy tucked the note back in the dresser drawer; she hadn't felt this excited about anything since she'd gotten her first good reviews.
I've done what I set out to do, she thought. Three hit plays in a row and my name in all the best newspapers, my posters on every other tree trunk and construction site in the city... even if nothing else ever works out, I can always look back on that success.
She sighed and pulled her peignoir tight around her against the midnight chill; she'd act on Jewel's letter immediately—a telegram, tomorrow morning. With what she now knew of theatrical productions and of business, she and Jewel would have a land-office enterprise going in six months. Nobody liked a good time better than a miner whose lonely life had finally paid off big. Fancy had ideas for other businesses, too, the kind that sprang up in boom times in boomtowns—she hadn't lived so long with Jason Madigan without learning a thing or two.
She would be an entrepreneur with money in her pocket and no man to answer to, in a clean, new place where there were trees and rivers and horses and... Chance McAllister.
"Fancy!" Jason's voice cut through her reverie. "Where are you?" Oh, God. She'd have to find a way to tell him she was leaving. It was hard not to be a little afraid of Jason.
"I'm coming back to bed in a minute, Jason," she called out. "I have a headache and need a bit of air."
Tomorrow she'd find a way to break the news to him.
"You can't be serious, Fancy. You can't possibly mean that you intend to leave me." Jason tried to regain his equilibrium but this blow had come out of nowhere. Most of the world scrambled to be in his charmed circle. No one ever tried to get away.
Fancy steadied herself to brave the storm.
"It isn't that I don't care for you, Jason, please understand that... no one could have been better to us than you."
"Why, then?"
"Because I'm only an appendage to your life, and that's not enough for me. We do what you want, when you want. We make love when you want to, eat when you want to, travel when you want to..." She faltered, unable to express her need. Why did it sound so selfish and so mundane to demand her own life back?
"Is that such a hardship, Fancy? Isn't that just the way the world is for women who are loved?" His voice was incredulous, hurt.
"Yes. That's exactly how the world is, Jason, and it's not your fault that it's not enough for me. I need to make my own future and Aurora's somewhere far from here. I don't want to raise her in the city."
"You'd leave the theatre, too? It's inconceivable. I think you've lost your mind."
"I have another kind of theatre in mind, Jason. Far from New York."
Jason's fists clenched and unclenched at his side. "And another kind of man? Is that what this is really all about, Fancy? Is that son of a bitch in Leadville suddenly available?"
Fancy started, like a fawn in the thicket. "What do you mean by that?"
"Do you think I'm such a fool I haven't had the Pinkertons on your trail since day one? There isn't anything I don't know about you, Fancy."
Her eyes widened with shock. "Why, you self-serving bastard! That's just the kind of high-handed horseshit that's making me leave you, Jason. I will not be owned—not by you—not by anyone." Fancy turned away angrily and stormed toward the staircase. At the first landing, she called out to him.
"You can have your Pinkertons follow me to the edge of doom, Jason, for all I care... but I'm the one thing on this earth you will never own."
Jason heard the reverberation of the slammed door and felt rooted where he stood. Didn't she know how much he loved her? Never had he let another woman into the secret places of his heart...
He stood in the doorway of her room and saw she'd had the servants carry her theatre trunk up from storage. "I love you, Fancy. You must know I do. And I love Aurora. Be my wife... don't throw away a life like ours for a worthless dream and a scoundrel who wouldn't even marry you...."
Fancy snapped the trunklid back. "It wasn't like that," she said, wounded that he knew her secret. "I never gave him a chance to keep us."
"You're doing the same thing over again, can't you see that? You have a man who loves you, and you're running away again. Think what this will do to your daughter."
"That's a low blow, Jason. This is between you and me, isn't it?"
"But I've given you everything—"
"Yes. You've given me everything, including love, and I'll always be grateful. But you didn't do it out of charity for the famous lost waif of Broadway. I paid my dues, Jason! I gave you what you wanted every day of our life together, in exchange for what you gave me, and God knows I tried to be what you wanted, but I just can't be that anymore. Let me go, Jason, in God's name. I don't want to have to hate you."
Jason heard the finality in her words; he reached out toward her, but she didn't reach back. He'd never begged for anything since the day he was born; he let his hand drop to his side and stared at her for a long, silent moment.
Jason walked shakily down the spiral stair and locked the door to his study behind him. He sat for a time without moving, the. tears rolling down his square face.